looking back

Renovating a house while parenting—that may just be the second hardest thing I’ve ever done. I love taking a sad, neglected house and turning it into a bright, happy space. It’s like making a new friend. But dang it, what a grueling process when littles are involved. There are very few projects I can undertake when both boys are awake. And when nap time rolls around…one of two things happens. I start a project, stars in my eyes. An hour in, I hear the dreaded cry. Drat. My heart thumps erratically. I desperately need a half hour. Thirty more minutes, and the project would be done. Thirty! Am I really expected to wash the roller and scrub paint flecks off my fingers when I’m ALMOST DONE? The other scenario involves a tired mama and a couch. Need I say more?

Sometimes I daydream about a new house, one with clean, bright walls as far as the eye can see. What would that life be like? I start to dream in earnest. A few minutes later, I decide it’s a boring dream and move on.

Our house isn’t a dump. We’re not waging war against mold, tearing down walls, and gutting bathrooms. It’s just a place that hasn’t been loved or appreciated in a very long time. A friend recently reminded me to enjoy the process. This is a reminder I could hear on the hour.

Enjoy the process.

Enjoy the process.

Hey, you. Enjoy the process, m’kay?

On that note…Drew and I just celebrated 1 year in this house. I could tell you about all the hundreds of projects still left. I could point out my celery green kitchen and tell you about how one day, it’ll be a creamy yellow; or show you the fugly linoleum in our master bath that I’m itching to replace. But instead, I’m going to celebrate what we’ve done so far, because seriously, we’ve done a lot. Several rooms are even (almost 100%) finished. In honor of that momentous occasion, I’m going to take you for a walk down memory lane. Here’s what we’ve done so far…

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FOYER / STAIRCASE
Floors – installed hickory wood floors / carpet on stairs

Paint {Behr Swiss Coffee}

Replaced ceiling fixture

Sanded & stained hand rail / spray painted hardware matte black

Installed new 4” trim

Painted closet door and trim {Behr Tanglewood}

Re-painted (interior) front door {Behr Polar Bear}

LIVING ROOM

Floors – installed hickory wood floors

Paint {Benjamin Moore Edgecomb Gray}

Installed new 4” trim

Installed ceiling fan

Installed blinds

Bought corner TV cabinet / painted it {Behr Silken Pine} / new hardware {Anthropologie}

DINING ROOM

Floors – installed hickory wood floors

Paint {Benjamin Moore Edgecomb Gray / Behr Swiss Coffee}

Installed new 4” trim

Installed new light fixture

Installed blinds

KITCHEN

Painted tile grout

Replaced back door

BEDROOMS (3)

Floors – new carpet

Paint {Behr Sawgrass / Behr Churchill}

Installed blackout shades & curtains

Switched out gold door knobs for new matte black knobs

MASTER BATH

Paint {Behr Swiss Coffee}

Painted vanity {Behr Silken Pine}

Installed new vanity light fixture

Hung towel bar, towel hooks, accessories basket, etc.

FRONT & BACK YARD

Mulched/weeded front flowerbeds

Bought two planters for front stoop & kept plants alive and happy during the summer

Stained back deck

Stained screened-in porch

Bought compost bin (garage sale score!)

Built raised garden bed (Costco score!)

Bought a large outdoor shed for Drew’s workshop

The projects I’m proudest of:

Trim

Gorgeous 4” trim installed in the living room, foyer, and dining room. I didn’t personally install the trim, but I did watch the two tiny people so that Drew could make the magic happen. And I painted the trim and quarter round prior to installation—that was possibly our most genius idea of 2018.

Doors

I painted the doors in the downstairs foyer and upstairs hallway a creamy gray (there are 6 doors total). It’s hard work painting a door a color other than white. It’s even harder painting trim a dark color (Watch the floor! Don’t get a drop on the carpet!). At this point, I’ve also re-painted most of the other interior doors—they were either really dirty or this weird yellowing beige.

Back deck / hot tub

We’re in the home stretch – the hot tub is fixed, the deck is stained, we just need to order a hot tub cover and install the trim around the tub itself. The hot tub was a disgusting mess when we moved in. Drew spent so many hours researching hot tub repair, ordering parts, and working on the tub. The result? It’s fixed. I honestly can’t believe he did. I would’ve thrown in the towel on day 1 (can you tell hot tub repair isn’t my thing?).

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All in all, that’s quite a lot accomplished. Please remind me of this list in January when I’m agonizing over how much work there’s left to do, okay? And you can always yell Enjoy the process! while you’re at it.

365 days

Hi.

It's been awhile. 

And when I say "awhile," I mean almost a year. Guys, when I take a break, I take a BREAK. A lot has happened in one year.

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Four days after I wrote my last blog post, I gave birth to a beautiful little boy who threw us for a loop with his head full of dark hair (I thought we only made blonde, almost bald babies). Our house offer fell through and in a crazy twist of events, my husband and I found ourselves making an offer on the house across the street from my sister and brother-in-law. We closed on a rainy weekend last November and dove right in: ripping out carpet, laying wood floors, and painting walls. Three days later, Drew and I drove Aliksas to the hospital. He had spiked a fever and was refusing to nurse. Needless to say, our first week as homeowners was pure chaos.

In typical Viktorija fashion, I took my sweet time adjusting to two under 2 (guys, it's HARD). The first five months or so of Alikso life are a blur. Survival and caffeine were my buzzwords. I don't pretend that my situation is anyone else's. I am a creature of habit and change is hard. I've been seeing the term enneagram tossed about on social media a lot lately and at some point, I really ought to figure out my type. But for now, I can honestly say that for me, parenting two littles has been the hardest thing I've ever done.

Aliksas slept through the night by 8 months, until a quick bout of sickness kicked that bucket over and Drew and I found ourselves in the middle of the most intense sleep training session. Our second kiddo is stubborn. At the time, I swear it took us months, but in reality, it was probably a few weeks of tears---so many tears. He did not know how to self soothe and by gosh, he had no plans to learn. 

And finally...a new normal. For so long, it felt like we flew home from Fairbanks straight into a crazy buy house / have baby / close on house / keep two kids alive / oh wait, we were gone for 6 months so now we have to make new friends roller coaster. It was a heck of a ride: painfully slow, but sweetened with the sounds of baby coos and toddler laughter.

Drew's back at work. I'm teaching piano lessons one day a week. While I wouldn't say either one of us is quite at the top of our game (sleep wise), Aliksas is graciously granting us a full night's sleep, with a prompt 7AM wake-up. Every spare second that we're not spending with the kids, Drew and I are tucking away to work on house projects. Guys, sometimes it feels like we actually have 3 kids. The third one is really tall, really needy, and looked so darn sad at adoption day. There isn't a single surface of this house that we don't plan on updating, so just think (or don't think) about how much work that entails. On the plus side, I'm amazed at how much we've gotten done.

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The last bit of news is this: several months ago, my creative juices started flowing again. I wasn't sure which way to channel the colorful swirl of creativity. Writing? Picking up an instrument? Diving back into photography? Pulling out my dusty watercolors? So I sat on it. Finally, I decided to overhaul my blog (the new blog says hi).

The bottom line is this: I want to write. I need to write. It's my way of making sense of this small corner of the world: family, friendships, parenting, love, all of it. By choosing the words and shaping them into sentences, I am able to organize my thoughts into something cohesive; to see patterns, shapes, and shades of color that I may never have noticed. 

But I'm rusty. It's been a while. And I'm not exactly sure what to write or for whom; whether it should be a private thing, a submission kind of thing, or what. I remembered this space, but then found myself questioning the validity of a blog.

"Isn't it just a way to write for someone? To put the words out in a public space and feel like as long as I'm hitting the publish button, I'm legitimizing my writing?" I said out loud. To which my husband responded, "Who cares?" 

He's right. Who cares? I need an outlet: a clean, white space for my pent up words. And for right now, this is it.

one big bowl of stressful, please

Sometimes, when I'm in a busy place like the mall or a farmers' market, the colors start to swirl. The hundreds of voices around me blend seamlessly into one, loud sound and I feel overwhelmed. Hand me a cool drink, tell me to sit down, and I'll be a happy spectator, content to observe the chaos around me instead of contributing to it.

The past few weeks have felt a little like that. We flew home on a Friday, landed in Raleigh the next day, and headed straight to Durham for two house showings (craaazy). From there, we swung the car east to the beach, where we spent seven sun-soaked days with my family. We ate too much good food; spent hours in damp bathing suits, lazing by the pool or digging our toes in the sand; and didn't do much of anything else. Eating, swimming, and reading voraciously pretty much sum up my idea of the perfect (restful) vacation.

From there, Drew, Lukas, and I settled into our West Durham rental, a cozy cottage with the largest living room window you've ever seen. Seriously, this thing is a vintage charmer made up of forty-two panes of glass and invites copious amounts of sunshine. In other words, I'm in love.

We began to house hunt immediately and aggressively. Factor in a female that's 37 weeks pregnant, the myriad of hormones that accompany said female like a swarm of trigger happy mosquitoes, and two adults and one toddler who are adjusting to life back in North Carolina and that equals one big bowl of stressful. 

It's been a trip, guys, both literally and figuratively. 

BUT HEY! WE FOUND A HOUSE! I'll save the story for another day, but our offer was accepted, we're under contract, and the inspection has already taken place (with no blatantly awful problems found, thank God).

It's August 3rd and life is good. Drew's back at work. The housing situation is looking good. And we're slowly getting more prepared for baby by the day.

The big bowl of stressful is morphing into a happy, (semi) chill bowl of vanilla ice cream. 

goodbye, fairbanks

Two days left...

My parents were visiting for a week and a half, thus the hush on the blog. Now we're in our final week in Fairbanks (actually, the final few days) and the packing/sorting/giving away has commenced. Interested in a half full container of vanilla protein powder? A frozen package of ground bison? A blue toddler sled for the winter months? I'm spending the next few days running around town (not literally--the bump has grown to massive proportions and running is definitely NOT in the cards these days), dropping off a box of toys here, taking the high chair and pack'n play there, and hoping desperately that our stuff (plus a few new things) fits back into the six pieces of luggage it came in.

It's crazy that our Alaskan adventure is almost over. Lukas arrived as a 7-month-old baby, only semi-proficient at crawling, and he leaves a walking, "Mama-and-Dadda" uttering toddler. It's strange to think that he won't remember any of this. In fact, I could see him demanding that we come back one day. He'll tell us that he doesn't remember a single thing--not the frigid temperatures or the gorgeous views or the frozen nose hairs. Drew and I already decided that if he begs to experience the crazy winter temperatures, we'll tell him to spend a semester away at the University of Alaska Fairbanks. Us living with plummeting temps of negative 40's and 50's twice in the same lifetime? Thanks, but no thanks. 

If I'm being brutally honest, I miss North Carolina desperately. I'm an east coast girl at heart and this wild state, while fun to experience, is not my jam. I miss the conveniences of a larger city: the plethora of local restaurants, the shopping options, the tidy neighborhoods that don't sport "No Trespassing, Keep Out" signs. I never used to think of my rectangular, narrow state as a small one, but compared to Alaska...yep, it's miniscule. I miss the mountains and the coast being only a few short hours away.

Everything here is so big and wide and far. Alaska does things in a very big way, which is definitely something to get used to. Go big or go home, essentially. The light (or lack thereof) is an example of that. Do you know just how excited I am to return to a state where it gets dark by 8:30-9PM? Imagine my hands about as far away from each other as they can get and you'll get the picture. These days, the sun sets around 12:30ishAM and rises at 3AM. As someone who thoroughly appreciates a dark sleeping environment, that was an extremely hard thing to get used to (BUT! But! A plethora of daylight is vastly preferable to the mostly dark days of winter!). If you plan on leaving Alaska to travel, it's got to be by plane. As someone who grew up in a family that road tripped from Florida to Maine, it makes Alaska a very remote, inaccessible place to live (which let's be real, it is). 

I am, however, leaving Alaska with a pocket that is bursting with memories. This has been the adventure of a lifetime. I'll miss the birch trees. Their white, papery trunks consistently dot the landscape here. I'll miss the icy cold water that flows from the tap. I'll miss the hours of quiet, when Lukas is napping and my fingers tap the laptop keys busily, iced latte within reach. I'll miss the $5 cheese basket at Fred Meyer; the fresh, hot crepes at one of our favorite restaurants downtown. I'll miss how a snowfall of 8-12" occurs regularly here and is no big deal. I'll miss having the windows open in July (July!) to let the sweet, cool air float in as we slowly drift off to sleep. 

But otherwise, I'm ready; ready to resume our life in the lower 48. To figure out how our particular puzzle piece fits back into the wonderful, colorful puzzle that is life in Durham. 

Two days left...

a door shuts...oh hey, that window's open

It’s late morning and I’m lying in bed, still in my pajamas. The laptop is balanced precariously on my belly; Lukas is napping across the hall. He looked so happy to take a nap and drifted off to sleep without a peep. It almost felt like he was grateful that I was putting him to bed, instead of dragging him off on an errand like I had planned. The baby is kicking me. He always seems to be kicking me. My guess is that he’s intent on making absolutely sure that I know he’s in there (don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten). 

I could be doing something—laundry, showering, yoga—but I saw my unmade bed, the crumpled sheets, the plump, soft pillow, and they invited me in. The window is open and there’s a breeze playing in the backyard, causing the thin, papery birch trees to sway slowly. There are things I don’t like about this apartment, but I love the master bedroom. It’s smaller than our last one, but cozier, airier. Painted a dusky violet gray, it feels like a hotel room in all the right ways: the muted paint, crisp white trim, dark wood dresser, and perfectly coordinated bedding.  It’s a serene space and I love it. The window is large, the sort where the glass slides sideways when you open it. The screen was missing in our last bedroom, a fact I somehow missed and Drew pointed out to me a few days later.

“Haven’t you noticed the bugs in the house?” he asked me.

My face fell. No, no I hadn’t.

“Goodbye, open window,” I said sadly, mourning the loss of cool evening breezes.

But at least I had the sliding glass doors. When we moved, I thought I would miss them fiercely. And I do, sort of. Apartment living usually makes me feel boxed in, like there’s no easy way to access nature. I’m a “bring in ALL the light” kind of girl. No closed shades for me; no moody, half dark living space as I go about my day. I want to catch every single ray of sunlight. And somehow, this apartment feels lighter than I expected. A window might seem silly to you; seriously, how excited can someone get about a window? I’m here to tell you pretty darn excited.

So in my case, it’s a funny, literal case of “When God closes a door, he opens a window.”

Looking for the little things: that’s what I’m about these next four weeks. Pajamas on a weekday while the toddler naps and the breeze plays peek-a-boo out my window…I’ll take it.

a weekend away [ part I ]

If you were hoping for a plethora of photos of downtown Anchorage, keep moving. This isn't the post for you. And I'm SO sorry! There is a reason for this...

As a parent, I'm s-l-o-w-l-y learning that you should never plan on your kid for anything.

Assumption #1: Lukas would fall asleep on the car trip down. His bedtime is around 6:30ish and we weren't due in Anchorage until 11:30 -- in my mind, that meant he'd sleep for hours in the car. A logical assumption, yes? Apparently not. In typical kiddo style, he waited until the last five minutes of the trip to fall asleep. I'm going to blame the sun, which didn't set until almost midnight. He wasn't cranky or upset or crying, so there's that (huge plus). He did want me to sit in the backseat with him for the last few hours while he clutched his lovey and gazed adoringly at me (it was a strangely awkward experience).

Asssumption #2: Since Lukas went to bed at almost 1AM the night before, he was going to nap superbly the next day. Strike two. He took no naps that day. We still managed to have a very nice, caffeine-fueled day, but it meant the three of us were running on empty by the time dinner rolled around. The last thing on my mind was lugging a camera around downtown Anchorage. 

So please...enjoy our scenic views along Parks Highway. But if you absolutely need to see photos of Anchorage itself, for heaven's sake, google it.

The view from an overlook about 30 minutes outside of Fairbanks. Alaska in the winter is pretty spectacular, but I'm in love with the rich, textured greens and dusky blues of summer.

We stopped for dinner in the tiny town of Healy, just outside of Denali. Quite on accident, we stumbled across 49th State Brewing. It's tucked back from the road in a rambling, barn-like building. They serve delicious pub-style burgers, salads, and pizzas; locally brewed beer (of course); and feature live music. Above was the view from the parking lot.

Tucking kiddo in for the night: pacifier, lovey, and Junie. Check. Turns out, the joke was on me...

If Friday was "explore downtown Anchorage and take absolutely NO photos for posterity," Saturday was "drive to Seward and take allllllllll the photos." The drive was amazing. Spectacular. Definitely one of the most scenic roads I've ever been on (Drew will argue that it was prettier than the Blue Ridge Parkway. However, I'm pretty partial to the Appalachian Mountains and won't hurt their feelings by making such a statement).

Since we were zooming towards Seward--and our 12PM cruise time--we didn't stop for any photos along the way. Those came later. Saturday was foggy and slightly chilly. We had planned for that and came armed with rain jackets, sunglasses, a scarf (for me), and hats, just in case.

Lukas had just woken up, thus the serious snuggles. On Saturday, we were back to our regularly scheduled programming, which meant NAPS. 

IN THE CAR.

Thank you, God.

Our boat, the Alaskan Explorer.

The expression of someone who may just be ready for a boat ride. 

To be continued...

bringing baby home

The first time around we did all the baby things.

I created a Pinterest board and painstakingly chose materials for the changing pad and mattress cover; a rug for the hardwood floor; artwork for the walls. I spent a Sunday afternoon painting a mural of trees on one bedroom wall. Drew built a bookcase which I filled with adorable baskets packed to the brim with soft muslin blankets and burp cloths, stuffed animals, and children’s books. The top drawer of the changing table held a variety of brightly colored, washed cloth diapers. By the time Lukas arrived, his room was picture perfect and waiting for him.

This time…things are shaping up a little differently.

For one thing, I completely forgot to put things aside for the baby back in December when I was packing up the house. Maybe it was because I was still in shock over being pregnant. Or maybe it’s because the flu of the decade decided to show up and hold me hostage for two, truly horrible weeks. Either way, the baby stuff (i.e. newborn clothes, bouncy chair, swaddles, burp clothes, all the stuff a mom likes to have around in her first few months with a new baby) is in storage and I have no clue where: probably all the way in the very back. So there’s that.

After we fly home, Drew, Lukas, and I will be moving to our third house of the year: a furnished rental we’ll live in for a few months while we hunt for a house to buy. On the one hand, that makes me feel slightly crazy if I think about it too much: yet another, unfamiliar house to call temporarily home and to Lukas-proof.

But (surprise!) there are perks to this strange, nomadic lifestyle we’ve adopted. I’m rather obsessive when it comes to organizing and cleaning and maintaining a comfortable, clean space. I could see myself stooping to all sorts of extreme nesting shenanigans if I was back in our house on Sprunt; the sorts of things only crazy (or crazy pregnant) people tackle.

Cleaning the trim on my hands and knees with a sponge: check. De-cluttering and organizing the closets: check. Wiping down the microwave and de-greasing the inside of the oven (gross): check.

But in a rental…it’s not my space. I can’t paint walls, buy accessories, or worry about the cats shedding all over the furniture (a very real concern, since Trixie thinks shedding is her life’s purpose or some nonsense like that). Sure, the house should probably be cleaned on a semi-regular basis, but I feel absolutely no desire to organize closets, scrub floors (or trim), or re-arrange furniture in a rental (this theory has been tested here in Alaska, in an attempt to Lukas-proof, with great success). For whatever reason, if it’s not MY space, I don’t care. Don’t get me wrong: I’m not a slob. I’ll clean the toilets and vacuum the floors, but I’m not about to expend extra energy doing someone else’s spring cleaning.

I have an amazing sister and a friend (my sister’s sister-in-law–are you confused yet?) who graciously said they’d lend me the newborn essentials our wee baby boy will need. So as long as I can calm the anxious, oh-my-gosh-you-plan-to-bring-a-newborn-home-to-WHAT part of my mind…it’s all going to work out just fine.

All photos taken by my extremely talented sis, Giedre, of Walking Dot Photography.

spring

It’s been drizzling all morning. The living room window is cranked open, the sliding glass door pushed back to let in a cold breeze. The sound of car tires splashing through puddles mixes pleasantly with the swaying of the trees.

Spring arrived in early May. It was an unobtrusive arrival. One day, the entire landscape was a dreary brown: grass, trees, and the surrounding hills. The next day, a few bright green buds appeared on trees. In the span of several weeks, the landscape slowly transformed into two shades of green: the bright chartreuse I’m familiar with, interspersed with the rich, dark green of Alaska’s tall evergreens. After months of snow, it’s a spectacular sight.

The streets have been transformed as well. Gone are the dirty snow berms and the small lakes of melted snow. People are out and about, soaking in the sun like it’s their job. The quiet, dark town from February has turned into one continuous party. Throughout the day, I see so many people: walking their dogs, pushing strollers, running, rollerblading (just the one guy, that one time, but still), 4-wheeling down the road. There are children everywhere. The parents we know are easy going, putting their kids to bed at late hours so everyone can enjoy the sun.

It’s a strange world here, one divided into darkness and daylight. In the winter, we hibernated. But now that spring is here, the party is never ending.

the send off

a look back

The first time we pulled up to the little yellow house, there was a tall, scraggly bush blocking the front window. The large galley kitchen hadn’t been renovated in decades. The backyard contained more dirt and twigs than grass. You’re probably wondering why in the world my husband and I were so excited about this house.

Standing in the living room on that weekday afternoon, I saw past all the cosmetic problems. The house had a whimsy that called to me. I saw gleaming, heart-of-pine floors; original metal doorknobs; and a front and back yard that would be ours to landscape as we pleased. But the biggest seller (sorry, little yellow house) was the neighborhood. Every town has the “it” neighborhoods; the ones that send out wily, siren calls, attracting locals and out-of-towners alike. Watts Hillandale is an “it” neighborhood.  If the landlord approved our lease, we would live within walking distance of multiple coffee shops, restaurants, even grocery stores.

* * * 

The email came one morning while we were sitting in our tiny apartment balcony. “WE GOT THE HOUSE!” I yelled triumphantly. No more neighbors pounding above our heads. No more concrete jungle right outside our living room window. Even though we were trading the perks of new construction—things like walk-in closets, high ceilings, and a modern kitchen—for a house built in the 1940’s, my husband and I were ecstatic.

We moved in and immediately started putting down roots. That little yellow house on Sprunt Avenue holds some of my sweetest—and most painful—memories.

I remember throwing a huge house warming party. It was September and everyone was wearing shorts and sandals. The kitchen counter was loaded with food—crispy mac’n cheese, pulled pork saturated in BBQ sauce, chilled bottles of white wine. It was only a rental, but I loved how excited our friends were for us. 

I remember sitting on the floor of the shower, arms wrapped around my legs, hot water pounding steadily on my head. I was sobbing. We had just begun our third year of infertility and I wanted a baby so badly. My heart felt raw. When I finally got out of the shower, I flopped down on the bed, wet hair scattering over dry covers and head pounding with a ferocious headache.

I remember agonizing over paint swatches, holding first one, than another up to the kitchen cabinets. I spent a summer sanding, painting, and hanging cabinet doors. By the time autumn rolled in, our kitchen sported dark wood floors, freshly painted cabinets, new hardware, and mossy green walls. It felt like a brand new space.

I remember a year later, I was home alone and holding a positive pregnancy test in one hand. Time stood still that evening. When my husband pulled in front of the house a few hours later, I ran down the sidewalk in my bare feet, waving the chunky plastic stick in the air. His eyes widened in disbelief when he realized what I was holding. “Really?” he asked, not daring to believe that the unattainable had finally happened.

I remember holding our tiny baby boy in the front yard. Lukas was four days old and I was exhausted in a way I’ve never been before in my entire life—but dang it, I was so happy. It was May and I was in short sleeves and sandals. He was dressed in a white onesie, a muslin blanket wrapped snugly around his tiny hands and feet. My sister was taking newborn photos.

* * *

Fast-forward seven months.

We decide to pursue a crazy adventure. My husband is taking a travel nursing job in Fairbanks, Alaska. It means giving up the little yellow house, putting our belongings temporarily into storage, and moving farther west than either of us has ever been in our lives. A few days before Drew signs on the dotted line, we’re steamrolled with a huge surprise: a positive pregnancy test. If life was a train ride, we just went from zero to sixty in the span of a few days.

I dread leaving our little yellow house behind. But as we approach our final few weeks, the flu hits with a vengeance. Drew and Lukas are sick for an appropriate number of days: about three days’ worth of achy bones, fevers, and general yuckiness. But for me, the flu descends in all its terribly glory. This includes the worst cough I’ve ever experienced in my life—I feel like throwing up every single time. I’m sick for almost ten days and packing falls to the wayside.

The last few days of our lease, I’m finally healthy enough to sweep floors and pack up the final, random assortment of objects left in the house. This is our fourth move and the absolute worst. All the nostalgia I felt about leaving the little yellow house is (mostly) swept away in the desire to just be done. It has turned into the move from hell.

But as I sit in the car, waiting for Drew to lock up, I study the outside of the little yellow house for the last time. Our three years here have been crazy, but the good kind of crazy. And true to form, the house is sending us off with another dose of crazy: a wild Alaskan adventure and a new baby. If I had known then what I know now…well, I’d do it all over again. And the house knows this. I swear I see it wink as we pull away from the curb.

lukas tomas | one year

You, our little boy, are one today. Somebody pinch me, please.

You slept in until 8:30 this morning. When I walked into your room, I told you that exactly one year ago today, you were already three hours old. I can't remember if I had been moved to my room yet. You were in the special care nursery, sleeping peacefully in a bubble, your tiny body connected to wires. Your daddy was wearing a path down the halls: peeking in on you, coming back to see how I was doing, back to the nursery for another wave and a peek.

Today, you had a breakfast of champions: two hardboiled eggs, crusted with salt; toast slathered with cottage cheese; and milk. I pulled a pair of shorts out of the dryer for you because the high is supposed to be 71 degrees. It's your first time wearing shorts this year. You surprised me with three dirty diapers and I surprised myself by spilling pineapple juice on the kitchen floor and scattering flecks of powdered foundation all over the bathroom sink. This happened all before noon (possibly a record for us both?), which absolutely necessitated a trip to Alaska Coffee Roasters for an iced chai and a phone call to your Teta Giedre. I remember when you used to sit in the stroller with your little legs extended straight out (was that only a month ago?), but today, your Tom-clad feet pointed down and it made me a little sad. You looked like a big boy. Halfway home, you decided the weather was just too nice for shoes, so you pulled off a Tom and dropped it in the road. A breeze ruffled your blonde hair and I could tell you loved having one foot bare. You wiggled your toes the rest of the way home.

Lukai, you've made this year a whirlwind. Your daddy and I have loved practically every bit of it (those times you woke up at 2AM and refused to go back to sleep weren't the best, I'll admit it). You're the most relaxed kiddo I've ever met; you love examining objects and figuring out how they work; when you smile, your entire face lights up and we can't help but grin back. You love balloons, airplanes zooming noisily over our house, meal times, two stuffed moose named Moosetopher and Junie, and swaying to music. We can't imagine our lives without you, Lukai.  

Myliu,

Mama