Epic Family Photos.

Back in 2010, I was determined to get a unique family photo. I wanted it to be "real" and almost have a "dark" feel to it. I wanted it fairly obviously photoshopped. I really wanted this photo just for myself, something that I felt really captured "us". I tried to describe this photo to Matt. I tried to find examples of what I was even talking about...none of which really existed in the exact form I was looking. But he seemed to understand what I was describing, and said, I know just the photographer to do this, Chris Mullins. So he talked to Chris, and we scheduled a day to do it.

The result blew us (and Chris, I think) away. We were astounded and in love. Every single tiny detail in that photo was US!! The dogs, the cat, the kids, the smiles, the mess. I found that photo to be the most beautiful, perfect image I had ever seen. So, naturally, I had to share it. We wanted the photo to be untouched, no writing on it. I also wanted to send it to a lot of people. Therefore, we opted for a simple postcard at Christmas. I am not the most "green" person, but when I see the opportunity to send 200 cards, minus 200 envelopes, I take that opportunity.

This postcard has become somewhat "famous" in my tiny world. There are expectations out there. People want to know what our next card will be, sometimes offering ideas. When Chris walked in to photograph our 2014 version, he said, "Hey guys. Another year, another baby!" As I was pregnant with #5 at the time. For a brief moment, I had almost come to dread the creation of our yearly Christmas card, as I feel the pressure to out-do the previous years. Then, I think about the first one. 2010. How excited I was to just take a family photo, a photo that captures "us", for us to keep forever. And share for fun. So, I got over the expectations. I got over my own need to compete, and always go the extra mile, and the perfectionism. I decided, you know what? I have been dying for a family photo at the tree farm we have visited for 9 years now to cut down our tree - so we opted for that in 2015.

2022 Update: Still going strong, added the past few years...just completed our most recent photoshoot.

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2010

The Happiest 6 Months.

Back in September, I flew to and from Chicago with Diana. She was 4 months old. On our flight home, the entire plane had boarded when someone noticed the overhead bins to be falling off the wall. We all de-planed. We had no idea when or if it would get fixed. If we had to wait for a new plane. When we would depart. If we would have to move to a new gate. And my stroller was already checked. The woman sitting next to me had purposefully chosen to sit by me and my smiling, friendly baby. Diana had already made friends with most the plane as she smiled to each and every person the entire walk down the isle to our seat. She has this effect on people.

 Now, one might be intimidated. Anxious. Nervous. Concerned. Worried. Or any combo of the aforementioned when it comes to just flying with a baby, let alone an unknown delay. To be certain, I would have been with ANY of the prior 4 children. But Diana? Nope. Not even the slightest bit concerned. With every one of the boys I had at least one moment (or a few in Brock and George's case) where it took quite a bit of effort to console them. So much effort that I was sweating. That I was panicked. That I set them down and left the room, so as not to shake them. That I handed them off to Matt after an hour and said, "here, it's your turn." This really only needs to happen once, for you to be somewhat apprehensive of the event ever occurring again. Therefore, a flight alone, with any of the boys, would have given me a moment of hesitance. But Diana?

Diana has NEVER had one of these moments. She. Is. The single-most consolable baby there ever was. Of all time. Ever. Not once, have I felt that little iota of panic. Not once, have I wanted to pass her off because of crying or discomfort. In fact, when she starts to get upset, my mother has more then once said, "Really? That's all ya got?" I am even going to go one step further, to say: not only does she not get overly sad or angry or upset, but she is happy. All the time. To everyone.

We all got off and hung around the gate, waiting for information. We were delayed almost 4 hours. By the time we were boarding again, Diana had a following and multiple offers to be row-mates. You see, she never cried. Not once. Why would she? She was being held the entire time. She had nearly one hundred people looking at her and smiling at her and talking to her. She loves people. I always feel like the general attitude is somewhat negative when it comes to a baby on a plane. Not this baby. I'm writing this almost 3 months later, and nothing has changed.

I have no hesitance leaving her with sitters. I often wonder if she is eating enough, because she never seems upset or hungry. She lets me put bows in her hair. She let's her brothers hold her. Unfortunately, she finds those fools hilarious. She wants in on the action, yet is fine as a bystander. She truly seems content, at all times. When it's bed time, I feed her, walk upstairs and lay her in her bed. Then she falls asleep calmly, only to wake up 10+ hours later, well after her brothers, with quiet coo's (and sometimes an arm or leg hanging out of the crip with her pacifier on the floor). It's bizarre and almost unnatural how easy she is. Or, as my sister has lovingly started to call her, "a dud".

Since day one, I have described her as practically perfect in every way. I just don't think there's any disputing it. In fact, she is directly on the 50th percentile line in both weight and length, and has been for EVERY doctor's visit! She is 7 months, and only sitting. She is content to sit. Her 4 predecessors were crawling everywhere by now, climbing, getting into everything. You hand her a toy, and she accepts it gladly. She transfers it hand to hand with her little thumbs curled into her palm, which is technically a developmental delay (that we are getting assessed) but for the time being, remains an adorable and endearing trait.

I hope she continues to have those happy eyes, and infectious smile for all of her life. She will make it places, have friends, and likely be successful in life, despite her apparent, absolute lack of drive. Though, admittedly, our most competitive child, Curtis, began as a content, ridiculously smiley little guy as well...so who knows. For now, I will enjoy Di-nee-na, NeeNee, Nina, D and her laid back nature, dress her in coordinating outfits, kiss her, and remain blissfully rested.

We Moved.

We moved just over one year ago. We moved to the neighborhood of our dreams. The perfect size plot and home for our growing family. A huge and positive move forward for us. From the outside, it seemed exciting, new, fun, everything I had ever wanted. From the inside, it was misery. Looking back 15 months, I think I might rank moving, as the worst experience of my life, to date.

On a Sunday in May of 2014, with an extremely RARE moment of Matt and I aloneness, we stumbled upon an open house. I was finishing residency in a couple months, we had 4 boys in a tiny Cape Cod that suited us for now, but would require lots of work to make it ideal for us in just a few short years. So we thought, why not start viewing the market now? Start seeing our options for our price range? Of course, we instantly fell in love. The house met nearly every qualification I had in my head (upstairs laundry, 2 car attached garage, open floor plan, master suite with walk in closet, 5 bedrooms, updated kitchen, maintained elements of the 100-year old home charm) PLUS the price was right. Unheard of in that area.

Without much further ado, we set out to see about obtaining a loan. Nightmare. Word to the wise, check your credit score at some point between college and graduating residency...turns out little outstanding debt (like $2 at the public library) start to add up, big time. Matt spent countless hours, and I drove all the way to and from Topeka, with all the children, to try and get things on the up and up...we still fell 2 points short of the goal credit score. The house was out of reach. There is simply no way we could list, show and sell our Prairie Village home while we both continued to work full time, and the house was full of children.

We moved on, and mostly forgot about the home as well as the idea of moving anytime soon. Until, in July, the owners reached out to us because they "felt we belonged in the home", with information on a bank that might offer a Doctor's loan. And, they did! Before we knew it, we were negotiating and buying a house. By the time it was all said and done, we had a contract in August, with a close date of September 29th. Sounds scrumptiously serendipitous, wonderful. Perfect.

Now, what I am failing to mention in this summary of how we came to live at 6022 Belleview Avenue, is ALL of the rest of life that is happening in conjunction with the home-buying saga. In June, I was frantically trying to finish all my requirements for residency graduation at the end of the month. I had not signed a contract yet for a job. So, I also was busy getting applications sent, interviewing and compiling info and creating a schedule for my temporary job. The week of graduation, I found the perfect job, and signed a contract to start September 1st. I worked random days through July and August. My oldest started Kindergarten, at a school just 3 blocks away from our OLD house, 11 minutes drive from the new one. Then, after working my new job for 1 week, I found out I was pregnant with our fifth child.

Before I knew it, I was 4 weeks into a new job, 8 weeks pregnant (aka: miserable and worthless), and packing up our home to move all of our stuff as quickly as possible into the new home, so we could prep, list and sell our old house before the dead of Winter (the housing market down time). I remember multiple days of shaking from exhaustion. Matt worked tirelessly at the old house to paint, tidy up and perform multiple little handyman tasks.  He was at the PV house all weekends and evenings. I've never seen him so tired.

Meanwhile, I was at the new house, unpacking boxes, caring for 4 children, first trimester pregnant, trying to learn the ins and outs of a completely unfamiliar space. This was not home. Our old house was no longer home. We were in some kind of limbo land, where no space felt friendly, or inviting, or comfortable, or warm, or relaxing. Our entire life was unsettled and stressful. New job, new home, pressure to sell old home, no money, new pregnancy, new school schedule. On top of all this, the one piece that hadn't changed, my rock, our nanny would be going on maternity leave in October, so I had those arrangements to make. Thank goodness Matt had a nice, steady day job. I will never take for-granted, the wonderful feeling of security a home offers. Whether it's too big or too small, or dirty or clean, old or new, it's home.

Matt's parents helped immensely. My mother and siblings were around almost daily, helping me organize and unpack. Driving children too and from school. My head was never above water, but somehow, with the help of my entire community, I was able to bob up and down, with brief moments to gasp in some air. I was frustrated with so many things. Even things a minimal as waking up in the middle of the night, getting out of my mattress on the floor to go to the bathroom seemed to thrust horrific reminders in my face at just how foreign a place I was in, where was the damn light switch!? The new dishwasher was supposedly more high tech, but nearly impossible to load logically. Our giant oven and stove range wreaked of gas if you used the right side. Outlets are scarce and poorly placed. The stairs had a giant open space death trap on the first landing...that remains to this day, and I'm really not sure how or why no one has plunged off the side, but I'm not going to question it. The yard? It's oddly shaped. There's no fence. There is no great solution as to where to add a fence. For 15 months, we have been personally walking the dogs outside to go to the bathroom. I still miss opening a door and letting them run free, without a worry.

I missed walking through my front door, into our cute, well decorated and painted living room. I had grown to love the giant crack in our front door, and our non-working doorknob. I knew where not to step to avoid making creaking sounds on the hard woods. My bathroom was like an in home spa, the shower perfect.  The little galley kitchen drove me crazy, everyday, but, it had helped store and prepare food for my family for so many years. Each room had a purpose, design and order. We could pick up and clean the house in less than 45 minutes if needed. For so many months, I remained somewhat bitter about our seemingly "hasty" decision to move. We simply did not need that in our lives at that time. We kind of still don't. And, there are still moments have to remind myself that we did it because opportunity knocked.

Though finally, this Christmas, it became evident, things had finally shifted somewhere along the way. I felt good about how my home looked for the Holidays. I was actually excited to invite people over for our 10th Annual Sweater Party. While giving a home tour, I was walking backwards, and right as the person started to warn me there was a drop in the floor, I automatically and subconsciously adjusted my step, because I knew the floor. As I continued the tour, I simply accepted that rooms were not fully purposed, picked up, unpacked, painted. I walked through the backdoor on Christmas day, into our awkward entryway, carrying all of our gifts from our 3 family events, and did not feel that overwhelming panic about where to put everything.

Though, I am still trying to arrange furniture in the new home. Only 2 rooms have been painted. So many pictures and painting sit around, unhung. Boxes remain unpacked. There is still no organization of the children's toys. I realized, I was at peace with it all. I stroll throughout the house, flipping light switches without a second thought. I am not exactly sure WHEN I will find the time to accomplish these simple tasks, but I know that, eventually I will. I know that it will likely never feel "finished" because, after 9 years in our "old house", I know it sure never did. All I do know, it that this big, square, abundantly windowed yellow house, is HOME.

The Power of Positive Thinking.

Memory is an interesting thing. I remember being fascinated by it as a young child. On multiple occasions through grade school, and high school, I would sit at my desk and think, "OK. Even though nothing remarkable happened on this day. I am going to remember it. Is it possible? What can I do to never forget this day? The conversations I had? The people I saw? The joy I felt in the small things? What I had for lunch?" As you can see, I remember having these thoughts, but no, I remember nothing about those days. I cannot remember what I ate, who I spoke with nor which activities I participated in, on any single one of those days that I tried so hard to mark in my memory.


The things I do remember, are things I photographed. The things I retold, over and over, turning them into funny stories. The events that I still discuss, rehash and laugh about with friends. I also remember traumatic events, like watching my dog get hit by a car, because my brain brings it back up, I talk about it, I think about it. Imagine, if all I talked about, photographed and discussed with friends and family were the negative things in my life. What do you think I would remember then? How do you think I would perceive my life?


I know there is this constant talk about our "social media" lives versus our "real" lives. How this "humble bragging", "happy all the time", "always picture perfect" posting is impacting others and making them feel guilty, inadequate, and not as successful at life than their peers. When, in reality, we are all {for the most part} going through the exact same thing. I would like to dispute this argument. I believe negative, or even constant "real" posts, would only make matters worse. It's one thing to vent about a poor experience, and another to ruminate on it. We all have those friends, the ones who bring us down, who we feel like they must be depressed because of their constant posts: no sleep, kids sick, I'm sick, traffic, work, drama, hospital, doctor, vet, car problems, plumbing problems, no time, tired. I see this and can't help but wonder: is this how they view their life? It's such hard work. It's so heavy. When they remember things, this is what they will remember, because THIS is what they talked about, all the time. To friends. To family. To their SELF.


For me, positive thinking is now second nature. I don't believe I was born like this. I had an incredible swim coach during my formative years, who trained us to think positive. I have parents who reinforced it. I've surrounded myself by people who bring me up, and join in my happiness. I have a hard time even creating negative thoughts, posts or memories, because I simply don't see negativity anymore. Sure, I see hurdles, I see difficult moments, I see poop and pee and temper tantrums and anxiety and lack of sleep and sometimes I even write about them, but then I see over-coming these trials, and view it as a time to celebrate. At the end of it, I remember surviving (or I don't remember it at all) because, that was my focus.

I just think we all get so consumed with everyone else. With external circumstances. With the feeling "poor me", "why me". We forget, the power of positive thinking. So, next time you have a bad experience, wait to tell about it when you can be proactive, maybe resolve it, and be encouraged by the result, instead of depressed about the journey. And, gosh darn it, next time you want to "humble brag" on Facebook or Instagram, do it. That way, when you decide to take a trip down memory lane, scroll through your own feed, see your "TimeHop" memories, the content that will be thrust in your face will be an awesome life, full of happiness and beauty. Which is exactly what life is. Or can be.

    
As a concrete, personal example, I performed the art of positive thinking just last night. Matt has been in New York for 3 days, and being single mother to 5 under the age of 7 is inherently difficult, stressful and exhausting without any added mishaps. Being a perfect fall weekend, by Sunday night, the boys were utterly, and completely filthy, with face paint and all. Every inch of every single one of them was covered in dirt. My mother offered to make dinner for us, and we tried to eat by 6:00 so I would have time to get them home and clean and ready for school the following day. By the time we finished with the meal I was done. I really couldn't stomach the idea of bathing all 4 of them while trying to care for the infant. So my mom suggested we throw them in the tub at her place and just send them home in some t-shirts.

     Well, the same wonderful reason they were filthy is the same reason they were EXHAUSTED! Bath time turned into kick, splash, hit, throw a fit and cry time. (In all honesty, I laughed through most of it, which probably upset the kids more, as I was not validating their emotions, but it was RIDICULOUS). My brother, home from school for the weekend, sat downstairs, listening to the disaster, wondering all the while who might survive this whole bathing ordeal. They all did, they made it. As I collected their belongings and packed up to leave, my mother dressed them. I walked down the stairs to find them all surrounding her, like 4 baby birds, being fed fruit snacks. That is the image I captured. It's the image I posted about. It was my favorite moment of the day. Had I not just written this little ditty, the joy I felt seeing my four, clean boys, surrounding my mother is all I would have remembered. This bath time calamity would have been completely forgotten, and viewed only as a fun, positive experience.

Only you have the power to mold your memories and therefore, your life. You can choose, on this day, to remember it as a happy one. And one day at a time, you will be creating your happy life. A life that is real, that exists, that is by no means "fake". Just because of a bit of positive thinking {and posting, and story-telling}.

3 months closer.

I refuse to believe that she is growing up. That she is grabbing the blanket and pulling it up to her mouth to nibble on. That she is laughing. Full on, belly laughing. Yesterday, I attempted to put her hair in pigtails. It was a complete failure, so I laughed. I showed her to Matt, he laughed. And as I turned away laughing at Matt laughing, she laughed with us! She thought the pigtails were hilarious too. Which brings me to another thing I refuse to believe, that her hair has grown enough for me to even attempt using rubber bands. I refuse to believe that one week from today she will be 3 months.

She is approaching that age where it's becoming less and less impressive that she sleep 8-11 hours every night. She is watching, tracking, absorbing the behavior of her brothers. She does not like to face inward, she wants to look out, and gaze upon the action. Frequently, in a scornful fashion. I can already see her thinking, "why must I be surrounded by these ridiculous, silly boys?" That or she fears for her life if not always observing her surroundings.

I want her to remain a sweet smelling newborn. Fresh. Tiny. Wistfully sleeping the days away. The little way she finds such relief in nursing, that almost appears like panic at first. How she sleeps with her hands above her head or grasped below her cheek. She taunts us with her perfection.

Everyday, she becomes more childlike and less newborn-ish. She is slowly developing opinions, likes, dislikes.

I love nothing more than a newborn.

Written on 8-10-15. | Diana, Age 3 months.