tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27859191693955059362024-03-12T19:17:05.629-07:00The Scarlett LettersCarriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01395151389638174902noreply@blogger.comBlogger51125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2785919169395505936.post-14164312743263217182012-09-10T17:59:00.000-07:002012-09-10T18:55:29.883-07:00Pimp My (Cozy Coupe) Rides<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Ooooh, that's right. I have a <em>blog</em>. It's what that little corner of my head is always nagging me about, like a term paper that is constantly overdue. Need to blog this... I should really blog that. But with two little ones I can barely keep up with the basics around here. And by basics, I mean spray painting anything that isn't nailed down and eating a bunch of sweets. Spray painting is my new love. The moment I spray painted my first piece of furniture for our music studio I was hooked. It was a little vintage cabinet I found for $10 at the Goodwill that I painted espresso and replaced the knobs with funky colorful ones from Anthropologie. It turned out so great and was SO easy that I was ready to paint the rest of my life in very bright colors. I think I might have been a tagger in a past life. It's very relaxing for me, apart from those ghastly fumes. I'm big on instant gratification and that is just what this is. You press one little button and see an immediate improvement. Why can't housework be like that?</div>
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When my friend Dawn told me about people renovating their ugly orange Little Tikes cozy coupe cars, I thought that was crazy. Why would anyone spend any amount of time dolling up a piece of junk? They are always faded and peeling and just plain trashy. I figured they are just a part of having kids and like most other toddler toys, I can't wait until they are outgrown and donated. I went on Pinterest to see some examples and found the <a href="http://consignmentmommies.com/_blog/Consignment_Sale_Advice/post/Upcycling_Little_Tikes_13_Ways_to_Pimp_Your_Cozy_Coupe_/">cutest little cars ever</a>. That was it. I had to pimp out our cozy coupes. I bought the really faded one on the left at a garage sale for $1. One. Dollar.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghrL488lNdUpPovIlb6EWCqI400ZcuDvmuOHHtNFSb-4RJEHkdZcLlCLXzL325LeaD94PRMBMCpkevSh5cT2Ef14PztKKgGUtAHaTE1roI2PeeZdv5pQtwLiDraPs3el-L3U7oeZw0JxQ/s1600/IMG_7715copyBEFORE.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghrL488lNdUpPovIlb6EWCqI400ZcuDvmuOHHtNFSb-4RJEHkdZcLlCLXzL325LeaD94PRMBMCpkevSh5cT2Ef14PztKKgGUtAHaTE1roI2PeeZdv5pQtwLiDraPs3el-L3U7oeZw0JxQ/s640/IMG_7715copyBEFORE.jpg" width="478" /></a></div>
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I thought this cozy coupe car wash was pretty precious.</div>
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<img border="0" height="444" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitRmM7g1E3CYW08RUiPexYocrMkqEsF7ur3aqT_DuxZNOPGjXjP61HWyoEthdYOGNuiOepnarrtVdwmfHedMrOJPvqjomuAbMIoP_hdZ-uuud4h57e5qt349zl8HMUFjVxRiJ3USjadGY/s640/IMG_7719copy.jpg" width="640" /></div>
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I wish I could say that this project was as easy as all of the other spray paint experiences I've had, but this little police car was a serious pain. For the life of me I could not figure out how to take the door off so I had to carefully tape around it and spray and then respray and then touch up and retouch. And since there's no real door on the other side, I had to hand paint it. With a paint brush. Spraying paint onto a paint brush and painting it on. It took, oh...say... 150 coats (give or take) to get it bright white against the black with a nice even coat. It was 95* that afternoon and I kind of wished someone would just show up with a giant frying pan and put me out of my misery. But oh, look at that siren! It lights up and blares the loudest sound known to man when you press the button. Luckily a few layers of black duct tape over the speaker took care of that. I found Transformers police decals that were perfect for the doors, since Jude loves both of those things right now. And obviously, you can't have a new police car without a police hat & badge to make it official. I wonder if they sell tiny traffic ticket booklets on eBay?</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4NtTWlu8YcrQpdYe2484IIdHyNJrq59aWONZl5oYSG6U_UiY36a0Wt44Vu_WFx0KkAjbOmGDT8ucZSUCeuIyvi5cm8otidkBF8edvSE0Ql832-_pwbAjPRU8WDndTfmUMepEwlH9jOlg/s1600/IMG_7813copyAFTER.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4NtTWlu8YcrQpdYe2484IIdHyNJrq59aWONZl5oYSG6U_UiY36a0Wt44Vu_WFx0KkAjbOmGDT8ucZSUCeuIyvi5cm8otidkBF8edvSE0Ql832-_pwbAjPRU8WDndTfmUMepEwlH9jOlg/s640/IMG_7813copyAFTER.jpg" width="569" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQu05_2u488qt9sHOxYa-sbudGq7YzI0Sc4cgxuOfeodiaoLJqgL1OH2WPtRHQYKuxJORsz9nuZNBPFPRC_Fs51Juh-OUw3CduD0gLWClqJsh6K8sFcxaBtZadp0-WzHlgGZi0eIiQkbg/s1600/raya+coupe+collage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="456" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQu05_2u488qt9sHOxYa-sbudGq7YzI0Sc4cgxuOfeodiaoLJqgL1OH2WPtRHQYKuxJORsz9nuZNBPFPRC_Fs51Juh-OUw3CduD0gLWClqJsh6K8sFcxaBtZadp0-WzHlgGZi0eIiQkbg/s640/raya+coupe+collage.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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The gypsy caravan coupe was pure joy to make. It only took me about an hour since I didn't have to hand paint anything. My favorite part was hot gluing the fringe along the roof, so much fun. Raya loves her "princess car" and thinks the fringe is hilarious. I wonder if they sell mini crystal balls and toddler tarot cards on eBay? </div>
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♥</div>
Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01395151389638174902noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2785919169395505936.post-17797284139476191312011-09-20T21:12:00.000-07:002011-09-20T21:55:30.556-07:00The Photo BoothI decided to brave the Orange County fair with two very small kids this year for one reason only: the photo booths. I have always loved taking booth pictures. My addiction began during my freshman year of high school, with my best friend Maria Rohler. This was long before we could drive, and we had to walk a few miles to take pictures together in a photo booth at the local video arcade. This became one of the trademark experiences of our friendship... we made sure to hit every photo booth we knew of every time we had a chance. We loaded up with single dollar bills and we took as many pictures as we could afford. Then we walked home with our stack of photo strips, cut them up and then traded them for our favorites. <br />
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We started to sharpen our photo booth skills and brought props like hats, flowers and signs that said silly things we thought were HILARIOUS back then. We posed, did some theater, a little modeling, got creative with the curtains, even changed our hairstyle in time for the next *poof* of the flash. One time we sent Drew Barrymore a photo strip holding up my phone number with "please come!" under it, along with an invitation to the Tom Green tea party we hosted for a bunch of our friends. She was married to him at the time, and we thought she'd appreciate that gesture. We also hoped in our silly high school way that she'd show up. She must have had a prior engagement.<br />
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Over the years I collected quite a beloved pile of our little photos and one day I decided to arrange my favorites in a frame. The love I have for this collage that represents over 10 years of our zany friendship is immense. It would be among the first things I'd grab if my house was on fire.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">So, I wanted to do something a little bit unique for our family's first photo booth experience. I came up with the idea to buy some fun fabric and pin the material over the original boring blue backdrop with safety pins. And after a frustrating afternoon of an hour-long parking wait and huge crowds and summer heat and two skipped naps and outrageously expensive fair food, I made my entire family pile into a tiny photo booth while I hovered over them, pinning cloth. There was an attendant for the first time ever who collected the whopping $5 per photo strip and made sure nobody got out of control in their booth. She was very intrigued when our pictures dropped into the slot with an entirely new background. "I've never seen THOSE curtains before!" she said, and I'd really stumped her. I told her it was because they were in my purse.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/buchelephotoboothfinal.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="cssfloat: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/buchelephotoboothfinal.jpg" /></a> <a href="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/buchelephotobooth2final.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/buchelephotobooth2final.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">I love that this silly tradition lives on and is being passed to a new generation. I wonder how my kids will rebel in photo booths? Only time will tell. One thing is for sure: we won't be having any more babies. We've maxed out our photo booth space.</div>Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01395151389638174902noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2785919169395505936.post-27714085559831644842011-08-30T20:52:00.000-07:002011-08-31T16:10:44.886-07:00The Dark Passengers<span style="font-size:130%;">If you aren't a Dexter watcher, this blog post will be very boring to you. I apologize for that, and for the quality of the upcoming photos... consider this more of a "documentary-style" post. There also may be some past season spoilers so if you're just starting to watch, read with caution. <br />
My friend Laura asked me if I thought it would be fun to go on a Dexter scavenger hunt. I didn't care what it was, the mere mention of my favorite TV show and I was in. She found a website that locates the addresses of all of the places they film the show and most of them are in Long Beach where she lives. Neither of us are particularly star struck but we both are equally entranced by Dexter, and when you live in LA, sometimes you have to take advantage of this kind of thing. Our plan was to take our picture in front of as many locations as we could find. We set out with navigation via her phone and headed out for our epic Dexter adventure.<br />
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</span><a href="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_8981copy.jpg"><span style="font-size:130%;"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 532px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 800px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_8981copy.jpg" /></span></a> <br />
<div><span style="font-size:130%;">Our first stop was the house where Dexter and Rita first lived together. This one was very easy to recognize because they spent a lot of time in this house. We really wanted to know if Rita died in their actual bathtub but neither of us were willing to ring the doorbell to find out. <br />
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<div><a href="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/dexterritanewhouse.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 607px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 800px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/dexterritanewhouse.jpg" /></a> <br />
<div><a href="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_8978copy.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 799px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 533px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_8978copy.jpg" /></a> <br />
<span style="font-size:130%;">If you've ever been anywhere with me, you probably recognize this scene: </span></div><br />
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<div><a href="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/photocopy.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 600px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 800px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/photocopy.jpg" /></a> <br />
<span style="font-size:130%;">I take my point-and-shoot camera everywhere and always forget the handy little tripod I bought to avoid the above situation. So I'm constantly having to create new ways to balance that camera on uneven (and sometimes quite expensive) objects. This was the silver BMW parked in front of Dexter's house. </span></div><br />
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<div><span style="font-size:130%;">The next place we found was Batista's house, and I didn't recognize it at all. It was only used in one episode, although later they went back to this house and shot a kill scene inside. <br />
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<div><a href="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/angelshouse.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 449px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 798px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/angelshouse.jpg" /></a> <br />
<div><a href="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_8985copy.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 799px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 533px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_8985copy.jpg" /></a> <br />
<span style="font-size:130%;">How do I know this? Because the guy that owns the house parked a van in the driveway THE VERY SECOND I had the camera steady and ready to take the picture. How dare he come home in the middle of the day like that. But we waited a bit and he left, so we got a picture without the van. And when we pulled our car up 5 feet to get a picture in front of the next Dexter house which happens to be right next to it, SOMEONE PULLED A CAR INTO THAT DRIVEWAY. But it turned out to be great, because that guy in the van came back moments later and I asked if he would take our picture in front of his neighbor's house. It was Dexter's childhood home, where they shot the flashback scenes when Dexter was a teenager. I thought he'd think we were crazy, but he just smiled and said "You mean, the Dexter house?" Apparently we weren't their first visitors. He told us that they filmed one episode using the outside of the house, and then came back the next season to use the inside. They built walls in their living room in order to film a murder scene, and there was "blood spatter" everywhere. He had been a fan of the show before he was approached by the staff about using his house, so all of this was very awesome to him. I think it would take just the right person to say yes to creating a messy kill scene in your living room. <br />
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<div><a href="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/dexterschildhoodhome.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 583px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 800px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/dexterschildhoodhome.jpg" /></a> <br />
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<span style="font-size:130%;">Here are the two houses together. With both cars in the driveway.</span></div><br />
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<div><a href="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_8982copy.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 800px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 538px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_8982copy.jpg" /></a> <br />
<span style="font-size:130%;">We also didn't recognize the next location which was the house Dexter inherited from his estranged biological father when he died. They built a wall in the front that had been taken down so it wasn't as easy to match it up with our still shots from the show. The gardener had just arrived and parked RIGHT IN FRONT OF THE HOUSE, but when he saw I had a camera and was pointing it in his direction he offered to move it. He also took the picture for us. What a sweet gardener he was. <br />
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<div><a href="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/dextersinheritedhouse.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 464px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 799px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/dextersinheritedhouse.jpg" /></a> <br />
<div><a href="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_8992copy.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 800px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 533px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_8992copy.jpg" /></a> <br />
<span style="font-size:130%;">It was the same situation at Rita's house. This was the house Rita lived in with her kids when she first met Dexter, and they built that salmon wall just for the show. They must have a lot of these stone walls in Miami where it is supposed to be taking place. But that tree in front of the house was very much the same. <br />
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<div><a href="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/ritashousepage.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 442px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 800px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/ritashousepage.jpg" /></a> <br />
<div><a href="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_8996copy.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 800px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 533px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_8996copy.jpg" /></a> <span style="font-size:130%;">This is where Dexter went to get all of his household necessities at great prices. He was also seen shopping the Dollar Spot in season 3. Just kidding. This was a bathroom stop.</span></div><br />
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<div><a href="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_8998copy.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 600px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 800px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_8998copy.jpg" /></a> <br />
<span style="font-size:130%;">We then headed out to El Dorado Park, which is gigantic. We parked on a residential street and walked a very long way to get into the park. Along the way we passed this guy mining for gold or some such thing in the water below us. There is so much strange stuff going on in this picture.</span></div><br />
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<div><a href="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_8999copy.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 800px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 533px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_8999copy.jpg" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;">We found our destination, the creepy old ranger station where Dexter found Lumen last season. They had built a chain link fence around it and added lots of greenery and an old No Trespassing sign. If you look very closely at this first picture you can see a tan door laying on the ground to the right of where Dexter is standing... </span> <br />
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<div><a href="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/oldtouristwelcomecenterpage.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 439px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 799px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/oldtouristwelcomecenterpage.jpg" /></a> <br />
<div><a href="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_9003copy.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 799px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 538px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_9003copy.jpg" /></a> <br />
<span style="font-size:130%;">...and look, there's the door. This must really be an abandoned ranger station because nobody in the park bothered to pick up that old door. </span> <br />
<div><a href="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_9002copy.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 800px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 533px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_9002copy.jpg" /></a> <br />
<span style="font-size:130%;">Here's how the magic happens. I used a metal pole in the ground and laid a piece of burned wood across it. Voila. Tripod. </span></div><br />
<div><span style="font-size:130%;">I was SO dirty. I didn't realize that wood had been burned until after I picked it up and messed with it. <br />
</span> <br />
<div><a href="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/photo3copy.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 532px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 799px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/photo3copy.jpg" /></a> <br />
<div><br />
<span style="font-size:130%;">Our final destination was the bridge that Lumen ran under while trying to escape Dexter. We knew it was about 300 feet from the ranger station so we just walked around until we found it. There's Laura "pretending to run" in the left corner of the mucky swamp. We were pretty surprised that those actors had to be knee deep in that disgusting water, but for millions of dollars I'd probably run in anything too. <br />
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</span><a href="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/lumenchase.jpg"><span style="font-size:130%;"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 444px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 798px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/lumenchase.jpg" /></span></a> <br />
<div><a href="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_9008copy.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 799px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 533px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_9008copy.jpg" /></a> <br />
<span style="font-size:130%;">From this angle it doesn't look so creepy. Kind of pretty and serene, except for those random wooden planks that are there to say "Whatever you do, don't run in this dangerous radioactive mess of swamp water."</span></div><br />
<div><br />
<div><a href="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_9006copy.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 799px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 534px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_9006copy.jpg" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;"> And then we were exhausted and went to get blended coffee drinks like true LA girls. I love having a friend that is still willing to do silly high-school stunts like this with me. You're never too old to trespass, that's what I always say. </span> <br />
<div><span style="color:black;"></span></DIV<></div></div></div><br />
<div><br />
</div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01395151389638174902noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2785919169395505936.post-74198475198868722602011-08-20T12:38:00.000-07:002011-08-20T12:50:21.005-07:00Jude<span style="font-size:130%;">I was going to just toss this up on <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">Facebook</span> like I regularly do with new photos, but this one felt like it deserved a blog post all of its own. They say a picture is worth a thousand words, and sometimes that is such a relief. Because there are no adequate words to describe the hold this kid has taken on my heart, what he has already taught me about life, and how serenely wise, gentle and beautiful he is. Sometimes I look at him and can't believe I get to keep him.
<br />
<br /></span><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 533px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 800px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_5348copy2.jpg" />
<br />Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01395151389638174902noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2785919169395505936.post-28905542097847783782011-08-12T17:55:00.000-07:002011-08-12T20:10:34.683-07:00The Smash Session<span style="font-size:130%;">Raya turned a year old at the end of July. Time flies when you're having fun, which is why the first 6 months of her life felt more like 10 years. But then she turned a corner and things became delightful, and then the next 6 months flashed by so very fast. We had a cake smashing photo shoot for her since she wasn't feeling very well at her birthday party and hardly touched her cake. But we discovered that was because she is just like her brother and absolutely hates getting dirty.
<br />
<br />The cake, the set. All was calm... all was bright. We were excited to see this tiny 3-tier cake get completely destroyed.
<br />
<br /></span><a href="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_5179copy-3.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 600px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_5179copy-3.jpg" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;"> Here's a closer look at that cake. Not too close though, it had it's issues. If it hadn't been for the sprinkles that somewhat saved the day I probably wouldn't even be posting this. </span>
<br />
<br /><div><a href="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_5207copy-2.jpg"><span style="font-size:130%;"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 600px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_5207copy-2.jpg" /></span></a><span style="font-size:130%;">Here she is, femininely pondering what to do with the sticky mess sitting next to her. Surely they don't want me to dig into that thing, she wondered daintily. </span>
<br />
<br />
<br /><div><a href="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_5236copy-2.jpg"><span style="font-size:130%;"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 600px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_5236copy-2.jpg" /></span></a><span style="font-size:130%;"> The boys tried to show her how it's done. She thought it was funny for about 3 seconds. </span>
<br />
<br />
<br /><div><a href="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_5289copy-2-1.jpg"><span style="font-size:130%;"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 600px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_5289copy-2-1.jpg" /></span></a><span style="font-size:130%;">And then, the party cake meltdown. She was so upset that her hands were a mess that she couldn't focus on the sugary goodness in her mouth. She just couldn't take any more of it. </span>
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<br />
<br /><div><a href="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_5291copy-1.jpg"><span style="font-size:130%;"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 600px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_5291copy-1.jpg" /></span></a><span style="font-size:130%;">That poor little smash cake, never given a fair chance. All Raya did was push it to the side a little. </span>
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<br />
<br /><div><a href="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_5330copy-1.jpg"><span style="font-size:130%;"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 600px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_5330copy-1.jpg" /></span></a><span style="font-size:130%;"> The End.</span></div></div></div></div></div>
<br />Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01395151389638174902noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2785919169395505936.post-90478918421655785962011-05-29T15:43:00.000-07:002011-05-30T10:19:00.008-07:00What's a little 6 months between friends?<div align="left"><span style="font-size:130%;">Hey, remember me? I'm that ridiculously pale redhead who blogged, oh, you know, 6 MONTHS AGO. Funny how my last post started with "So yeah, it's been awhile." I guess that's my style now, to just drop off the virtual radar for a gigantic chunk of time. I don't know how my masses of avid blog readers <em>ever</em> survived without me. (Kidding, of course. But can I just say how cool it is when someone I've never met contacts me about this blog? And a tiny bit scary. But mostly so cool.) <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">Facebook</span> has sort of taken over with its perfect platform for the "drive-by picture posting." My extremely short attention span has really enjoyed being able to edit and display a favorite photo within minutes and be DONE for the day. I'm not sure what I'm doing wrong on Blogger, but it is a wrestling match every single time. And although I always sorta win, it makes me want to curl up in a corner rocking with my <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">Facebook</span> wall by the time I'm done.<br /><br />Life has been good. I have run into a constant struggle since having kids, but surprisingly it has nothing to do with <em>them</em> anymore. In the last 6 months we have slowly navigated our way to a new family groove and <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">Raya</span> is, dare I say it, an easy baby! Even better than Jude was at this age. I know, it's shocking. Other than the way she does a violent <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">Riverdance</span> during every diaper change making it nearly impossible and very annoying, she's great. But it seems as though we <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error">Bucheles</span> put in our time at the front end of the baby stage. It's all hell until around 6 months, and then we sit back, relax, and enjoy our good little sleepers and mostly chill children for the rest of it. Until they hit 3, of course. Then it's a rocky road. But truly nothing like our Newborn Hell. Anyway, my new struggle is a personal one. It is the need for more time to be as creative as I feel now with these little guys around me. I'm so much more inspired, so saturated with fun ideas and find myself surrounded by wonderfully artsy friends. And, no extra time to really dig into any of it. Which is driving me crazy. I want to bake sweets. I want to make patchwork curtains from vintage linens. I want to master the manual setting on my camera. I want to crochet pixie hats. I want to make my own soap. I want somewhere really cool to wear all of the new <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error">boho</span> tweed vintage coats I've found during my many thrift store adventures (upcoming blog post about those). And I should probably finish <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error">Raya's</span> pregnancy scrapbook one of these days. Where is all of my extra time? Ah yes. It was used up peeling grapes, chopping cheese into the smallest cubes imaginable and washing white blond angel hair in an overly bubbly tub. And all that other stuff in between that makes a mom of two little ones feel overwhelmed most days. And yes, I am aware that someday I will miss all this.<br /></span><br /></div><span style="font-size:130%;"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 850px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 639px; CURSOR: pointer" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_2821leahcopy-1-1.jpg" />In an attempt to feel somewhat caught up, I'm going to post a smattering of favorite holiday pictures and flash through the last few months. My husband says that being "caught up" is an absolute impossibility for me, especially with the recent discovery of a new brilliance in my life called </span><a href="http://pinterest.com/all/"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-error">Pinterest</span></span></a><span style="font-size:130%;">. Do not click on that link if you are crafty and easily inspired, unless you currently find yourself bored. Don't. Do it.<br /></span><br /><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-size:180%;color:#993300;">Halloween</span></strong><br /></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;">A 3 month old colicky baby girl in a homemade poodle skirt and <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_8" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">personalized</span> cardigan, a larger (slightly less cranky) 50s style mama, and two greasers. And way too much candy for a toddler.<br /></div></span><br /><div align="left"><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 846px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 679px; CURSOR: pointer" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_3167copy-1.jpg" /></span></strong></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 800px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 640px; CURSOR: pointer" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/halloween2.jpg" /></span></div><br /><div align="left"><span style="font-size:130%;"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 800px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 640px; CURSOR: pointer" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/halloween1.jpg" /></span><span style="font-size:130%;">(You may be wondering why this one is first when the other holidays are in descending order by month. That's because Blogger is winning this round and instead of reloading all the pictures, I'm gonna just have them be out of order. I deserve a few points for letting go of my perfectionism a little tonight, right?)</span></div><br /><div align="left"><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><br /></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size:180%;"><strong><span style="color:#993300;">Easter</span></strong><br /></span></div><br /><div align="center"><br />Decorated eggs, handmade baskets (just the lining, I didn't weave those personally), train rides, egg hunts, and a Herbie car that took me a very long time to make. See that sad face on Jude down there? That's due to a back bumper failure. It fell off moments after being taken out of his Easter basket. I meticulously placed each tiny Herbie racing decal on that plain white <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_9" class="blsp-spelling-error">VW</span> bug, carefully sealed it with 3 coats of clear <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_10" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">nail polish</span> to protect it from toddler crashing...and the BUMPER FALLS OFF. Nice.<br><br /></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 640px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 800px; CURSOR: pointer" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/easter1.jpg" /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 800px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 640px; CURSOR: pointer" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/easter2.jpg" /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 800px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 640px; CURSOR: pointer" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/easter3.jpg" /><br /><p align="center"><br /><strong><span style="font-size:180%;color:#993300;">Valentine's Day</span></strong><br /></p><br /><p align="center"><strong><span style="font-size:180%;color:#993300;"></span></strong><br />A charming picnic lunch with Grandma at the arboretum, Jude's first glittery handmade Valentines, and generally lots of pink and red.<br /></p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 911px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 640px; CURSOR: pointer" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_0541copyleah-1.jpg" /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 800px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 640px; CURSOR: pointer" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/vday1.jpg" /><br /><p align="center"><br /><strong><span style="font-size:180%;color:#993300;">Christmas</span></strong><br /></p><br /><div align="center">Little color coordinated outfits, night walks through magically lit neighborhoods, sticky sucker Christmas card photo shoot, and the best Christmas morning so far. Oh, and a massive, epic meltdown on Christmas Eve, compliments of that darling girl below.<br /></div><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 800px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 640px; CURSOR: pointer" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/xmas2.jpg" /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 800px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 640px; CURSOR: pointer" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/xmas1.jpg" />And there you have it. The last half of a <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_11" class="blsp-spelling-error">Buchele</span> year in a nutshell. And it only took me about 6 hours to get the spacing (mostly) right. </span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span>Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01395151389638174902noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2785919169395505936.post-56856804730510007832010-11-26T18:09:00.000-08:002010-11-26T19:56:03.424-08:00Darkness and Light<span style="font-size:130%;">So yeah, it's been awhile. I had a baby girl that decided to overthrow my entire system of being and I've been, "out of it" for a few months. The wonderful thing is that her colic fussies ended right when she turned 2 months old. The not so great thing is that she still has major separation anxiety and won't let anyone hold her except for me and Rhys. So that means, no babysitting for us. And I've nicknamed her my "sleep diva" because she currently sacks out in our bedroom closet. We realized that she was hyper sensitive to both light and sound, so she had to be stashed somewhere very... cozy. And she has slept pretty well ever since. But she had an issue with sleeping anywhere outside of this closet, so family outings were a challenge since she naps every 2 hours. And closets aren't portable.<br /></span><div></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">When I found this </span><a href="http://www.thomasstation.com/dowt/index.html"><span style="font-size:130%;">Day Out with Thomas the Train</span></a><span style="font-size:130%;"> event many months ago, I knew we'd have to take Jude to it no matter what our home life was like. So I bought (very expensive, non refundable) tickets before I'd even given birth to Raya. Kind of a challenge to myself: Whatever life throws your way, you must get through this day. We had to go. Thomas is Jude's hero. I mean, what kind of mom would I be to keep a kid away from his hero?</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;">This place is an hour drive into the dusty hills of Perris, CA. It's missing the old ghost town shacks but it comes stocked with the tumbleweeds and a complete lack of civilization. So we packed up the car and headed out with our very excited toddler and our non-napping, ready-to-meltdown-any-minute infant for a fun filled day of adventure. And I'm serious, Raya was an angel baby that day. Infants like to pull out tricks and really surprise you sometimes. We strolled her around in her car seat and although she didn't sleep, she didn't make a peep either. And then she SLEPT THE ENTIRE WAY HOME. Unheard of. I had to take a picture from the front seat because I couldn't actually believe it was happening. Which is why the picture is a little close and was taken at an "up the nostril" angle. </span></div><div>~</div><div></div><div></div><div></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 600px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 800px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_3452copy.jpg" /><span style="font-size:130%;">Since that day two weeks ago, she's been a very easy baby. She is mellow, happy and just pure joy. She even took her naps in my mom's closet yesterday for Thanksgiving so apparently any closet will do. Hopefully CPS isn't reading my blog.<br /></span><div></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">Tomorrow is my 34th birthday, and I'm taking the whole day off from motherhood. Meaning, I will be getting a massage and spending my Anthropologie gift card and seeing a movie and having dinner out without any tiny people around me. And unlike the last time I did this, I already know I'm gonna miss these little guys so much. Life has settled its dust for us and we are really enjoying each other. Jude has decided that Raya isn't "yucky" anymore, and loves to hold her and rub the top of her fuzzy head. After a minute of having her weight on him he says "Get this thing off me", but he is full of love when he says it. It really is amazing what 2 months can do. We went from pure darkness to a wonderful stream of sunlight.</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;">But despite all this daily heartwarming preciousness, this girl needs an entire day to herself.</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;">The Day Out with Thomas took place at a train museum which lent itself to some amazing surroundings and light.</span></div><br /><div><a href="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_3381copy.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 600px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 800px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_3381copy.jpg" /></a><br /><div><a href="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_3400bw.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 600px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 800px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_3400bw.jpg" /></a><br /><div><a href="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_3403copy.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 600px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 800px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_3403copy.jpg" /></a><br /><div><a href="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_3408copy.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 600px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 800px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_3408copy.jpg" /></a><br /><div><a href="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_3416copy.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 800px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 600px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_3416copy.jpg" /></a><br /><div><a href="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_3423copy.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 800px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 600px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_3423copy.jpg" /></a><br /><div><a href="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_3448copy.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 600px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 800px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_3448copy.jpg" /></a><br /><div><a href="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_3445copy.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 600px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 800px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_3445copy.jpg" /></a><br /><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 600px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 800px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_3388copy.jpg" /></div><div>♥<a href="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_3452copy.jpg"></a></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01395151389638174902noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2785919169395505936.post-45798617023931268942010-09-16T17:10:00.000-07:002010-09-17T11:39:20.230-07:00GratitudeI have been dreading this day for a while, partly because I knew I'd have to get up at 7 am after a regular night of non-sleep to be at our GI doctor appointment at 8 and mostly because I figured the news wouldn't be good. And like so many things in this strange and wonderfully unpredictable life, today turned out to be one of my best days in a long time.<br /><br />Somehow we managed to drag ourselves out of bed at 7 am and be in the car with both kids by 7:20. Rhys and I deserve medals of honor for that accomplishment, and we are both our own heroes right now. Those of you with kids know just what I'm talking about. Anyway, the GI doc was an <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">asian</span> version of <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">Keanu</span> in The Matrix, really. He was profoundly perplexed at every turn of our conversation. I was thrilled to see that he was young and a good listener and had <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">Versace</span> glasses, though I don't know why that was of any importance. Something about a guy that can choose a gorgeous pair of prescription glasses really wins my heart. He listened to us very carefully, looked at the dirty diaper I'd stored in a <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">ziploc</span> baggie in the fridge, and said "I'm really happy with this poop." I was so relieved. He went on to say that <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error">Raya</span> is in the 90<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error">th</span> percentile for both her weight and height for this age. In other words, she's gigantic. Which means she is thriving on my <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error">breastmilk</span> despite her continuous habit of fussing and frantic latching/unlatching. He also said that I could.... wait for it.... EAT WHATEVER THE HECK I WANT!! She has no food allergy, based on the fact that I have been killing myself on this elimination diet for over 2 weeks with no results. I told him that the appointment was well worth the $250 just for the go-ahead to eat <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-error">Oreos</span> again. He looked at me and said "$250?!?" as if he didn't know what he was charging for his office visits. <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_8" class="blsp-spelling-error">Mmm</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_9" class="blsp-spelling-error">hmm</span>.<br /><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="left">So here's the good/bad news: <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_10" class="blsp-spelling-error">Raya</span> is perfectly healthy, she just has a raging case of colic. He said to hang on, the worst is yet to come, until around 4-6 months. And I had a tiny heart attack right there, a small stroke in my chair. I had read that 50% of babies are done with colic by 2 months, and I'm holding on for dear life to that statistic. He said he wanted to give me the worst case scenario, to which I then said: "Don't." Let's just assume she's in that 50% group. Every day I wake up and say to a deceptively enchanting <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_11" class="blsp-spelling-error">Raya</span>, "Is today the last day of your colic?" and she smiles wide as if to say "Heck yes, mama. I'm done with that old trick. I'm as exhausted as you are." And I will pretend every day, every time she has an episode, every minute she's screaming, that this is the last. And one day all of a sudden, it really will be.</div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="left">So I headed straight for the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_12" class="blsp-spelling-error">Nordstrom</span> Cafe and got a mocha ice storm, a turkey & <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_13" class="blsp-spelling-error">swiss</span> croissant sandwich and a huge slice of chocolate <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_14" class="blsp-spelling-error">bundt</span> cake. That's right, the food hoarding has begun. I didn't waste any time. See how my drink is gone? That's because I drank it all before I had a chance to get home and take a picture.</div><div align="left"></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 533px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 800px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_5388copy.jpg" /><br />Then I went to get the mail which has become my new "special time away" from home. I get my jeans on and head out past our lawn all the way to the mailbox! And today's mail... <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_15" class="blsp-spelling-error">oooohhhh</span>, today's mail.<br /><br />My sweet, sweet soul <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_16" class="blsp-spelling-error">sista</span> Mandy made this amazing little hardcover book for me called "The People Who Love You." It is a compilation of all the girls on my <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_17" class="blsp-spelling-error">Babycenter</span> board that I started almost 3 years ago for girls like me who weren't immediately stuck down with pure joy at the onset of motherhood. They have become my closest friends, and I've never even met most of them in person. We talk every day about absolutely everything and they are my lifeline. This book includes pictures of all of them with little notes and jokes about each one, and how they miss me and are thinking of me during this hard time with <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_18" class="blsp-spelling-error">Raya</span>. And the last page includes a dear picture of my faithful loved ones. My husband, my little son... and Jeff <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_19" class="blsp-spelling-error">Goldblum</span>.<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 595px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 799px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/blog1.jpg" /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 605px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 799px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/blog2.jpg" /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 595px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 800px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/blog3.jpg" /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 602px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 800px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/blog4.jpg" /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 598px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 799px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/blog5.jpg" /><br />My other sweet, sweet soul <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_20" class="blsp-spelling-error">sista</span> Emily sent me a sunny polka dotted care package that consisted of: a gorgeous handmade wool flower headband for me, and a tiny matching one for <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_21" class="blsp-spelling-error">Raya</span>... a perfectly written note that hit every spot my heart needed, and a mix tape entitled "Crappy Days Mix." Words cannot begin to describe how much I loved everything in this box. Em, this is your thank you card. :) Thank you, thank you, thank you.<br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 799px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 533px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_2313copy.jpg" /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 533px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 800px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_5354copy.jpg" /><br />So, I decided that today is a day for a gratitude list. Here are the things that I'm currently, overwhelmingly grateful for.<br /><br /><div align="center"><span style="color:#990000;"><strong>My husband, who loves me so deeply and it shows in every little thing he does</strong></span></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#990000;">*</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#990000;"></span></strong></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#990000;"><strong></strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#990000;"><strong>My happy, healthy Jude and his <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_22" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">consistent</span> 3-hour daily naps that save my life every afternoon</strong></span></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#990000;">*</span></strong></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#990000;"><strong>My sister Melissa, and her thoughtful and clever view on life's tough situations</strong></span></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#990000;">*</span></strong></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#990000;"><strong>My mom, who's help with Jude during these hard days has been so needed</strong></span><br /><span style="color:#660000;">*</span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#990000;"><strong>My Aunt Nancy, who always seems to have me in her thoughts and sends me emails that make me laugh</strong></span></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#990000;">*</span></strong></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#990000;"><strong>My <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_23" class="blsp-spelling-error">Babycenter</span> sisters, for everything</strong></span></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#990000;">*</span></strong></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#990000;"><strong>Emily and her continuous creativity and inspiration</strong></span></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#990000;">*</span></strong></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#990000;"><strong>My mother in law, who drives 6 hours for visits and birthdays and has a wonderful way with Jude</strong></span></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#990000;">*</span></strong></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#990000;"><strong>My crazy brother Daniel, who leaves messages on my voicemail like this one the other day: "Apparently when you leave a message on a cell phone, there's delivery options. Kinda like, either having a c-section, or a <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_24" class="blsp-spelling-error">VBAC</span>. Like you did. That's it."</strong></span></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#990000;">*</span></strong></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#990000;"><strong>My new found appreciation for the tiniest of pleasures during the very small amounts of quiet time when my baby girl is actually sleeping: a cup of tea, an episode of Mad Men, a hot bath</strong></span></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#990000;">*</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#990000;">The pink <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_25" class="blsp-spelling-error">Soothie</span> pacifier that <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_26" class="blsp-spelling-error">Raya</span> now accepts on occasion</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#990000;">*</span></strong></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#990000;"><strong><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_27" class="blsp-spelling-error">Nordstrom</span> coffee and <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_28" class="blsp-spelling-error">delectables</span></strong></span></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#990000;">*</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#990000;"></span></strong><br />And despite everything she has put me through...</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#990000;"><strong><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_29" class="blsp-spelling-error">Raya</span>, our pink frosting.</strong></span></div><br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 600px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 800px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_2336copy.jpg" /><br />(And by the way <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_30" class="blsp-spelling-error">missy</span>, you're grounded until you are 15.)Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01395151389638174902noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2785919169395505936.post-23245233624027712792010-09-15T09:49:00.000-07:002010-09-15T13:51:36.485-07:00ShapeshiftingIt's almost 10 am and I'm usually sleeping in until around 10:30 after the longest night of fitful non-sleep with my newborn. But I can't seem to fall back to sleep this morning, there are so many things swirling around in my head. Pictures to edit, places I wish I could go, people to write back, thank you cards to mail, a 3rd birthday party to plan... it's endless. Just like the daily exhaustion I feel with this new tiny human who has taken over our household in a major way. And the way the days and nights just roll right into one another and I find myself wondering what month we are even in now. Just, endless. It feels like our own twisted version of Inception, where we are stuck in a nightmare and then fall into another, deeper level of nightmare and then is it possible? Oh yes, a third and fourth dimension of nightmare. So instead of laying in bed trying to sleep, I'm going to write it all out here and maybe that will make me feel like I've accomplished something today.<br /><br />It was all going wonderfully until Raya turned 3 weeks old. The first 2 weeks were surprisingly easy: she slept well, she breastfed well, Jude adjusted well... I was focused on healing and keeping the household as neat and peaceful as possible, which was a breeze. Then Rhys went back to work and Raya went crazy. She didn't seem to be interested in sleeping anywhere but on my chest, which is difficult when you have a toddler that is dying to play catch outside. Then breastfeeding changed and she started to become fussy and would choke, gag and spit out milk while she was eating. After extensive online research I realized I had an overactive letdown and oversupply of milk, which means I create a "baby beer bong" experience for my newborn where she is desperately trying to handle the amount of milk being forced at her. Which causes latching issues, which causes gas, which causes more fussiness. After a few hundred calls in to the lactation consultants I started to block feed her to regulate my milk supply which is just now, almost 5 weeks later, starting to work. But wait! Then, about a week later, a green slime debuts in her diaper which indicates a lactose or other food intolerance. After more Googling I found that an oversupply of milk can mean a foremilk/hindmilk imbalance. Since Raya can't possibly ever drain a boob fully, she never gets to the high fat hindmilk and is overloaded with the foremilk which is sugary and high in lactose and in large amounts can cause a secondary, real lactose intolerance. After two weeks of this and not seeing a change in her diapers, we went to the pediatrician. She said the green may be a hindmilk issue but the slimy indicated a food allergy of some kind and put me on an elimination diet. Which means I cannot eat dairy, soy, eggs, fish, nuts, berries, caffeine or citrus. Hello? Please find me something to eat because I'M FLIPPIN' STARVING OVER HERE. Trying to find food made without dairy or soy is impossible, people. I'm currently living on chocolate Cheerios, rice milk, spaghetti, turkey patties, chicken, bacon, hash browns, rice, watermelon and root beer. Seriously, every one of my meals includes one or more of these things. This elimination diet makes me want to eliminate someone, if you get my drift.<br /><br />It has been 5 weeks of this diet and we are just now seeing a tiny bit of change in her diapers, but sadly not in her fussy, non-sleeping mood. Raya has pretty severe colic and is not a fan of sleep. She fights it all day long. For 30 or so minutes after eating, she is a smiley happy baby that loves to chat and look around. She is quite precious and adorable. Then she starts getting tired and we try endless efforts to soothe her into a nap, which usually works eventually. But then she wakes up within 10-30 minutes. The sound of her starting to stir and fuss within 15 minutes of an exhausting series of tricks to put her to sleep is depressing beyond words. (This baby hates the bouncer, the swing, the pacifier, all 3 of my infant slings, the new bassinet we tried, white noise machines, being swaddled, and car rides.) We try to soothe her back to sleep, which usually doesn't work well. Repeat 100 times during the day and then flash to 8 pm to find me crying in a bathroom because Rhys left for work 7 hours ago and I've done this alone with Jude hanging onto one leg and I just can't take it anymore. I miss my old life, I miss my husband and my charming and hilarious little man. Rhys has been sleeping on the couch for weeks, since he has to function at work every day with a bunch of kids on squeaky violins. And he needs to be able to take Jude to the park and put dishes away and cook dinner (yes, he does all of this. He is the best husband ever.) So. I'm with Raya all night long, by myself, trying to get her to eat a full meal and then sleep a nice chunk of time for me so I don't go insane and fire bomb my neighbor's house just to release some tension. I also fought off a painful plugged milk duct which made me temporarily lose my milk supply, and have been fighting off the nagging temptation to just go buy that special, really expensive baby formula and see if that "cures" her. Then maybe we'd be able to step outside of our home and actually see the light of day. But then I think, look how far we've come. Jude only breastfed for three weeks before landing us in the ER due to 24 hours of spitting up everything I made. That diagnosis? Overeating.<br /><br />This truly is the hardest thing I have ever done.<br /><br />But the hardest part is not knowing when it will end. Or if there is anything I can do to make her stomach feel better other than give up every comfort food I need right now to pull me through this. I need Oreos and caprese salad and sushi and cupcakes and angel hair alfredo and mocha ice storms from Nordstrom in the WORST WAY these days. But hey, some good news: I'm 5 pounds lighter than I was pre-pregancy. So when I'm off this diet, watch out world. I have dangerously ambitious gorging plans ahead. Another plus is that I do not have postpartum depression to fight this time, which would have made this hard situation completely impossible. I have what my clever ob/gyn likes to call, "situational stress."<br /><br />Tomorrow we have an appointment with a pediatric GI specialist. I'm really hoping he doesn't look at her diaper and say "Yep, that's baby poop alright." Because I really need someone to give me an answer of some kind. And for the $250 bill we'll be receiving, I need something substantial to hold on to. A dozen glazed donuts, perhaps? <div><div><br /></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 533px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 800px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_5178copy.jpg" /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 800px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 533px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_5346copy.jpg" /></div>Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01395151389638174902noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2785919169395505936.post-19826277686613311732010-08-01T12:22:00.000-07:002010-09-15T09:48:46.598-07:00How Carrie Got Her VBAC<div align="left"><span style="font-size:130%;">I'm finally done! I tried to keep her birth story under 200 pages. </span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-size:130%;">There's also a little slide show of our hospital stay.<br /></span><br /></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 606px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 799px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/RayasBirthStoryp1.jpg" /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 609px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 799px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/RayasBirthStoryp2.jpg" /><br /><br /><div><embed src="http://www.onetruemedia.com/share_view_player?p=b8699c0704cf129679fceb" quality="high" scale="noscale" width="600" height="526" wmode="transparent" name="FLVPlayer" salign="LT" flashvars="&p=b8699c0704cf129679fceb&skin_id=1603&host=http://www.onetruemedia.com" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer"></embed><div style="margin:0px;font:12px/13px verdana,arial,sans-serif;line-height:20px;padding-bottom:15px;width:600px;text-align:center;"><a href="http://www.onetruemedia.com/landing?&utm_source=emplay&utm_medium=txt4" target="_blank" style="text-decoration:none;">Make an on-line slideshow at <span style="text-decoration:underline;">www.OneTrueMedia.com</span></a></div></div>Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01395151389638174902noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2785919169395505936.post-30869740237589275192010-07-19T17:14:00.000-07:002010-07-19T17:24:10.942-07:00Summer<span style="font-size:130%;">Ah, the lazy days of summer. Toddlers have it made, don't they? For once I'd like someone to push me around the mall in a stroller with a snack tray full of goodies. This post is here because I'm fooling around with my new storyboard software on Photoshop and having ridiculous amounts of fun with it.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">Yep. Still pregnant.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 800px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 800px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/SummerJude-1.jpg" /></span>Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01395151389638174902noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2785919169395505936.post-81097142823648174382010-07-14T15:06:00.000-07:002010-07-19T15:03:29.940-07:00Pink Frosting<span style="font-size:130%;">Aside from making a daughter, I've been busy crafting, photographing a stuffed monkey, organizing (and then reorganizing) and alphabetizing the entire house. The usual nesting at the end of pregnancy I guess, but to the extreme. And I started this at around 18 weeks pregnant so it has been going on for awhile. I've been putting that saying "Live today like it is your last" to good practice. Not in the, *I'm gonna die tomorrow* way... but the, *I'm going to have a newborn soon and my life will temporarily end* way. So I'm paying bills early, filling photo albums with pictures from last year, trying to catch up with life, if that is even possible. The amount of to-do lists around here is laughable: I have one for household adventures, one for last minute hospital bag packing, one for Rhys, one for what to pack in Jude's overnight bag for Grandma's house... they are everywhere. I've always loved to-do lists, especially when I make a fresh to-do list and add more projects so I can cross things off the old to-do list, just because it has been transferred to the new list. Nothing actually got done, but it was <em>moved</em>. Therefore it can be crossed off before it's thrown out, and somehow that is satisfying in a completely useless way. Anyone with me on that? </span><div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;">One of the projects that did get crossed off was <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">Raya's</span> birth CD, which is done. (I blacked out her middle name on the cover since it's still a secret). I made one for Jude's birth and didn't listen to it until after he was born, but still love the compilation of songs that I chose during that time in my life and how it makes me feel to revisit it. I'm hoping I can actually use this CD as intended, to help relax and distract me during labor. I will be attempting a <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">VBAC</span> (vaginal birth after cesarean) this time, after finding a supportive doctor and hospital. So I may rather use this precious little CD as a ninja star throwing device, we'll see how it all works out. </span></div></div><div><br /><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 639px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 800px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/RayasBirthCD.jpg" /></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">So, I figured I would post a last pregnancy picture because I'm convinced I cannot get any bigger than I am now and I'm hoping this will be it for the belly pics. My friends have nicknamed me The Torpedo, I'm sure no explanation is necessary. Luckily I have my 50mm lens on so the camera is sharp and I'm a little blurry... which I think works out quite nicely in this situation. I feel like a celebrity when out in public because everyone, and I mean everyone, wants to come and ask me questions about how incredibly large I am. Is it triplets? Are they overdue by a week? How are you standing without tipping over? And my personal favorite comment: Look at how you're carrying all up front, that's a boy! And after 6 ultrasounds I can pretty much say no, it isn't. And you know why else it isn't? Because I've got more invested emotionally<em> and</em> financially to ever make that switch, thank you very much. What can I say, this kid better like feminine clothes and decor either way. Rhys said we can simply remove the last "a" in <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">Raya's</span> name that hangs above her crib, if it's a boy. Problem solved, man-style.</span></div><div></div><div></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 531px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 797px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_3313copy.jpg" /><br /><div></div><span style="font-size:130%;">So here is another project crossed off my list: Jude's alphabet book. This idea came from <a href="http://www.emilys-little-world.blogspot.com/">Emily</a> who is mentioned in nearly every blog entry of mine, because that's just how much she watercolors my life. It took two nap sessions in which I snuck in after Jude was asleep and gently removed his favorite buddy, Monkey, from his grasp. I took pictures of Monkey representing each letter of the alphabet and had a book printed from Blurb.com. Jude loves it and I'm proud to have something as a keepsake for him that captures this particular time in his life in such a unique way. It also gives Monkey a true personality, which apparently is silly with slightly sarcastic undertones.<br /></span><br /><div><a href="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_3263copy2.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 800px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 533px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_3263copy2.jpg" /></a><br /><div><a href="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_3264copy.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 800px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 533px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_3264copy.jpg" /></a><br /><div><a href="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_3266copy.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 799px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 533px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_3266copy.jpg" /></a><br /><div><a href="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_3268copy.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 800px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 534px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_3268copy.jpg" /></a><br /><div><a href="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_3271copy.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 800px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 534px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_3271copy.jpg" /></a><br /><div><a href="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_3272copy.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 800px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 534px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_3272copy.jpg" /></a><br /><div><a href="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_3278copy.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 799px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 533px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_3278copy.jpg" /></a><br /><div><a href="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_3280copy.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 800px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 534px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_3280copy.jpg" /></a><br /><div><a href="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_3282copy.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 800px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 534px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_3282copy.jpg" /></a><br /><div><a href="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_3283copy.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 800px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 533px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_3283copy.jpg" /></a><br /><div><a href="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_3287copy.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 799px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 533px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_3287copy.jpg" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;">And while I'm scrambling to get all of these details done, I am very aware that I am in no way prepared for what is to come. I am trying to control everything around me while I still have a moment, because once I have two kids I am convinced I will not know what hit me. I have a pretty substantial stash of new toys for Jude for when his little sister arrives, hoping that will distract and impress him while his life is forever shifted. And as much as I tell him "I did this for you, my sweet boy! I made you a little life companion! She'll run circles with you at the playground someday!", he has no clue that his party is about to be crashed. And this makes me sad, the fact that our life as it is will go away. BUT. The idea that very soon my whole family will be out of my body forever, and complete, feels like the pink frosting on a cake that's a little too dry. We'll just concentrate on eating the frosting. And someday, after Newborn Boot Camp is over, I'll be well-rested and rebalanced and energized enough to make a good cake again.</span><br /><div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01395151389638174902noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2785919169395505936.post-57175028844069124912010-07-04T12:49:00.000-07:002010-07-04T13:04:23.500-07:00Note to Self<span style="color:#000000;"><em>You know when you read something and insantly wish you'd written it? Well this is that, for me. I found this on a blog years ago, saved it in my "Carrie's Random Stuff" file and just stumbled upon it again. The sad thing is, I have no idea who to give the credit to. I looked everywhere trying to find the guy who wrote this and I've lost him. So if he finds this, sorry guy. I wish I could have given you the wonderous credit you so deserve for this. For perfectly capturing the way I feel every time it rains. And when I remember in those tiny magical moments in the ordinary that this is what it's all about. All of it, happening right now.</em><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 394px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 450px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/violingirl.jpg" /></span><br /><div></div><div><span style="color:#990000;">Sometimes it moves pretty quick. When you don't have time to think. React. Remember days when all you had was time. Time to reflect. Now. Now is for living.</span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#990000;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#990000;">Just live.</span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#990000;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#990000;">Wake up, tie your boots on and get out in it. Smell it, feel it. Roll down the windows so you can hear it. Listen. Make some noise so you can be part of it. Put your hands in it. Deep. Pick it up and toss it around. Break it open against the ground. Flip it over.</span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#990000;">Drink it up. Let it spill. Touch.</span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#990000;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#990000;">Take the time to do that.</span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#990000;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#990000;">Take the effort to throw it a mile high and kick it when it comes down. Hug it and don't let it go. Stare at it. Clench your fists and yell it. Raise your arms to celebrate it. Hold its hands and dance. Close your eyes and take a chance. Make it happen.</span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#990000;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#990000;">Crawl through it on your hands and knees. Surrender. Defy. Rebel. Let it break you down. Get up with it. Run with it until your legs give out and you can't breathe or move or shout. Encircle it. Let it in. Float in it. Spin... Smile. Ride. Stack it up into the sky.</span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#990000;">Burn it down to feel the heat. Chase it down a city street.</span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#990000;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#990000;">Tell it jokes until you cry. Cry with it. Cry with it until you smile. Laugh with it for a while.</span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#990000;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#990000;">Make it pretty. Give it away. Cover it with mud. Let it stay.</span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#990000;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#990000;">Race it to the edges of the Earth. Jump with it. Fly above.</span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#990000;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#990000;">Dream about it.</span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#990000;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#990000;">Shower it with love. Protect it.</span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#990000;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#990000;">Never. Ever. Forget it.</span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#990000;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#990000;">Don't forget.</span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#990000;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#990000;">(Note to Self)</span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#990000;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#990000;">This is it.</span></div>Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01395151389638174902noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2785919169395505936.post-43074975648581373822010-04-26T15:09:00.000-07:002010-04-28T15:04:04.184-07:00Wandering Free<span style="font-size:130%;">I've been meaning to blog for so long now, about so many things. I got the most beautiful gift in the mail from <a href="http://www.emilys-little-world.blogspot.com/">Emily</a>, my long-distance muse, and took so many pictures to capture that wonderful moment of opening the brown paper wrapping and beholding a creativity & sunshine that only she can send. But I haven't blogged it, and I haven't blogged about the magical day when we found out we are having a baby girl, and I haven't blogged our Easter adventures, or how I've entered into another Mom Dimension with the addition of a new double stroller, or about all the great movies I've seen lately, or about how perfect our 5 year anniversary weekend at the Mission Inn was, or how we moved Jude into a vintage twin bed that is so beautiful and he's done so well with the switch and how I gave the nursery a complete makeover... I guess I've been having too much fun to sit at the computer and apply myself. Until now, until this, because I can't seem to do anything else with myself but cry. And what good does that do anyone really? Well you know what I mean, it's not something you can check off a to-do list.<br /><br /></span><div><div><div><div><div><span style="font-size:130%;">On Friday when I went to get the mail (and have I mentioned this is one of my favorite things to do? Even when it's just junk mail, I love getting the mail. Because sometimes you get those "perfect mail days" when it's all brown paper package surprises and eBay purchases and <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">Anthropologie</span></span> catalogues and no bills at all! Anyway.) there was a black crow sitting on the mail box. I'm not superstitious but I've heard that's a sign of bad things to come. Which got me thinking about how life has been so great lately with mothering and our business and every little thing. Which made me wonder: <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">When's</span></span> this luck gonna shift? Because it always does. And the floods come and it feels like it's never going to stop but it does. It may sound pessimistic but I just like to keep it real. </span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">It shifted the next day.</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">I was getting ready to go out for a perfect night with my boys: Lebanese dinner at Papa <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">Hassans</span></span> and Cherry on Top frozen yogurt bar for dessert, in charming old town Orange. It's one of our favorite things to do on a Saturday night after a family adventure and a nap. I'd given the tweezers out of my make-up bag to Jude so he could go "fix things". I was in the bedroom and Rhys was in our living room with Jude, when I heard a loud zapping sound and then screaming. All of our electricity had gone out and I ran into the front room where Rhys had scooped Jude up, ran towards the bathroom and yelled "He just electrocuted himself!" He had stuck the tweezers into the one solitary outlet that didn't have a plastic safety cover. I think I took it off to vacuum and left it off, but can't remember, it's just always been covered. I've not been one to take First Aid or CPR classes, I just don't have that preparation mentality. I chalk that up to having to pack a backpack in constant anticipation of The Big One, an earthquake that my <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">apocolyptic</span></span>, disaster-minded dad was convinced would be ending the world. And so many other things I lived in fear of, but that's a heavy post for another day. So I had no idea what to do but grab my son and run his burned fingers under cold water. Without the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error">internet</span></span> we couldn't look up the proper instant care of electrical burns so Rhys ran around trying to locate my cell phone to call the pediatrician. Who had to call us back, and by that time we were already in the car on the way to the ER with a tiny hand in a bucket of ice water. He screamed at the top of his lungs until his hand was numb, and then was perfectly happy with his Tootsie Roll pop in the other hand.</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">The ER experience was typical... slow, inept, frustrating, etc... so I'm not going to get into that. I'll just note that it took 2 nurses and an hour to get one EKG reading. And my child was sitting completely still, watching Finding <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error">Nemo</span></span> on our portable DVD player. Heaven help them with a normal squirmy 2 year old. The hardest part was when they took the ice bucket away and dressed his third degree burns on three fingers. I've never heard Jude scream and cry the way he did then, and I can't get the image or sound out of my head. It just won't go away. It was also tough to have a social worker come and interview Rhys and I and inform us that since this was a "preventable accident", we should be expecting a visit from Child Protective Services. Now I know just what it feels like when your child is kidnapped and you are on the suspect list.</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">We came home to a dark house. Rhys rewired the outlet and got the electricity back on but our computer was fried. It was on the fritz but like an old Buick, we'd figured out how to jiggle it around a bit to get it to hang on for a whole year longer. It's amazing how far away the whole world feels when you are disconnected from the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error">internet</span></span>.</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">This isn't something that I ever expected to happen to Jude. He's such a careful little guy and he's so clingy that I'm almost always 2 inches away from him anyway. He doesn't take risks. He holds onto the stair rail every time because he wants to, not because I tell him to. After I unload him from the car he inevitably says "Hold my hand!" before we even get near a street. Accidents and injuries have been almost non-<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">existent</span>. But he does like to fix things with tools he finds around our house, and this one just happened to be made of metal. And the thing he decided to fix just happened to be a live electrical outlet. He's going to be fine, and it could have been so much worse. So I should focus on that. I know. I've gotten lots of "You guys really got lucky with this." And while I completely know what they mean, lucky is not something I feel right now. Rhys said there was a huge explosion with a shower of sparks when the incident happened, so the fact that nothing but a tiny dot in our carpet caught on fire will have to be our silver lining. That, and Jude will be completely healed in about two weeks and walked away with only small finger burns. Nothing that a little medication, sugar, and Blues Clues can't fix.</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">So here I sit, 4 pounds lighter than I was on Saturday due to stress and forgetting to eat and lugging the 30 lb love of my life around because I couldn't bear to let go of him for a second (although I have plenty of fat reserves from the pregnancy, I'm certainly not wasting away over here). We just got back from the follow-up appointment at a burn unit. Rhys went to work and I redressed Jude's burns and put the tiny mesh glove on his hand for the second time. And now he's napping peacefully, all is calm and quiet, and I don't know how I'm going to do this. For the next two weeks, and for the rest of my life. He's been so brave, so full of toddler gratitude, so patient, so good. I feel like I don't deserve it. He even said "Thanks for helping with my burns, Mama" and at one point came up with "Don't worry!" out of nowhere, in the most adorable toddler tone. How is he smarter than me in a situation like this? How is he not crying as much as I am? I hold it together until he's no longer around and then I just crumble. My baby has third degree burns and I feel like I'll never be able to relax as a mother again. I try so hard to be The Calm Mom and feel like I've been succeeding... and with Jude's gentle <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_8" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-error">temperment</span></span> it hasn't been difficult. Not a lot of "nos" just for the sake of saying no, lots of room to experiment and explore, surprisingly relaxed. But now I'd like to be substituted out of this game, thank you. I just can't do it, it's too hard. I'm a control freak idealist with no religion, how am I supposed to handle this? I love this tiny human so much it hurts, even when nothing is wrong there is an <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_8" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">ever-present</span> aching, because I know life brings ups and downs and I need them all to be ups for this guy. It feels like a part of my heart has walked off on two little legs and I'm fiercely trying to protect it but I just can't. It's out there, wandering free. It's gonna have a mind of it's own. It's going to have a drivers license someday and could get on a motorcycle anytime he wants. And hey, guess what?! I'm making another extension of myself right this minute, who'll be born at the end of July and divide every fiber of my aching love into even smaller pieces, and who will be going out on dates that extend way past her curfew and will be driven around by her boyfriend's race car convertible.</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">Really? </span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;">How do I do this.</span></div><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 533px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 800px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/burn020.jpg" /><br /><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 800px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 533px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/burn026.jpg" /></div></div></div></div></div>Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01395151389638174902noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2785919169395505936.post-49957213952199932802010-02-04T14:02:00.000-08:002010-07-14T08:47:13.382-07:00The Space Between<div align="left">I posted a video (bottom of the blog) that I came across yesterday on one of my favorite photographer <a href="http://davina.squarespace.com/">Davina</a>'s blog, created by the beautifully talented author <a href="http://www.katherinecenter.com/">Katherine Center</a>. I was having a really bad day all around, and this little video instantly made everything better. I've watched it a few dozen times and somehow I have cried <em>every single time</em>, even though I have it memorized. That's mostly because of how artistically crafted it is, but can also be chalked up to some serious pregnancy hormones. I love that video.</div><div align="left">~</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">Motherhood.</div><div align="left">Equal parts joy and heartache.</div><div align="left">It requires so much more than you ever thought you had to give.</div><div align="left"></div>~<br />Here I sit with a second baby riding shotgun, wondering how on earth I'll be able to mother two children <em>at the same time</em>. Wondering how I got as far as I did with this one I already have. I remember what one newborn was like, a little too vividly. Throw a toddler into the mix and what do you have? A simultaneous, three-way meltdown. I hope I can learn to balance this new life faster than I did the last one. There is nothing harder than finding that space in between Mother and Self. But there is also nothing more rewarding than discovering it and being able to stay in that delicate place.<br /><br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 600px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 799px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/motherhood5.jpg" /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 599px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 799px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/motherhood1.jpg" /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 596px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 799px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/motherhood6crop.jpg" />Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01395151389638174902noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2785919169395505936.post-77762933472361851022010-01-25T20:53:00.000-08:002010-01-26T17:37:42.676-08:00Where does it end? Where do I begin...<div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;">I've been gone so long, it feels like I died and was reborn as someone else... someone with the longest, strongest stomach flu anyone has ever survived. In other words, I'm pregnant.</span></div><div align="center">~ </div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 529px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 800px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/blogpage1.jpg" /><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;">I'm not going to spend a bunch of time trying to describe what the last 8 weeks (that's right, TWO MONTHS) of constant, all-day nausea was like because there are no words that could. Imagine walking around with someone's finger down your throat all day. It's kinda like that. In the last two months, I have left my couch and ventured out of the house only three times. You can imagine how many hours of HGTV that represents, and I think in the future if I see anyone trying to stage a home for a quick flip I might have an instant gag reflex from the association. I will also never be able to look at another Ritz cracker again.</span></div><div align="center"><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">As I type this, I am 14 weeks pregnant with my second baby and still have morning sickness. Which must have been named by a man because a woman WOULD HAVE KNOWN BETTER. It lasts all day. The only highlight of my day was being able to make a thick black "X" in Sharpie pen across the day I had just defeated on the calender... the only thing that made me feel somewhat accomplished. Today I seem to be getting slightly better, which is a relief because I was beginning to doubt that I'm growing a baby in my body at all but some wildly dangerous strain of the flu. What a horribly disappointing ultrasound that would be.</span></div><div align="center">~</div><div align="center"></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 528px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 799px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/blogpage2.jpg" /><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;">I feel incredibly blessed to have this opportunity to be pregnant with another tiny person. I have a few friends who are having trouble conceiving and I realize that my morning sickness is nothing compared to the frustration and heartache that surely causes. Every day I feel lucky to have gotten pregnant when I wanted to and that I've had no serious complications so far. That being said, this will be the last Buchele I make. I just can't go through this again. And if you ever hear me say that I'm tossing around the idea of having a third, please direct me to this blog entry ASAP. </span></div><br /><div align="center"><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">So here's the amazing part. As it turns out, I live with the two best guys EVER. I knew this before, but the last couple of months have really proven it to me. Rhys has done more cooking, cleaning, diaper-changing and random-food-fetching that any one person should ever have to do and he hasn't missed a beat. On top of it, he has maintained a steady level of sympathy and support and love for cranky little me the entire time. I should mention that I've perfected the ultra-ratty hairstyle of Hermione circa early Harry Potter. And he seems to love me even more these days, despite the rats nest hairdo and the lazy outfits. I guess making internal organs of an offspring scores major points.</span></div><div align="center"><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">And my Jude, oh my little Jude. I'm amazed by this person every day, who seems to have caught onto the idea that mama isn't feeling her best, and has really been compassionate. He has been content just snuggling under a cozy blanket on the couch, watching home make-over shows and TLC all day. His favorite is Cake Boss, and oh my word, when there was an episode in which Sesame Street ordered their 40th anniversary cake from the Cake Boss it was the best day of Jude's life. I've been so lucky to have a toddler with his sensitive personality during this trying time of illness. It saved me. He even started asking to "Watch Ellen dance?" and "Where's a cake man?" I watched my share of Blues Clues too, so it all evened out. And no, we don't normally watch this much television. But I figured I'm in "survival mode" right now and 2 months of TV isn't going to ruin my toddler. I hope.<br /></span>~</div><div align="center"></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 529px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 799px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/blogpage3.jpg" /><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;">This new baby I'm baking appears to be quite a food connoisseur. I have craved nothing but gourmet meals from the start and watching Iron Chef really does us both in. If only I could have a personal chef here at the house, making me seared ahi (not like I could eat it anyway with those mercury levels, but whatever), caprese salads, delicately glazed lamb chops and risotto... I'd be huge right now. So I guess it's a good thing I don't have a personal chef living here.<br /><br /><br />Here's our latest precious moment: I told Rhys the other day that I'd been craving strawberry cupcakes with strawberry frosting (PINK!!?). So guess what our grocery list for tomorrow includes? That's right, he wrote on his own: strawberry cupcakes, strawberry frosting, SPRINKLES (this was his own doing, I did not specify sprinkles) and cupcake cups. I cried when I saw these delicate feminine ingredients written in my husband's writing. He's gonna make me cupcakes. It's the sweetest thing of all time.</span></div><div align="center">~</div><br /><div align="center"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 528px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 800px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/blogpage4.jpg" /><br /></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;"><strong>I'm a crazily lucky girl.</strong></span></div><br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 529px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 800px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/blogpage5.jpg" />Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01395151389638174902noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2785919169395505936.post-32323181014264223942009-10-29T14:57:00.000-07:002009-10-30T16:28:10.397-07:00A Great Deal of Maintenance Required<span style="font-size:130%;">I heard Pearl Jam's <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">Nothingman</span> on the radio last night while sitting in the car. It had been years since I'd heard it and it took me right back there... to that place where crazy <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">naivety</span> meets romantic melancholy under pale yellow street lights, where everything still seems incredibly possible and yet just out of reach.<br /><br /></span><div><span style="font-size:130%;">I don't know what it is about this song, but it does something to me. It always has. It was released right before my birthday in 1994, I had just graduated from high school. I was 17 and full of energy and quiet rage and wonder of what this gigantic world had waiting for me. This was my song of choice to sit and cry to, and no matter what the situation was, the melody always fit my sorrow. And of course, like all favorite songs from the past, there is one particular boy it makes me think of. And a girl. The ones who remind me of my youth and that crackling creative energy that <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">fueled</span> my life back then.</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;">Then I remembered </span><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u6mkeLJwnTY"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#990000;"><strong>THIS</strong></span></a><span style="font-size:130%;">~ one of the most brilliantly written moments on television. It was a flashback montage on <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">Californication</span>, set perfectly to <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error">Nothingman</span>. It captures the exact feeling I get when I hear this song, and the dramatic mood that was my life back then. Full of road tripping and off-key singing and obnoxiously loud laughing. Flowers on the dashboard. Polaroids galore. Breaking up, making up. Trying to find a perfect balance. A beautiful, unparalleled trust that friends will be there forever. </span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">Full of the Not Knowing... oh so bittersweet. </span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">But would I go back? No way. Well, maybe for a little while. </span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;">If I could take 25 minutes out of the record books.</span></div><br /><div></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 799px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 605px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/roadtrip.jpg" />Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01395151389638174902noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2785919169395505936.post-84048278418041838002009-09-28T13:15:00.000-07:002009-09-28T16:52:37.586-07:00Random Ramblings of a Redhead<span style="font-size:130%;">This one's gonna be long and random, a <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">pish</span>-posh of memories from August and September. I went to a taping of Dr. Phil with my friend Kristy, and before you start throwing chairs at me, I didn't go to see Dr. Phil. I went to see my </span><a href="http://www.dooce.com/"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#00cccc;"><strong>Favorite Person in the World That I've Never Met, Heather Armstrong</strong></span></a><span style="font-size:130%;">, talk about the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">neverending</span> Stay-At-Home Mom vs Working Mom debate. I sent an email request to be in their audience and got a call back the next day. The guy interviewed me over the phone about my life as a mother and apparently I "passed," because we were invited and placed in the front row about 5 seats from Heather. I wanted to throw her a paper airplane note but I decided against it. I didn't want Robin <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">McGraw</span> coming after me.<br />I'm not sure when the show airs since the producers had no idea themselves.<br />I think our favorite part was walking through an old Hollywood <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">cemetery</span> to get to the studio.<br /></span><br /><a href="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_8786copycrop2copy.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 799px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 533px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_8786copycrop2copy.jpg" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">We bought Jude a new wagon and gave him high-speed rides over parking lot speed bumps. The next morning I woke up sore. This is when you know you're getting old.</span><br /><div><a href="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/wagonride.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 799px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 533px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/wagonride.jpg" /></a></div><div></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;">Ah, the Orange County Fair. Jude had his first <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error">Dippin</span> Dots ice cream which turned out to be the best experience of his life so far. He pet some interesting animals, went on his first carny ride, and had cotton candy for the first time. We had a blast, then I thought I'd come down with a horrible chronic disease a few days later. Rule #1: Don't eat the fair food. That's also Rule #2-10.</span><br /><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 539px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 799px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/ocfairboys.jpg" /><a href="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/ocfairbooth.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 542px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 799px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/ocfairbooth.jpg" /></a><a href="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/ocfairp2.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 619px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 800px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/ocfairp2.jpg" /></a><a href="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/ocfair2009.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 618px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 799px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/ocfair2009.jpg" /></a><br /><div><div><div><div><div><div><span style="font-size:130%;">Rhys and I have been working like mad on our </span><a href="http://www.mosaicmusicschool.com/"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#000099;"><strong>Mosaic Music</strong></span></a><span style="font-size:130%;"> studio's website and marketing stuff. Throw two people together to try to design a website who have no clue how to work Adobe Illustrator, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error">Photoshop</span> or <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error">Dreamweaver</span> and you have quite a circus. Even though it was incredibly frustrating, we were proud to be able to do it ourselves, together. We've just introduced a Mommy & Me and Musical Theater class and we're hoping they are successful. The Mommy & Me class was featured on our local <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-error">OC</span> mom blog </span><a href="http://www.tinyoranges.com/2009/09/28/mommy-me-at-mosaic-music/"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#cc0000;"><strong>Tiny Oranges</strong></span></a><span style="font-size:130%;">. Jude and I were the first to sign up for our class, of course. Although I have a fear of singing in a little circle of toddlers I figure if I own the place, I won't have to. Or, they'll have to pretend I'm great.</span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;">~</span></div><div></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;">Our little family spent a bunch of time in Long Beach, shopping on 2<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_8" class="blsp-spelling-error">nd</span> street, getting cupcakes at Frosted, and walking on the beach. Our favorite thing about Long Beach is a little street called <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_9" class="blsp-spelling-error">Loynes</span> that is so bumpy if you hit a bend fast enough, you catch air. We speed down that road and do u-turns until we start feeling sick.</span><br /></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 553px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 800px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/Picture183copy.jpg" /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">And sadly, there was a first black eye this month. Jude decided it would be cool to do a nose-dive off the couch and into the coffee table. Here is his trophy. Don't you think the wife-beater tank top adds a little something to this look?</span> <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 800px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 533px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/Picture067copy.jpg" /></div></div></div></div></div></div></div><br /><p><span style="font-size:130%;">Current life goals of mine include: Sitting around the table that brainstorms concepts for new seasons of Dexter, visiting the Muppet ranch in LA, and being a back-up dancer for a performance of <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iDUbAgfrvU0"><strong><span style="color:#990000;">Michael Jackson's Smooth Criminal</span></strong></a>. I know that last one is a bit tricky since the King of Pop is no longer with us, but since I spent the better part of my early adulthood practicing those particular dance moves, it deserves to be on my Dream List. The costumes, the dancing, the Man. I was supposed to be a part of that original music video, I was just born a little too late. </span></p><p><span style="font-size:130%;">My short-term goal is throwing my son a 2<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_10" class="blsp-spelling-error">nd</span> birthday party on Saturday. Really? Two years? Okay, sometimes it seems like he should be 10 by now... but other times it feels like a flash of light. </span></p>Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01395151389638174902noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2785919169395505936.post-14261247511534094692009-09-27T22:20:00.000-07:002009-09-27T23:10:02.340-07:00Sweet Sean Brady... no, not the one from Days of Our Lives<span style="font-size:130%;">Oh wow. Has it been two months since I've blogged? So much happens in two months these days, it's overwhelming to think of trying to catch up. Being the Director of Development for a toddler isn't a small task, but hey... the pay is great. Oh wait, I WORK FOR FREE. Well, he pays me in extremely tight neck hugs and random jigs to music only he can hear, which is the best compensation of all time.<br /><br />Highlights of this month include a photo shoot with Baby Sean Brady who was perfection in every way. Oh how I loved this photo session. Funny how much I love photographing babies this small but if I had to spend more than one night trying to keep them fed and well-rested, I'd be done before I started. I'm hoping the next tiny Buchele is one amazing sleeper right out of the gate like this little guy was.<br /><br />Baby Sean was almost 2 weeks old here. Don't you just wanna pinch a cheek or two?<br /></span><p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 533px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 800px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/seanivychairfinal.jpg" /></p><p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 800px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 533px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/seanhandsbwfinal.jpg" /></p><p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 533px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 800px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/seanlaurapoutfinal.jpg" /></p><p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 800px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 533px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/seanprofilebwfinal.jpg" /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 533px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 800px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/seanlaurasepiafinal.jpg" /> </p><p><span style="font-size:130%;">And since Blogger seems to have a spacing vendetta against me tonight, I'm going to post this now before I slowly go insane trying to add more pictures from the Highlights of my last couple of months. I'll be back.</span></p>Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01395151389638174902noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2785919169395505936.post-6955433455751690612009-07-30T20:18:00.000-07:002009-07-30T23:01:11.951-07:00You're Never Too Old to Not Learn Something New<span style="font-size:130%;">I was excited when my friend Kristy suggested taking a photo class together. She'd just bought a big-shot Canon 50D and I still hadn't read the manual that came with mine. Now, I've taken over 5 years of photography classes and majored in Creative Photography in college, but that didn't stop me from not retaining any of the handy technical information~ the stuff my brain automatically dismisses as being"unfun, non-artsy content." If it even resembles math, I shut down mentally. So I thought it would be great to take a refresher course on the interworkings of my camera, but mainly I enrolled so I could hang out with Kristy (and her friend Christi) every Wednesday night for 5 weeks. And it really was exhilarating~ three girls going out to dinner before class and then lounging with desserts at Steamer's Jazz Cafe after. And I'm proud to report that even in a 5-week course we managed to ditch the last half of one class. Our only regret was that we bothered with the first half. </span><div><div><div><div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">Here's what I learned in my photo class.</span></div><br /><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">Week 1: You're never too old to draw a heart tattoo on a friend's arm when you are bored in class.</span><br /></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 545px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 814px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_6921copycopy-1.jpg" /><br /><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">Week 2: Nothing, absolutely nothing, is sweeter in this world than an elderly couple attending a digital photography course.<br /></span><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 596px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 799px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/gramps.jpg" /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">Week 3: A massive pool of cup condensation is a good measure of when you have been in one place too long.</span></div><div></div><div></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 551px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 820px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_7192copy-1.jpg" /><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">Week 4: The world is your couch when you take your shoes off.</span></div><div></div><div></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 821px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 552px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_7194copy-1.jpg" /><br /><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">Week 5: You know when you are DONE with your class when:</span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;">a) You take careful notice of the room's emergency evacuation plan </span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;">b) You play mental checkers with yourself on your plaid pants </span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;">c) You clean out your purse, balance your checkbook, make next week's grocery list and then frantically try and think up another semi-domestic task to complete</span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;">d) You are truly interested in the doodle art of your neighbor</span></div><div></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 799px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 632px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/Publication1.jpg" /><br /><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">Oh yeah, and a </span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Grey_card"><span style="font-size:130%;">gray card </span></a><span style="font-size:130%;">can solve all of life's problems.</span></div><div></div></div></div></div></div>Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01395151389638174902noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2785919169395505936.post-29168236005796963582009-06-28T14:46:00.000-07:002009-07-03T13:39:03.672-07:00SerenityI don't know exactly when it was, or what it was, but my life went from being one giant hell-hole to sweet, daily serenity. It still shocks me to hear myself say "I'm not fond of the baby stage," because who doesn't love babies? The same people who dislike Ellen, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">Moulin</span> Rouge and small furry animals, no doubt? Nope. People who don't love infants are people who had babies with colic, babies who wouldn't nap, and who had sky-high <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">expectations</span> of themselves as mothers long before they gave birth. Don't get me wrong, I love other people's babies (<span style="color:#cc0000;"><em>as long as I can hand them over the moment they fuss</em>.</span>)<br /><div></div><br /><div>A year ago I was just starting to recover from that first year of Jude, a time I refer to as "The Black Hole 2007." Now I find myself starting to think about having another baby, and what it would be like to start all over again. I'm <span style="color:#cc0000;">a)</span> scared out of my mind and <span style="color:#cc0000;">b)</span> so in love with the idea of having a daughter, that the idea of getting pregnant again just fights itself out in my head almost daily. I'm convinced that even if my next baby is somehow a direct <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">descendant</span> of Satan himself, it could not be harder than the first time around. Only because I know how hard it is and the shock of how massively upsetting a newborn can be to one's whole character could not destroy me again. Anyway. Back to the happy.</div><br /><div></div><div>Now, almost 2 years later, I am purely content and delighted with my "new" life as a mother. It really changed for me when Jude started to talk, and dance, and give random kisses. It made a world of difference~ he went from being a motionless blob of need to a sweet little funny-man. And those days I always longed for, those movie montage moments where everything is in slow motion... feathers flying from a pillow fight, little legs running through sprinklers, picking a bunch of wildflowers on a nature walk... this is finally how my life feels, at this moment. In every hour there is some random precious <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">occurrence</span> that makes me want to sing. (And heck yes, there are still <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">meltdowns</span> about some tiny thing that interrupts my bliss and makes me momentarily swear off another child altogether, but for once that's not what I'm writing about.) That life I have always worked toward and dreamed of is finally here. I have it. And I can honestly say that I've never been happier.</div><br /><div></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 800px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 533px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_6751copy.jpg" />Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01395151389638174902noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2785919169395505936.post-539179676369037092009-05-30T22:06:00.000-07:002009-05-30T23:14:08.194-07:00Death by PhotoshopSo it turned out to be a love/hate relationship. I went into meltdown mode the day after my last post while trying to learn Photoshop the, "proper way." Turns out you have to know a bunch about the program to even begin to comprehend <em>the manual.</em> Let's just say I may have spent more time throwing the manual against the wall than actually learning from it. I did Google tons of helpful tutorials, on "How to learn about how to learn Photoshop" and "Support groups for photographers-turned-cutters attempting Photoshop for the first time"...etc. At one point I had myself convinced that I never wanted to take or edit another photograph in my entire life.<br />And then there was Gibson.<br /><br />My good friends Ryan and Lisa just had sweet baby Gibson Lee (what a cool name for a rock guitarist's son) on May 19th, so this little guy was only 10 days old for his first portraits. He inspired me to press on with Photoshop, and here are a few of my favorites from our shoot.<br /><br /><a href="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/final-scale.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 533px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 800px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/final-scale.jpg" /></a><br /><div><a href="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/final-guitarcase.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 800px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 533px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/final-guitarcase.jpg" /></a><br /><div><a href="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/gibsonstarsbwedit.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 533px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 800px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/gibsonstarsbwedit.jpg" /></a><br /><div><a href="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/final-bodycurlbw.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 800px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 533px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/final-bodycurlbw.jpg" /></a><br /><div><a href="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/final-smileclose.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 533px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 800px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/final-smileclose.jpg" /></a><br /><div><a href="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/final-basket1.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 531px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 799px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/final-basket1.jpg" /></a><br /><div><a href="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/final-mermaidfull.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 532px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 799px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/final-mermaidfull.jpg" /></a> Baby Gibson, your adorableness saved me.</div></div></div></div></div></div>Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01395151389638174902noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2785919169395505936.post-47944123707846762692009-05-25T14:37:00.000-07:002009-05-25T14:53:42.566-07:00Patience is annoying<a href="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_5766copy.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 800px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 533px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_5766copy.jpg" /></a>Ahhhhhh, I'm in love!<br /><div>I bought Photoshop CS2 and it arrived on Friday. Rhys installed it while I was away on my "alone-time weekend" and the moment Jude went down for a nap this afternoon I ran and tinkered around with it. Oh my gosh, there are so many applications and actions to learn, and I want to know it all NOW! Have I mentioned I'm not an instruction-manual-reading type of girl? I'm more of a trial-and-error learner, which takes at least twice as long and creates a constant little voice in my head that chants "am I really doing this right?" until I finally break down and read the manual. I still have no idea what most of the buttons on my fancy camera do, I just shoot "blindly" in the natural light & manual settings. Here is my first attempt at Photoshop, before reading any instructions. I promised myself I would though. Eventually. Why can't Jude take all-day naps when I need him to?</div>Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01395151389638174902noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2785919169395505936.post-32915799330949112722009-05-22T14:00:00.000-07:002009-05-22T14:49:58.540-07:00The Happy ListThe arboretum.<br />This is my new favorite spot. There is a bench hidden in the tall redwoods with a stream that runs right in front of it. I bring my lunch, book and journal and park it here. It smells so crisp and <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">piney</span>, and the sound of the brook just completes this pristine setting. For an hour or so I completely forget that I'm in Southern California. Until I pull out of the parking lot and almost get sideswiped by a bleached blond who is too busy texting to drive, then gives <em>me</em> the stink eye. But oh, the beauty of this spot, for that sweet hour.<a href="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_5385.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 800px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 533px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_5385.jpg" /></a><br /><div><a href="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_5374.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 533px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 800px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_5374.jpg" /></a><br /><div>The gratitude journal.</div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div>I started a journal of things I am grateful for in my life, because by writing them down I am able to truly appreciate how abundant they are. I'm in a particularly wonderful place in my life right now, where motherhood & creative Carrie have intersected. I was worried it would never again connect since mothering takes so much time and energy (and frankly, sucks out my very soul at times). But I've <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">achieved</span> a peaceful balance lately. I've made it a priority to feed my soul fresh air, good books, and more alone time. And from that came a gratitude journal that is overflowing with things that I have been blessed with... as a mother, a wife, and an artistic spirit. <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 534px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 800px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_5387.jpg" /></div><div>The happy list.</div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div>One of the books I'm reading suggests making a list of the little things that make your heart glow. I thought it would be fun to post it so that I could look back on this moment in time and remember them all. This font was made from my own handwriting on <a href="http://www.yourfonts.com/">this website </a>which is so cool. I did it when it was free but I think they charge $15 for it now. <br /><a href="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/HappyListFinal.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 596px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 799px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/HappyListFinal.jpg" /></a> This weekend I have another hotel vacation all by myself, woo hoo! I will be eating a ton, shopping like a madwoman, and hopefully surviving to blog about it.</div></div>Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01395151389638174902noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2785919169395505936.post-28518803780104528172009-05-14T23:15:00.000-07:002009-05-15T09:09:11.272-07:00Easter, Poker, and other FrivolitiesAlright, this is going to be a long one. I'm torturously behind on my photo editing and realized that I haven't even posted Easter yet. This will be the Cliff Notes version of April events with the Bucheles.<br /><div></div><div></div><div>This awesome little hand-crafted wooden chair was $16.99 at Home Goods. Are you kidding me? I almost felt guilty paying that little for it. The secret to getting this shot was dropping Jude in the middle of a tall, vast field of flowers. He hates walking in overgrown grass, therefore is "stuck" until I move him. I'm so bad. So what may be interpreted as a serene Spring moment was actually Jude worrying about how his next meal would find him in this field.</div><div><div><div><div><div><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 800px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 533px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_3842.jpg" />After realizing two days prior to the Easter egg hunt that I'd forgotten to get Jude a basket (then frantically trying to find a Pottery Barn one that I loved on eBay) I decided to just make him one. This worked only because it didn't require fancing sewing, only a bit of hand-stitching around the J inside the basket. I was amazed at how well he was with the egg search since he's never done anything like this before. He went around and collected every egg like an old pro. He must have been informed about the sugary snacks inside. <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 600px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_4321.jpg" /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 600px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_4319.jpg" />A few days later we played poker at a birthday party. Here's Jude's poker face. He plays a mean Texas Hold'em. <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 799px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 532px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_4224.jpg" /> <div><div><div><div align="justify"><div><div><div><div><div>We went back to the Mission Inn in April for our 4th wedding anniversary and it was so great to take Jude with us this time. On our wedding day I imagined we'd bring our kids back to visit someday, so it was really sweet to be there with him.<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 533px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 800px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_4806edit2.jpg" /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 533px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 800px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_4764.jpg" /></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 533px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 799px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_4746colorpunch.jpg" /> Also in April, Jude began his new "cheese face" for pictures. He does this when I make him pose for photos for more than a few shots... which is often. It makes him look a bit like Phillip Seymore Hoffman, not a particularly good look for him.</div><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 756px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 491px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm301/carriebuchele/IMG_4555.jpg" />It's not easy, this stay-at-home-mom gig. Trying to think of new activities to entertain and educate your toddler all day is a daunting task. I find myself spinning Jude in an office chair, riding escalators in Nordstrom, coloring our atrium with sidewalk chalk, pillow fighting, reading the same books a thousand times, cutting endless amounts of food into tiny pieces, playing freeze dance with a musical greeting card, dancing to Zeppelin on crackling vinyl in the living room. Over and over. Yet somehow, I'm not sick of it. Somehow, this tiny person has taught me how to live in the moment. Sure, sometimes I get burned out or have days when I'm just not in the mood to be a mom~ but that's the case with every job I've ever had. I'm happy to report that I am really enjoying these precious little things that will all be gone before I know it. When I'm straightening his tie as he races out the door to his junior prom, I'll be happy to have these silly little memories with me.</div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01395151389638174902noreply@blogger.com2