The sort of time that makes me better…

April

In this month-long hiatus from blogging, I have missed writing very much. But it’s with grateful hearts that we have lived the last few weeks under careful guard of our minds and bodies. It has been a very private season for us, but a very good season of life. We’re growing together as a family in new ways that I can only begin to understand.

You see, in February we found out that we are pregnant again! We waste no time around here. It’s just that we got so abundantly blessed the first time around with Poppy that we figure, hey why not? Let’s give this world another amazing human being! And so in October, little Boots Wadenpfuhl will be making her/his debut. Jacob and I are not the guessing or predicting type, so we think it’s baby with two eyes, two hands, one head. No idea if it’s a boy or girl. I feel much more protective of this pregnancy and I’m not sure why. I wasn’t even that excited to tell people. It was like a secret I wanted to keep, which is so unlike me. I don’t know how much I will or won’t blog about this go around of pregnancy. Maybe a lot, maybe a little. Right now, I am really guarding how much I say about it. Maybe I wish I had done that with Poppy’s, and so I am making up for it a bit.

One thing I’ll never not tell you is all about being sick! My all-day-sickness is really rough with this pregnancy and am about to enter the second trimester with no end in sight. With Poppy, my sickness lasted into the late teens weeks, and I am anticipating the same here. So that’s one of my big reasons for not writing here much. All I can think about is puking and getting through each day without losing my mind. The bright spots are few, and I am grateful. Poppy keeps me awake and on my feet. She has no time for this silly sickness nonsense. And I don’t want to miss a second of her toddler life, so I drag myself along, hoping to soak up every last ounce of our final days as The Lone Ranger and Tonto. Pretty soon our dynamic duo will be a trio! I can’t believe it!

In March, we found out that Jacob is losing his job. We are faced with the care of a baby-in-the-belly and a toddler-in-the-world without health care or a salary. The job hunt is on, though it goes slowly and without much promise. We are holding onto a lot of faith. And we know like the sparrows, we will have everything we need when we need it.

And now it’s April and spring is finally here to stay. My tulips are popping up. I am eager to get outside and plant more loveliness. Poppy brings us her shoes every chance she gets and says “Out! Out!” She is quite the spunky little girl-child we always knew she’d be. She gets into everything and never sits still for more than a second. If she’s not tearing through the yard, she is dancing. If she is not climbing up and down the stairs, she is opening all of the kitchen cupboards and making herself a snack of brown rice and old croutons. It is truly a whirlwind to be in her presence.

So that’s where we’ve been. A good season of life, but a quiet one. Carrying our family through difficult storms. It’s not fun, but it is the sort of time that make me better. All hardships are only for a short while, right? Nothing lasts forever. And so I write again to give you a small peek into my head. Because some things in life do have to be shared. Some don’t, but some do. And I’ve missed the partnership of writer and reader. It is sort of really nice, so I hope you’ll continue coming back to Crunchy Cursive as I open myself to write more. Not everything, but some things. Amen?

A reading resolution

Since I’ve been a small girl, I have had an insatiable appetite for reading. My mother has the American Girl and Mandie series to thank for that. I read all the time, finishing whole books in mere days. My sister and I slept in the basement, so it was easy to stay undercover and read into the wee hours of the night. When I was in the 2nd grade my mom held a five dollar bill in front of my face and challenged me to complete the entire Little Women unabridged edition. I re-read it several more times after that.

There is a huge bookshelf in our dining room now that holds many of the childhood books that both Jacob and I hold dear. My prized copy of Tolstoy’s War and Peace sits proudly on the fiction shelf saying HEY YOU! YOU READ ME! YOU READ THE WHOLE THING! GO YOU!

The Internets is out to destroy books. Of this I am totally sure. The Kindle? Are you serious? I’m sorry, but I like holding a book in my hands and feeling the texture of the smooth cover and the soft, paper-y pages. I don’t care if it makes my bag heavy. I don’t care if my personal library takes over an entire room. They’re BOOKS FOR HEAVEN’S SAKE!

Unfortunately of late, I’ve been reading more blogs and Facebook statuses than books. It’s sad really. It made me so sad that I decided with the New Year would come a resolution to read more books. More REAL books.

Remember how my mom offered me five dollars to finish Little Women? Well, I need that kind of motivation to get started. Luckily, I found this resolution reward chart on Twitter. Little squares to stamp and mark off the calendar saying I’ve accomplished my goal? It’s just the motivation I need to read real books everyday.

I got a whole bunch of new books for Christmas, including a biography of Nureyev, and a collection of the best American short stories. I’ve also started reading a charming – and surprisingly full of depth – children’s series by Avi about a little mouse named Poppy. I am enchanted already.

poppy_avi

I am excited to renew my love of reading and my hunger for it. All without the Internets.

The new year

I have had a week off from blogging, from the whole Internet really, and it couldn’t have come at a better time. Dear Readers, you do not want to hear about the last seven days in my world. Nope, you don’t. If I had been blogging this whole time, you would have had to listen to a symphony of stressful holidays, sick grandparents, a funeral, last minute travel plans, flying with a 10-month-old, sickness, a forgotten anniversary, more sickness, a tragic dog story, and a not-so-Happy-New-Year.

As a writer, I want to process all of these things in word-form, but instead I say let us allow the winds of change to blow them away and start afresh. It is a new year after all, right?

It crossed my mind to end this blog come the new year, as it sometimes becomes a burden to maintain. My writing seems dry to me. I don’t like what I’ve written of late. I don’t like when my writing becomes vindictive or defensive, which it has at times this past year. I feel as though I spend most of my time explaining myself, my actions. A personal lashing out, if you will. Navigating life is hard, even harder with A BLOG on your back.

In a new outlook on life, I hope to grow more confident in myself. Accountable only to truth and love, not guilt and obligation. I hope to be free to think and write and grow at my own pace. And goddammit, I am sick of explaining my (our) decisions to people. It’s time to press on and let Time be the great equalizer.

This is a tangent? Yes, OK. But you get the idea? It’s been a great year of blogging, but a challenging one. Weekend Moments was a successful venture, I think. Documenting new motherhood has been something most invaluable to me. Sharing stories and pictures of Poppy seemed to be a hit among the relatives. I think I made a total of $21 on Google Adsense this year. Phooey pants. Oh well, someday I’ll get paid to write.

In the new year, I will be cutting down on my “hot” days. No, no, not the days when I walk around in my Apple-Bottom-Jeans-And-The-Boots-With-The-Fur. But rather the “hot” days that I am online from morning ’til night, checking the blogosphere and Facebook-o-sphere at every possible moment that I am not spending changing a diaper, cleaning up Cheerios off the floor, or keeping the baby from sticking her fingers in an outlet. Three days a week will be solely set aside for reading REAL books, writing on REAL paper, and talking in REAL life to REAL people. And this blog will have to wait on those days. Am I scared to hell of losing readership? Yes. But at least I know my mom and my brothers Pat and TJ will still read this blog until the day I die. (Hi guys!)

With the merriest of wishes I can muster up today, I do wish you and yours a Happy New Year. May it be full of bold choices, kind words, better relationships, small pleasures, and lots of laughter. Oh, and reading what’s left of this blog.

The days of December

When Poppy was born, this blog, along with just about everything in my world, became all about her. In an effort to keep up with this way of life, I present to you a Poppy Update. Complete with photos and witty quips!

Poppy Anne is 10.5 months old now, but who’s counting? I mean, who cares that she is a mere 1.5 months away from the big ONE YEAR OLD. I mean, no one is crying about that yet, right?

DSCF0150-pola

A week before we were set to move to the new house, Poppy woke up during the night with her first high fever. She was so pathetic, and cute, at the same time. The three of us snuggled on the couch and watched Lord Of The Rings at 4AM. A few days later, Poppy sprouted this nice pair of pearly whites. Her first teeth!

DSCF0183-pola

Poppy is on the move these days. She can walk along furniture, crawl forward and backward, and pull her self up on the most dangerous of apparatus, including our television cabinet. She has been testing her balance and even took two unassisted steps into my arms last night! She loves to walk with Jacob on the new set of stairs we’ve recently acquired.

DSCF0075-pola

DSCF0197-pola

Poppy is saying lots of new words…

Mama (YES!)

Dada (She yells this one)

Ouch (This one is super cute to listen to)

Night Night (Which is cried through tears, “Ni Ni Ni Ni”)

and Meow (in her cutest, most high-pitched voice)

DSCF0170-pola

Poppy survived the move much better than her parents. She played with Aunt Amy all day and slept like an angel on the first night in her new room. I give this kid BIG props. She loves her new house already, as evidenced by the trail of mess she so lovingly leaves wherever she goes.

DSCF0117-pola

Speaking of sleeping, our champion girl sleeps straight through the night and takes two naps a day, which makes me both extremely lucky and very SANE. Lovey is still Poppy’s closest companion (after Cheerios and Raffi of course), and if not for this little blanket, life would be so rough for our Princess.

DSCF0143-pola01

Poppy has also learned to hit us when she’s upset. It’s so hard not to laugh when we say, “Poppy, you may not hit,” and then she stops, looks back and forth between us both, gets a glorious grin across her face, and then WHACK! I can’t even tell you how many times in the last couple of weeks that Jacob has turned to me and said, “How the hell am I going to teach her to stop doing this?” Then she turns and smacks him again and we have to leave the room so she can’t see us laughing. And crying.

DSCF0153-pola

I could on and on about my tiny Poptart. She is growing into an amazing little person. I love to watch her learn new things everyday. She’s my pal and my buddy. She’s been a trooper and a joy as our family works to settle into a new place. She is leanring to test boundaries, explore her feelings and her wants, and the best of all? She is learning to love. She gives hugs when you ask her, and she finds quiet moments during playtime to turn around, crawl into my lap, and sit awhile while I kiss her soft forehead.

Babyhood is behind us and we are quickly moving on to the Bobbler stage. And this Mama couldn’t be more excited.

DSCF0191-pola

Home is where the mind is

I’ve really been wanting to update this blog today, but instead my mind is wrapped up around the fact that we are moving a few weeks and I JUST started processing this.

Perhaps a photo can illustrate the interior-decorating-stir-fry that is my brain right now.

Moving Jumble

No, this photo isn’t staged. I am actually surrounded by house/moving stuff right now. Poppy has yet to eat any of the paint cards! [PS. Why do babies love to eat paper?]

I will resurface soon with something good and juicy for you. Like maybe the Google search terms that have been used to get to this site. Two words for you – Cursive Poop.

This post brought to you by the letters Xanax.

I had a dream last night about a little log cabin in the woods. A dream about a little log cabin in the woods, in a tiny clearing, near a bubbling brook sounds nice, doesn’t it? Only, in my dream, things weren’t peaceful and quaint as one might expect in a dream about a little log cabin in the woods. Oh no. You see, my brain has this weird way of turning the most unassuming real life scenarios into episodes of drowning seas of PANIC and MAYHEM.

For starters, my little log cabin in the woods had no floor for the loft and we were being forced to move in the next day with no floor, no ceiling, and a mobile baby about to plummet 20 feet to her death. In my dream, Jacob and I were tip-toeing around the beams of the house trying to figure out how we could afford to build a second floor for our newly acquired log cabin. Oh, and the basement of this cabin was haunted, so we couldn’t go down there or use it for storage. Oh, and Tituba from the witchcraft trials of Salem was there. Did I forget to mention that besides being a naturally anxious person, I also hate basements and I am afraid of heights. I am DEATHLY afraid of other people falling from heights while I stand there and watch. And there’s Poppy, crawling around the rafters of a log cabin, about to fall 20 feet into the arms of the FIRST PERSON TO CONFESS TO WITCHCRAFT IN SALEM VILLAGE.

I believe the part of my brain that produces fear and anxiety has been implanted with a giant magnet. And every single memory and sensory stimulation that I process during the course of my life gets sucked into this portion of my brain, where it stops, gets slimed with panic, and starts screaming FIRE! RUN! WITCHES! HEIGHTS! DEATH! DROWNING! BANKRUPTCY! STRANGER DANGER! ALERT! ALERT! There’s just no “Tone-It-Down” button in there.

It’s totally weird because when it comes to some things, I am surprisingly calm. Like Poppy for instance. She falls and hits her face on the kitchen floor – I don’t panic. She reaches over and licks the touch pad on the credit card reader at the grocery store – I don’t flinch. But heavens, when it comes to things like log cabins, I just can’t keep my shit together.

All this to say, I have anxiety issues and they manifest themselves in the most peculiar ways. Am I right, Tituba?

Weekend Moment::Breathless Autumn

We took a very long Sunday drive today through northern Ohio today. I know I’ve said before that fall is my favorite season, but today was my most favorite day of the fall season of the history of my life. Right in the middle of the afternoon, I felt like the earth was at the perfect, and most beautiful pass between life and death. There was just enough color left in the trees, just the right amount of bare branches poking the blue sky, plenty of harvested fields and cool air to make our little corner of the world seem like a swirling oil canvas just beginning to fade into whiteness. The sun was shining and the leaves were dancing their way to the ground, happily giving up their beauty for Winter’s cold hand. I can’t help but think of how their purpose is fulfilled and now they must lay in the ground and await Spring’s call. I love autumn.

Autumn panels

Breaking the bank news

I’m blogging from the bathroom, if that gives you any indication of not only my love for you, dear Readers, but of the insanely busy-crazy week we are having over here. Let me give you a little run down.

On Tuesday, we looked at a house. On Wednesday, we met with a mortgage lender, an accountant, and a real estate agent. On Thursday, we bid on said house. On Friday, we found out said bid was accepted. On Saturday, we filed our mortgage application, signed our offer contract, and scheduled the home inspection. In five days flat, we went from “Hey, what’s a house?” to “Whoa, that’s our house!”

I wish I could explain to you how I am feeling right now. Aside from the obvious “What the hell?” moments, I am a smoothie of blended emotions. The truth is, I can’t explain it very well. This whole house thing has just happened so fast. Our new home is still in the city that we love, in a wonderful neighborhood full of old houses, city parks, coffee shops, art galleries and the like. It is cozy and warm and ready to be made a home. We are moving in December.

I am so grateful that this shot in the dark of ours has turned out so well. So much we don’t deserve is happening right now in front of our faces. We don’t deserve to find a house that is the same monthly cost as our current rent. We don’t deserve to get chosen in a multiple-offer bidding session. We most certainly don’t deserve to be approved for a loan. A loan from a bank. A big, fat loan from a big, fat bank.

We are going back to see the house later this week, so I will try to remember to take pictures. After, of course, I stop running around the yard screaming, “This is OUR HOUSE!”

New House!

So let it be written

Over the summer, I read a lot of juvenile fiction and felt really inspired and reconnected to my love of reading. My affair with fiction started way back as a child when our librarian (Hi Ms. Gold!) handed me a book by Beverly Cleary called Ramona and Her Father. There was no turning back – I fell in love with all kinds of stories and the characters within them.

About two months ago, I decided it was time to write again. To write for fun, for purpose, for myself. I am a writer at heart. I love reading stories and hearing stories, and I especially love weaving them.

That being said, I suck at writing. I don’t give it enough time in my life and it’s not even close to the top of Leanne’s Priority List to Survive Daily Life. I knew that I needed to set some kind of personal goal to get me writing again. I needed a plan and a platform. This is how Short Story September was born. My goal was to write one whole story in September, completed in four parts.

I have learned so much about myself during this process. I remember at last what it is about story telling that makes me swoon. The ability to let my mind take me wherever it wants to go – even in the description of the tiniest detail – is both exhilarating and challenging. I love to think up characters and make them come to life. And I just CANNOT get enough of unexpected twists (Hi Elya!).

So, if you like stories like I do, please read the very first installment of Short Story September and tell me what you think! No matter your responses, Dear Readers, I have made a promise to myself that this venture will continue, if just for my own sake. In the great words of Jo March,

“Late at night my mind comes alive with voices and stories and friends as dear to me as any in the real world. I give myself up to it, longing for transformation.”

[Follow my writing ventures on Twitter, so you don't miss the stories to come!]

Because here at Crunchy Cursive, we always aim to please!

Dear Readership,

I was just wondering today what it is that you might like to see more of around here? Whining? Complaining? Complexing? Photography? Videos? Dunkits? Links?

As an avid blog-follower myself, I enjoy the times when I get to learn something new about a blogger or a favorite subject of mine. Why, yes! I have always wondered what the inside of your bathroom looks like! Thanks for sharing!

In an effort to be YOUR favorite blogger, let me know what it is that you want to know about me, or what you features and categories you like to read most.

Express yourself! I’m listening.

Love,

Leanne

A special announcement, Readers

No, I am NOT pregnant, so put that party blower away!

After weeks of writing, editing, setting up a Tumblr account, re-reading, editing again, and completely starting over, I am ready to announce something big! As many of you know, I have a degree in writing, I love writing, and I am especially a sucker for good fiction. In my efforts to grow myself as a writer and to use my craft instead of letting it collect dust on the shelf, I am proud to announce the launch of Short Story September!

[Go check it out, I'll wait here]

My goal is to finish one part of a short story each week this month, and complete the whole thing in thirty days. [Yes, even taking time to write next week while we are on vacation!]. If things go all right – meaning I don’t lose my mind or my marriage – then perhaps this project will bleed over into October or [gasp!] November!

Hopefully, writing will become a part of my life again. I would like to have a collection of short works of fiction to call my own. Maybe I can do one story a month, maybe one every two months. It will depend on how things go. One thing is for certain – I am committed to making Short Story September work. I have a dream to one day write a published novel. This is my baby step. My teeny, tiny baby step.

[Add Short Story September to your RSS feed, or follow us on Twitter so you don't miss a thing!]

Parenthood in the age of scientific research, blogging and the Internet

Thursdays always make me think…

Coming into my parentness has been the most incredible journey I have traveled thus far. More incredible than my journey into adolescence and adulthood. More transforming than my journey into wifehood. Parenthood has been the fastest track to the discovery of so many things about myself, my spouse, my family, my friends, my world. Truly.

The hardest thing about becoming a parent has been the labels. Really, you wouldn’t believe what’s going on out there in the parent ‘hood. So many labels, arguments, crusaders. A new parent has to but merely hit “breastfeeding” in the Google search bar to find a myriad of angry, hurt, justice-questing parents blogging, tweeting, and creating Internet cliques for parents on every point on the parenting spectrum. As a new parent, it’s so hard to find a place to fit. When every other parent feels as though they must take on the cause for YOUR child, it can be super overwhelming to hold your own and do what you know is the best for your baby.

Before I had Poppy, I thought I knew who I was and how I felt about the way I wanted to live. After just six months of coming into my parentness, I am finding that I know nothing for sure about myself and even less for sure about the world around me.

There is an unspoken cloud looming around parenting and the Internets. An almost tangible pressure on new parents to fight the attachment parenting/hippie/crunchy against the mainstream/plastic parenting style. If you’re not for the “cause” then you are against it. If you dare open your mouth and say, “Look, this is OK for me and my family and it lines up with our values,” you had better be ready for the Internet’s equivalent of a tropical storm. You will be left standing alone in the wreckage of your choices and your once confidence.

When I DECIDED to give up on breastfeeding after seven weeks of trying, with not but one ounce a day of milk and several shady prescription orders from New Zealand, I was wracked with so much guilt. If one more person said to me, “Breast is Best!” I was going to puke. Do you really need to tell me that? Obviously I can tell from my own body that it’s trying to feed it’s new baby, but it can’t. I don’t need anyone to tell me that what my body should do naturally is the best thing for me and my child.

And you know what? You don’t need to tell anyone else. If they want to bottle feed, then it’s their choice. I’m sure their baby will be just fine, because mine is. Whether it’s for medical or convenience reason, what does it matter to you? If you feel guilty telling a woman who can’t breastfeed for medical reasons that she is not doing what is best for her and her baby, then why do you need to take up the cause against a mother who makes the same choice for a different reason? Choice, people. Choice. I believe strongly in it and I think every new parent should be supported in their CHOICES. For the same reason I believe in homosexuals’ right to adopt, the right of parents to chose any form of education they see fit for their children, and the right of every parent to live in peace with the decisions they make for themselves and their children. Come on Internets, grow up. Don’t take up causes for people who have every sense and right to make choices for their babies. It’s all good, yo.

Breastfeeding isn’t the only issue here. Natural birth. Organic food. Pacifiers. The list goes on. I used to think very black-and-white on these issues, but after experiencing them all myself, I don’t think I could every say any of them are black-and-white ever again. I wouldn’t do that to any parent who made a different choice than me. It’s about peace with ourselves, ultimately.

When I was pregnant, a trusted friend had me recite this… “If breastfeeding makes my baby smart, then formula makes my baby….?”

“Dumb?” I said.

Dumb. Poppy has been on formula since she was seven weeks old and I will punch anyone IN THE FACE who says she is dumb. Fer real. I will.

So let’s stop the back and forth. The hands up, guns out appraoch to parenting choices. Let’s honestly learn how to live in harmony, whether you are a co-sleeping, crunchy mama or a stroller-pushing, bottle-feeding mama. Let’s not set our kids against each other so early on. We’re all in the same court, let’s find what we have in common instead of what we don’t. Internets, let’s all be friends!

Fried Chicken

Did anyone else notice that all my uses of the word “crunchy” the other day brought up a ton of KFC recipe advertisements in Google Ads today? Yesssss.

Crunchy what?

I’ve had quite a few new readers email me, or grab me in person, and say something to the likes of “I read your blog, what’s it called? Crispy something? Why is it called Crunchy Cursive?”

While I do like the word “crispy,” I am not writing a blog about chicken, or Corn Flakes. I think it might be time for a little refresher course for my new – and old – readers.

The name Crunchy Cursive was thought up really late at night while Jacob and I were playing around on the Internets trying to come up with a domain name for my new blog site. Staying true to my hippie ways, I wanted to incorporate something in the name that would represent my tendencies toward barefootedness and natural living. Let’s turn to our friends at Urban Dictionary for the definition of crunchy:

1. crunchy \kr un chee\ adj. Used to describe persons who have adjusted or altered their lifestyle for environmental reasons. Crunchy persons tend to be politically strongly left-leaning and may be additionally but not exclusively categorized as vegetarians, vegans, eco-tarians, conservationists, environmentalists, neo-hippies, tree huggers, nature enthusiasts, etc.

The Cursive part of my blog name comes obviously, from my love of writing and the fact that this blog is a medium in which I can find a home for my writings/thoughts/ideas/memories. We will get a bit more sophisticated and turn to Merriam-Webster for our definition of cursive:

1. cursive \ker siv\ noun. Rapid handwriting in which letters are set down in full and are cursively connected within words without lifting the writing implement from the paper.

So in essence Crunchy Cursive defines me in a nutshell – a neo-hippie who writes. Voila.

I also like the two words together for their alliterative qualities and for the picture of juxtaposition they paint. When I hear the word crunchy I think of hard, sharp edges and when I hear the word cursive, I think of soft, round edges. I feel like my writing can reflect my hard or soft edge on any given day. Watch out!

So, that’s Crunchy Cursive for you. Hope it helps. What’s your blog called and why did you choose that name?

Someone keep me from throwing myself from this bridge when she starts college

Poppy slept in her crib last night. All night long. By herself.

Her nursery is on the opposite end of our modest apartment and you would have thought it was a hundred miles away, with the way I was sobbing in my pillow. It was a great night for her and she slept straight on through in her preferential sprawled out style, which was becoming increasingly difficult for her to do in her newborn bassinet. Still, did I mention that her nursery is two rooms away?

After she had been asleep in her crib for a few hours last night, Jacob and I were getting ourselves ready for bed. While he was finishing up the dishes in the kitchen, I walked into our bedroom, saw the empty bassinet next to the bed, and burst into tears. I walked back into the kitchen and buried my head in Jacob’s neck.

“What’s the matter, Honey?”

“She’s not in her bassinet”
[Insert more tears and lamenting here]

It probably didn’t help my state of mind that I had been perusing Flickr a few hours before and saw some delicious, wrinkled, new baby skin. Fresh, pink baby skin is my major, major weakness. Need something from me? Just wave some flaky, soft baby feet in front of my face and I’m all yours. I announced to a rather stunned Jacob that I was ready to have another baby. We agreed this was an irrational hallucination and my ovaries were playing tricks on me. No more babies for a long, long time. In fact, we are in the process of saving our dough to start the adoption process in a couple of years. By God’s grace, Poppy’s first sibling will be coming to us through adoption.

Needless to say, I am doing better this morning and stopped crying after I realized this transition from cradle-to-crib pales in comparison to upcoming milestones like first day of preschool, first sleepover and prom. Oh my God, I’ll just start on the panic attacks right now.

Poppy in her crib

Older Posts »