Tag Archives: Holiday

As you may have noticed, the internet has exploded with fall bucket lists. Most of them look something like this:

or this:

I thought it was cute until I realized I don’t want to do most of those things. I mean, I want to in the way I want to go to the movies or go wine tasting, but it’s unrealistic with an infant. Also, hay makes me itchy.

So I made my own bucket list, with things I will actually do.

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What’s on your fall bucket list?

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There have been some exciting new things showing up around here lately.

For starters, Grandma Baer gave us Austin’s old mobile from when he was a baby. I had been resisting mobiles because most of them are plastic, flashy, and make terrible mind-numbing noises–but this one is wooden, quiet, and very aesthetically pleasing. Most importantly, Waylon thinks it’s the shiz. He will grin and coo at that hippopotamus for 15 minutes! That may not sound like a long time to you, but it is to me. Today I actually brushed my hair. Winning!

Baby is not the only one with a new toy. This weekend Austin surprised me with a new (old) car!

Pause For The Very Boring History of My Driving Life:

First there was the ’93 Mercury Sable. I got it when I passed my driver’s test and drove it like a bat outta hell. Whose idea was it to let 16 year olds drive?? I totaled it a few months later after hitting a patch of black ice on the way to school. It was a sad day.

It looked something like this.

My dad graciously replaced the Sable with an 1989 Volvo station wagon. I called it “the hearse.” It was pretty awesome.

After that car (not surprisingly) kicked the bucket, I drove my parents’ vehicles around until I went to college and didn’t need one.

A few years later, after a lot of begging and pleading and ridiculous drama on my part, the guy I was engaged to at the time bought me a 99′ Acura Integra so that I could be more “independent” (a whole other story).

It was red and had a sunroof and made me feel like a million bucks.

Seven years, three dents, and some major paint chipping later and I’m beginning to feel a little like a white trash mama in a beater car.

Cosmetic issues aside, it’s also just too dang small. My head touches the ceiling and the carseat barely fits in the backseat. Not only that, it’s terribly unsafe in rain, much less snow, and so low to the ground it feels like you’re drag racing. Oh–and the window is broken…(and so on and so on).

So we got a Forrester. A 1999 black Subaru Forrester to be exact. I love it. Bigger, safer, and in excellent condition. Compared to the Acura, I feel like the coolest mom on the block.

You may be wondering (but probably would never ask)– where the heck did you get the money for this? Aren’t you destitute and living off medical school loans?

Good question.

It was 5,000 dollars. We borrowed it from family. The End.

Dad: Are you now considered an official flaming liberal?

Me: Absolutely.

Waylon couldn’t be more pleased.

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I am writing this in a hurry. Why? Somehow, someway, in my post-baby delirium, I scheduled multiple day, overnight visitors back to back for two solid weeks. Basically for the rest of August, I am playing host. And before they arrive, there are about two hundred tiny things I need to get done, all requiring both of my hands free, which is a rare occurrence.

This is not a complaint. I want to see all of these loved ones, I guess I just wish I could be a bit more exciting. You know, have fun activities planned, cook up fancy meals, create a perfect guest experience.

I was telling my friend Kim that I was hosting all of these folks this month and her mouth dropped open in horror. She said, in her experienced mama voice, “Kate, that is too much.” And I agree, it is. But here’s the thing–I love playing host. I love it and I always have.

My aunt (or rather, Austin’s aunt…but I like to claim her as my own) hosts a two-day soiree at her home every year for all the women in the family. It is simply fabulous. There are activities, outings, favors, and plenty of decadent food and wine. I have long dreamt of hosting a similar event. In fact, one of my go-to daydreams revolves around the ideal party; how I would decorate, who I would invite, and what we would do. It’s always overnight. It always involves an itinerary. And I’m always wearing the perfect white hostess dress.

I suppose a lot of this desire to host has to do with my constant need to be in control of social situations. I am, to a fault, always overly concerned with how everyone else is doing. Are they enjoying their food? Do they have enough to drink? Should I turn down the music? Did I remember to light the bathroom candle?

My soon-to-be-guests are inevitably reading this post and feeling guilty about their visits, but let me reassure you all that I want you to come. I just wish I could serve you breakfast in bed, in your very own guest room, and then spend the rest of our days together doing the most fantastic, inspiring, relaxing, and invigorating things. Instead, you’ll be sleeping on a terrible air mattress in the living room, eating cereal for breakfast, and spending the rest of the day watching me jiggle my baby and belly around the house. I apologize in advance for my undusted shelves and constantly bared breasts.

I leave you with a few photos from my daydreams. Maybe someday they’ll come true. You know, when I’m not dead broke with a newborn and running on e(mpty).

You’re all invited.

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{Click On Photos for Photo Credit}

As we pack up our life here in Lancaster over the next two days and head to our new small town to be closer to Penn State, I find myself clinging to the silliest of things; the purple front door, our tiny mailbox, the way the apartment smells in the summertime. I walk out to our busy street corner with tears in my eyes, thinking–how will I ever say goodbye?

(Obviously) I am a sentimental person. Austin is not. He will leave here with no tribulation and forget what color the walls were and how we decorated for Christmas the minute we step into our next apartment. Meanwhile I will be grieving this place for the next decade. Seriously. I still think about the first apartment we lived in together, remembering the funny back porch and wonderful counter space and we haven’t lived there for years. What is wrong with me?!

A long time ago I wrote an overly wordy post about forward thinkers and backward thinkers. I am definitely a backwards thinker, making it hard for me to say goodbye to anything. If I wasn’t so claustrophobic, I’d definitely end up on one of those shows about hoarding.

It helps to remind myself that there are a lot of great things about this move:

We will have more space.

We will have a dishwasher!

There is off street parking.

We will have a washer and dryer (finally!).

Baby W will have his own room.

Baby Daddy will have his own (study) room.

The kitchen is just fabulous.

We will have more space.

If you could see me now, you’d see that I am crammed into a living area the size of some people’s walk in closets. It’s small. I should be super excited about this upgrade, and I am…it’s just hard to say goodbye. Luckily I’m married to a forward thinker who helps me get excited about change. I also have a super cute baby who will definitely appreciate the bigger space once he’s rolling/crawling/walking all over the place.

And so we move forward, as we should, to new sites and smells and sounds and mailboxes and Christmas memories. Change is good, and the truth is that goodbyes are only hard when there is something great to say goodbye to.

So, goodbye Lancaster. It’s been just about perfect.

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