Thursday, October 27, 2011


I'm a middle child. I don't really believe in baby books. What does one have to do with the other? Well, when you're a middle child, you don't get a baby book. Your parents spend all their time, energy and money on the first born and as runner-up, the nostalgia of chronicling your every single move wears off. Therefore the idea of a baby book for the second born is a lost cause. I'm not bitter. I'm actually totally cool about it. One less thing I feel I have to do. Hell, Shawn is the sixth kid in his family so he knows how I feel, two-fold. This might sound cold-hearted, disconnected or jaded but I don't mean it to. Maci Mae's life is being recorded sufficiently with the technology of today. There's the zillion photos we take, the videos we record, the scrapbook my BFF is doing, our good ol' fashioned memories and of course, this here blog. To that end, here is an update on the squirt…

Maci Mae will be 15 weeks on Saturday. She has added heft and lost hair. She sports a mean mohawk these days. I wish the remains of her hair would hurry up and fall out so we can see what it will look like when it grows back. Red-head? Blonde, perhaps? Curly, straight… time will tell. Generally, Maci is a very happy baby but can unravel quick if tired. Unravel is actually a bit of an understatement. She can downright lose her mind if she's due for a nap. She takes after her Mama. She can also slide down the slippery slope of sadness if she's hungry. Again, this is after her Mama. I'm really hoping someday down the road I can rattle off some good things she gets from me. It's not looking promising.

Now, the single most important thing you need to know about Maci, aside from the fact that we think she is the single most adorable baby ever, is that she loves white noise. LOVES. Water running, the vacuum, hairdryers, fans and most of all, the exhaust hood above the stove. Shawn figured this out one day and it has been a saving grace ever since. It must quiet the voices inside her head or something because she doesn't utter a peep when she's under the trance. It's peaceful and it's amazing. It's really our only hope when she's inconsolable.

We've developed some quirky, albeit fitting, nicknames for the wee one as well. Shawn calls her peanut butter. I don't know where it came from but he also sings her a little diddy that goes something like… "peanut-butter-peanut-butter-peanut-butter, jelly." Don't ask me. I don't know. I call her Maci, fly-catcher, DeBoer. It's her Indian name. The girl has her mouth open, wide open, at all times. At daycare, she is known as Maci Mae Mo. This came about when Bree, best-daycare-lady-EVER, was reading The Help. Of course she started calling her this before I had read the novel and I was like, what the hell? After I started the page-turner, I completely understood. Sidenote: Read this book. It's amazing.

What else? Right now, she is a drooling fool. She always has her hands together and generally, they're both in her mouth. So much so that she usually gags herself at least a dozen times a day. She babbles and most recently is holding her sounds out a lot longer. She is moving constantly and kicking like crazy. I see a swimmer or gymnast or soccer player in our future. She's not the greatest fan of being on her belly but she'll withstand it if she's on the Boppy and has something to look at. Speaking of which, she no longer wants to lay down when you hold her. She wants to sit up and out, like the queen that she is, so she can see the world. Or herself. She gets a kick out of looking in the mirror. When she spots herself, one side of her mouth points up in a shitty, sly smile that speaks of trouble to come! She's also back to sleeping like a champ at night. Shawn puts her in what he calls, the sleep trap, and she's generally out in less then five minutes. After she fought and won the battle against her first cold, and spent a weekend sleeping in her car seat in her crib, our faith in her sleeping through the night was restored. She's taken to the Nuk like a fish to water and speaking of water, she's right at home in the shower. We forgo baths and just take showers with her which seems to be a hell of a lot easier for all parties involved.

I'm guessing we're going to have a roller in our very near future and maybe, hopefully, a giggler. Time will tell and I got nothing but when it comes to this one…

Monday, October 24, 2011


I have a problem. I'm having a hard time deciphering what has to get done, what I want to get done and what absolutely can and will wait to get done. Seems easy eh? Well, take a step into the reality that is my brain. Be warned it is an anxiety-ridden environment with OCD walls, control-freak carpet and a disco ball that reflects every single one of my neurosis. It's a scary place. On second thought, step back out before you get sucked into the vortex of post-it reminders, Gmail tasks lists and budget Excel files.

I know what you're thinking. F*ck it all. Take time for yourself and spend time with your family genius. That's all that matter. Nothing is more important than the moments with your daughter, your husband, your dogs.

"Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it."
-Ferris Bueller

I get it. I really, truly do. Painfully so. But is this practical? My backwards brain beckons all too quick and pushes this common sense so far from my mind it gets blurry. The lines in the sand diminish and I inevitably revert back to trying to tackle it all. This leads me to nothing but feeling like I'm doing everything half ass. Everything half way because I'm always preoccupied with the next thing. The last thing I can squeeze in or get done before I turn in for the night. This viscous circle of a mind game is exhausting.

Dishes overflow from our counter, a tuna-stench fills the dishwasher, laundry overtakes ours and Maci's bedroom floor, the bare shelves of our pantry and fridge mock me and my ever-empty wallet, the dogs literally jump out of their skins they need a walk so bad, my bank account begs me to clip coupons, my fat rolls urge me to exercise, Shawn's work steals him for a Saturday, unfinished projects linger around every turn, winter house prepping is knocking, my dependent reimbursement plan still needs to be worked out, not to mention finding extra life insurance and creating a will now that we have a dependent, speaking of the squirt – she needs a Halloween costume, clothes need to be ironed, diapers washed, pumpkins carved or decorated, leaves raked, sofa steamed, trim painted, curtains hung, mortgage refinanced. Oh yeah and I need to remember to take time to hug my husband, cherish my child and pet the pooches. And this is all after my Mom and Grandma came for a Saturday and cleaned my entire house.

I can hear Shawn say: "Big picture. Focus on the good things and stop stressing about everything else." Stop expecting perfection. Okay. *poof* I'm cured. Except if that were the case, I would've given up Celexa a long time ago and I'd be able to live and dwell in a house with toys strewn about the floor, dishes the counter, work the table, newspapers the buffet, books the shelves, laundry the rooms, bark collars the door knobs and dogs dishes wherever they have pushed them this particular day. A messy house makes me feel claustrophobic the same way a ton of sh*t to do makes my brain feel nuts. I have to somehow learn to live with both these messes, literally and figuratively. I have to throw away my motto: a place for everything and everything in it's place. I have to learn to accept that I cannot get everything done. Our house will be a mess, the bills might not get paid and groceries might have to give way to fast food once in a while. Additionally, I then have to learn how to do it all without it making me feel like I'm suffocating so that I can stay present and enjoy that beloved time with my family. I need a steal trap inserted into this brain of mine where I can dump the "garbage" so it no longer poses a threat to my family, my well-being and my happiness.

Now, the real question. Where might one get such a trap?

Monday, October 17, 2011


Guess what Team DeBoer did yesterday? That's right, we visited our very first pumpkin patch. Here is our adventure… in pictures.

Sunday, October 9, 2011


A couple weekends ago, Miss Maci Mae got to see what Grandpa sees. His sacred hunting grounds and his final resting place. The sun poked from the separating clouds just as we arrived at one of his spots. It was as if he wanted to give us a sure fire sign that he was indeed there with us. It was peaceful, it was sad, it was long overdue, it was natural and it was indescribable. It was more for me then Maci, but someday she'll understand and she'll know she has and always can visit him. I can always visit him. He's always with us. I can close my eyes and see him. His eyes are alive and he's smiling.

Wednesday, October 5, 2011


Have no fear my 54 faithful followers, I will blog on! It's just the look of this ole blog that will be a changin'.

As a graphic designer, I thought it about time I spruce things up a bit and do a little customization to make things look my own. That being said, this will not be a quick process. With a husband, newborn, job, dogs, house and sleeping to attend to, I'll have to squeak in some design time here and there. Unfortunately that means you'll have to make due with the plain white background for now. Think of it has my modern, minimalist look.

I have plenty coming your way in the form of photos, rants, questions, projects and deep thoughts. Well, as deep as this zombie-of-a-mom can really get these days…


You might also like: