Blog a la Cart

Nemo

Here’s what our weekend looked like thanks to Nemo. We weren’t hit very hard compared to my family further east. My mother was without power for 49 hours, and spent the majority of that time curled up under down and flannel sheets with her Irish Setter for warmth. (My dad works in Boulder, CO during the week and this was one of the weekends when he was not home with mom. Of course! When one needs body heat!). My father relayed that my mother had texted that she was adorned in  “2 ntgowns, leggings, a pashmina, gloves and a wool sweater of Wes’. At Kimmy’s behest she added a fur cape of Momo’s and an old Brooks Brothers “deerstalker” hat of granddad’s.” I wish I had photographic proof of that vision! Fortunately, Kimmy drove to her house with five dudes in tow to shovel her out, but, in typical Allison fashion, she decided that she didn’t want to leave the frozen tundra of her home because she had not been able to shower in two days and felt “too grubby” for public consumption. And that, ladies and gentleman, sums up Momar. Fortunately, the power is back and Allison is thawing out.

For us Carts, life on the farm was relatively unaffected save for some soggy dogs and outerwear.

My Eight Planets

Time to drop some solar system knowledge.

How weird is it that she’s not singing about Pluto? VERY.

And how awesome is it that she’s pretending to read the lyrics considering she is not yet literate? Also, VERY.

MY EIGHT PLANETS (sung to the tune of “Clementine”)
Name the planets,
Name the planets,
Orbiting around the sun.
Tiny Mercury, shiny Venus
And the Earth (my favorite one).
Next is red Mars, giant Jupiter,
Saturn with its rings so bright.
Distant Neptune and Uranus,
Shining planets in the night!

Month 18

ourtland, darling girl,

You are now a year and a half old. Teetering on the edge of babyhood and toddlerdom. There are moments when you are such a little girl. Using words (yes, words! Cheese happens to be your favorite. That’s my girl! We’ll take a plate of nachos over sugary treats any day). Pulling out the chairs at the kitchen table, climbing atop and proudly sitting like the rest of us. Putting on your winter coat by mimicking your big sister’s “flip over the head” trick. Feeding the dogs. Putting your laundry in the hamper. Brushing your teeth. Perching on a stool to wash your hands. Dancing to music. Helping unload the dishwasher. Cheesing it up for the camera. Coloring, whether at the kid’s table in the playroom or all over the sides of the tub with the bath crayons. Reading books, pointing joyously at different characters and people that you recognize or understand. And announcing, proudly, when you soil yourself (I POOPED!) while grabbing violently at your crotch. Oh toddlers. So much fun. So very adorable. And oh so very fickle and unpredictable.

And then there are the moments when you are still my sweet baby. At night, as you wrap your blanket around your shoulders and nestle into my arms, insisting on being rocked and soothed before being placed in your crib. After naps, when you’re flushed and rosy-cheeked and still groggy with sleep and slump into my shoulders to ease yourself back into the day. When you fall or are startled and your face melts into tears of distress and you reach desperately upward for me or daddy. When you’re wrapped in your towel post-bath and I’m consumed by the air of baby powder and lotion and the soft touch of your skin. In the wee hours of the morning when you cry out in the dark and your only source of comfort is sandwiched between your parents’ embrace.

While you will always be my baby, I know that these precious baby days are numbered. You are growing so fast. Literally, as we measured you last week and you are taller than your sister (who is also off the charts for height) was when she was 22 months old. Just this afternoon, you were lounging across my chest, clutching my phone between your palms and joyously bouncing it from side to side in rhythm with Will.i.am’s Sesame Street video (which I wrote about in your sister’s 18 month birthday letter as well). I was transported back to those days with your sister, slammed with nostalgia and a yearning for her little brown-haired bob and baby profile. And when I glanced into the kitchen, there she was, long-blonde ponytail down her back brushing the strings of her Peter Rabbit apron, chopping vegetables to help your father prepare dinner while discussing why Saturn was her favorite planet in the Solar System (because of the rings, duh). And in a flash, I know that will be you. A little person with articulate thoughts and opinions and coordination. So I’m committing that profile to memory. The way your hair curls and waves at its tips, and your nose scrunches and eyes squint when you’re truly happy, and your cheeks flush that cherry shade of red, and the top of your head fits just so into the crook of my neck and the way you carry an unencumbered, fearless energy about you. And while the other attributes may fade, I hope that last one never does.

Happy 18 months, baby girl.

143 Mama

6/52

“A portrait of my children, once a week, every week, in 2013.”

Sunny: She spent the weekend rosy cheeked with mugs of hot chocolate in her grasp. Despite the blustery conditions, she rallied the troops to brave the snow and cold for some winter fun.
Kaki: She’s officially a year and a half old today. On the cusp between a baby and a toddler, yet taking in her surroundings like that of a wise, grizzled old woman.

More details about The 52 Project here. To view all the portraits in the series with explanations as to why I’ll be capturing the portraits in the early morning, visit here.

Currently Reading

We are so fortunate to count these two amazing people as dear friends, and to have stood watch at their wedding ceremony two years ago. We feel such pride and truth in the words they wrote for The Atlantic yesterday. Bravo, Steve and Justin!

Baby William

Hold a woman’s hand while she’s in labor.

Check.

This bucket list item has been at the top of my list ever since my own birthing experiences. And yesterday, I had the privilege of doing just that.

My role was to document. To photograph. To capture the story of this family’s beginning. I was to be a fly on the wall, observing and interfering as little as possible. She had her birth team, the people with whom she had prepared for this journey. That was not my place.

However, the opportunity did arise where the unbelievably brave, strong mama in labor was confronting a contraction while her husband and the midwife and nurses were out of the room. I came to her side and offered my hand. And she took it.

To hold someone while she is in the throes of a pain so very deep, so very visceral, so very vulnerable laid me bare. That she would trust me to be present in that space as a storyteller and as an occasional arm of support or voice of laughter and relief hit me in a way that I had not fully anticipated. I knew that I would be moved. I knew that I would shed tears. But I was not prepared for the ways that I would feel the experience in my core. The ways that I would see myself in that pain. And the ways I would see every single person on Earth in that pain. I’ve said it before, but childbirth is the human experience that connects us all. It’s a universal. A given for our very existence.

Every single person is here because some brave, strong woman confronted the task of bringing us here. And it is no small task. It is work. It is hard. It is labor. The name so appropriately describes the act, and yet there is still so little understanding or appreciation for just how very much time and work goes into the process of bringing life into this world.

I arrived home at 4 o’clock in the morning, after sixteen hours with the family (only one of which was with them as a united family in the “outside” world) in a mess of tears and gratitude. I have been brimming with images and language and knots in my gut that will one day soon take the shape of their story (I’ve got over 700 photographs to process, edit and thread together).

Or a piece of the story, as I can not possibly claim to own their personal language and images and feelings about that journey. And a journey it was. Long, and hard, and inspiring. Thank you, Bea and Lee and William, for the privilege of bearing witness to that.

Here are just a few of my immediate favorite captures from the experience.

Paper Heart Garland // made with love

I thought about saving these decorations as a surprise for Valentine’s Day morning, but couldn’t resist the urge to enjoy them all month long.

They are so very simple to make, it’s nutty. I crafted these up while catching up on Glee episodes. Less than two hours, and our kitchen was looking ready to surprise the girls over breakfast. And honestly, the most essential material was the paper cutter. That is what makes this project so quick.

MATERIALS:
+ Paper in the colors of your choosing
+ Paper cutter
+ Stapler
+ Tape (for hanging)

DIRECTIONS:
1. Slice the paper into one inch strips.

2. Fold each strip in half.

3. To make the hearts, curve the two ends together into a heart shape.

4. Then insert the folded end of a new piece of paper between the two edges of the first piece.

5. Staple the ends together to secure.

6. Continue to chain in this fashion until the garland is the length of your liking.

Surprise your loved ones!

Crayon Hearts // made with love

Early yesterday morning (i.e. the crack butt of 4:30 am), Sunny appeared in our bedroom. This is not typical behavior, as she, like her mother, is prone to sleeping until the sun rises (if not much MUCH later). She curled up in bed with us and we proceeded to listen to a series of tummy grumblings and odd gagging, coughing expressions that suggested that perhaps we had not all avoided Kaki’s stomach bug.

Sunny made claims that she felt fine, and when our alarms sounded, we went about our usual weekday routine. As we were stepping foot out the door, however, Sunny exclaimed, I need to throw up! and well, the girl was right. Throw up she did. Repeatedly. All day. We tried giving her some Saltines and Ginger Ale last night as she was complaining of hunger and thirst, but that did not end well for any of us. Most pitiful of all is that she stoically lay on the couch, warning us before every expulsion (unlike her nonverbal baby sister) and in the aftermath would quietly mutter, Being sick is no fun.

Preach!

Here’s hoping that she recovers as swiftly as Courtland did and can thus return to her school brimming with Valentine’s Day prep and learning about the solar system. Hooray for rocket ships and hearts!

This weekend, in preparation for Valentine’s Day at school, Sunny and I reused the heart trays from yesterday’s project to make these Crayon Hearts to give to each of her classmates (I’ve done a very similar project here). We used broken bits and pieces of her crayon collection to fill the tray, and then baked them in the oven at 250 degrees F until all the wax was melted. Once they were cool, we removed them from the trays, and boom! A fun and useful little treat for her friends this holiday. We’ll attach them to white index cards with a piece of tape and a note that says, Wishing you a colorful Valentine’s Day, xo Sunny. Let’s just hope that no more sickness descends on this household (although that’s doubtful considering Courtland’s favorite activity is test-driving all of our toothbrushes. Daily. Hooray for hygiene!) so that Sunny may dole out these goodies next week. I think they’ll be quite the hit.

Concrete Hearts // made with love

I worked on this project last week as part of an interview process for a DIY contributor position for one very awesome, very significant design website. I’m not holding my breath (despite a really positive interview, I just don’t want to get my hopes up), but it did push me to showcase my photography and video skills and kick-off this year’s Valentine’s DIY projects with something a little different than usual. A more modern take on the season, if you will.

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It seems everywhere I look, I’m confronted with cement. And that’s saying quite a bit considering I no longer live in Los Angeles, THE Concrete Jungle. Cement isn’t just for practical, building purposes. It’s on our sinks, dispensing soap. It’s in our gardens, cradling succulents. It’s on our kitchen tables, carrying juice. It’s industrial and strong, yet sleek, simple and understated. And the great news for those of us of the DIY persuasion is that it’s a readily available and inexpensive material.

While this tutorial could be adapted for any shape, I decided to try my hand at creating cement hearts as a twist on your usual loud, primary-colored take on the season. You can apply the basic steps and materials of this project to make any number of cement molds and shapes. I’ll be handing these out to my colleagues and local pals on Valentine’s Day as a modern twist on the holiday. Go through https://repairdaily.com/diy-7-ways-to-get-rid-of-mold/ to know how to get rid of mold.

MATERIALS:
+ silicone ice cub trays (I picked two up at Target for under $3.)
+ quick dry cement (Be sure that it’s cement, not concrete as concrete will be textured and peppered with small rocks. You should be able to find it at any local hardware store.)
+ disposable cup and spoon for mixing cement (Not to state the obvious, but DO NOT rinse the cement down your sink. Throw it in the trash when done with the project. And I recommend that you use rubber gloves and work in a well-ventilated space while you’re working with the cement.)
+ safflower oil (Although, arguably, any cooking oil will work, I’ve seen safflower oil the highest recommended when working with cement.)
+ water
+ paper towels

DIRECTIONS:
Watch the video to see the project in action. You’ll want to follow the instructions on the cement for drying times. Be sure to tap and shake the cement after you’ve filled the tray to help expel any air bubbles.

And if you want to add the cheese back into Valentine’s Day, you could dole out these little hearts to the one you love with claims that s/he melts your heart of stone. Or with cards that simple say, YOU ROCK! Har. har.

Hey!

Guess who joined the Puke Brigade this morning?! On the upside, both girls handle vomiting with a grace and calm that I can only attribute to their father. When I’m sick to my stomach, let’s just say that all dignity goes out the window. Oh the tears and the wails and the STROKE MY BACK AND TELL ME I’M PRETTY, DAMNIT!

This kid’s spirit hasn’t dampened one bit. My little rock star.