snow days

so long, farewell

It's time to say goodbye. Over the past three years this space has meant a great deal to me. And so have all of you. For many reasons I have decided it is time to close down blythe and bonnie.

I am so going to miss you guys! Thanks for everything.

hugs

happy holidays

holiday cheer

I'm not naming any names, but someone thinks sending a photo in a Christmas card is a stupid idea.

big news

Canon is engaged. Yep. The date is set for "when they grow up." He has the same last name, which she thinks is just perfect. But it's kind of a secret. They want to wait until it's closer to the date to start telling people. So...mum's the word.

Time to reconsider homeschooling, I think.

thank you, ma'am

Trying to let working with the guy who just might be the next Heisman winner (and of course...the Bronko Nagurksi Trophy winner) make up for being referred to as "ma'am" 50 times by some high school football players. I tried to get back at them by calling them "kids," but I don't think they cared.

Work is over. Now I'm off to cook dinner for the first time in WEEKS!

Ma'am...sheesh.

things

We bought a fire pit last weekend. The girls want to know why we can't "camp" every night.

"Camping" has led to an obsession with marshmallows. Elly arranged two hundred of them all over the floor this morning.

My freelance job is almost over. I am nauseous with stress.

There is peanut butter smeared on over half of our piano keys.

Mt. Laundry is about to overtake my bedroom.

Feeling guilty that I can only be frustrated with the girls while I am trying to work.

Feeling guilty for dumping the girls off on unsuspecting family members.

Ate a box of donut holes for dinner. Followed by a midnight snack of potato salad and chips and salsa. Stress makes me crave carbs...apparently.

Looking forward to getting passed this, getting back to my old self and getting excited about Christmas.

hair accessories

I have this new headband that I love. And I wear it with this dress, which I also love. But truth be told, Alex has no love for the headband. At a recent cocktail party he spent quite a bit of time positioning us so that the flower of my headband faced the wall. And of course, I spent as much time as possible drawing attention to the headband by petting it and crazily casting my eyes toward it. So I'm curious, dear blog-world friends, what would you do? He hates it. I like it. Do I continue to wear it when I'm with him?

And I am a little curious what you think of the headband. It's like this one, but grey...and um, with spots. Be honest. I can take it.

A very stylish and beautiful woman at the cocktail party told me she liked my flower. I was all "THANK YOU! My husband has been making fun of it all night." She asked me why. I told her I didn't know; he just doesn't like my headband. She recoiled almost in horror and replied, "Oh! Well..you can't even tell it's a headband." Like....it was fine when it was just a spotted flower on your head, but a headband...EGADS!

little things

Just rain on a leaf, but it made me happy. Happy Wednesday.

hello, neighbor

So...I think I have mentioned (a time or two) that I am a fan of The Avett Brothers who happen to be from my hometown. I wasn't living here when they were playing for church functions and wedding receptions. They were already selling out decent-sized venues by the time my mom told me about them. (Yes, people, my mom; I can admit it.) But I had an immediate connection to their music. The musical obsession was pretty new for me when I happened to look up from my taco salad at a local Mexican restaurant and see Scott Avett and his wife walking past my table. There is something pretty cool about making eye contact with someone whose art has touched you in an emotionally profound way.

Then a couple weeks ago, Elly and I were leaving the grocery store when Scott and his wife walked in. I unloaded my groceries in the car and went back into the store fully intending to speak to them. But I was unprepared and worried that whatever I nervously blurted out would be lame and not at all what I wanted to say.

So I thought some about what I would say if I ever happened to see him again. Because how often do you have the opportunity to have a personal connection with an artist whose work has impacted you? But over the weekend I saw Scott, his wife and their daughter leaving a local restaurant just after my mom and I had been seated...and I was too nervous to say anything.

I feel like the universe keeps giving me these opportunities to say "thank you" and I keep letting them pass me by. So maybe next time. Or maybe not. I could end up acting like a complete fool. And the last thing I want is to cringe when I hear their music because of the time I chased down the Avetts in a parking lot and rattled off a bunch of words that didn't make any sense .

What would you do? To speak or not to speak?

(By the way...The Avett Brothers are on Jimmy Fallon tomorrow {Wednesday} night.)

hugs and handshakes

This time each year I am temporarily inducted into a semi-exclusive boys' club. Nearly everyone I deal with for my freelance job is involved with college or professional football. I guess you probably wouldn't be shocked if I told you that the football industry is dominated by men. And for this specific job I am the only woman. I can tell my presence forces an aggravated sense of politeness and restraint. Also...there is no way to slip in the back and pretend to be one of the guys. Flashing arrows and blinking lights that spell "woman" hover over my head. Like the time I had to take my two-year-old to a meeting I absolutely could not miss. Six men in suits and me and Elly at a conference table.

So I guess it shouldn't have been too much of a surprise when I started being singled out in one way or another. But I am still a little surprised by the vehicle....hugs. That's right. When all the men give greeting and parting handshakes, I get hugs. And I'm not even a huggy person. I'm not sure how this happened, but now it seems to be the standard. And really there is no going back without confrontation. I have tried extending my hand, but it is sort of laughed at and trumped with extended arms. Ugh. And I'm not really sure what all the hugging means. Except I am different. And all I really want is freakin' handshake.

funny girl

Last week when Elly and I were playing with the camera, I asked her to show me her "big smile." Apparently there has been some progression.

Ummm....at least her eyes are open now. I seriously need to get this child a mirror.

kids rule

Our Halloween was awesome (as usual)! Hope yours was, too!

timer

I always forget how much I love the camera timer. We hurry to get in our spots. Hold a cheesy pose. Race to see what it looks like. Laugh when we see the wonky angles and crazy crops.

I'm not sure if you can tell, but these two girls were having lots of fun.

the farm

Lately I've been lusting for an old farm house. With cold, creaky wooden floors and a screen door that slams shut with a startling bang. Curtains that partner with passing breezes for friendly dances. The view from the kitchen window of fields and trees and an old red barn. Pastures that are blanketed with fog in the morning and painted gold by the sunset in the evening. Fireflies that chase the dusk and deer that stalk the dawn. Endless places for the girls to explore. Fields of grass and dirt and flowers and weeds and bugs and critters that can transform on a whim to pirate ship or alien planet or fairy garden. Endless acres where there are no rules. A secret place behind a tree that is quiet and all my own; a place everyone knows exists, but no one knows exactly where it is.

And somehow this dream doesn't compromise my desire to live in a city. It's the extremes I love, the middle where I am discontent.

my elly

She is quirky and cooky. She's pretty talented at faking a fit if she doesn't get her way, but she is hardly ever in bad mood. She brings a bit of whimsy into our little family. For her...burps, toots and "poo-poo" diapers might possibly be the funniest things on the planet.
She loves to make fake serious faces and then burst into fake fits of laughter.
She's the cuddler in the family.
And she is three-years-old. How can that be?!
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We had to cancel our plans for Elly's birthday because Canon might have the flu. We had planned to go to a high school football game because Elly seems to like football. [And it's at this point Elly would most definitely interject and clarify that it is football PLAYERS that she likes. Not football. But the players. Seriously. She corrects me every single time. My daughter is three-years-old and already has a thing for football players.]

early morning autumn sun

I followed A Year of Mornings before it became a book. And that is where I really fell in love with diptychs. They catch my eye everywhere.

the back room

The room is dimly lit, mostly by lava lamp. I'm sitting on a plush black leather corner couch. Occasionally I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirrored wall. There is shouting on the other side of the wall. It feels like I'm in the office of a nightclub circa 1985. But instead of a nightclub owner, the mustached man in the room with me is my therapist. And despite the lamp, couch, mirror, shouting or even the mustache, I feel safe with him. He asks questions and the answers just spill out of my mouth, even the ones I had planned to withhold for a while. At some point he says the words "family history" and tears fall against my will. In the mirror I see her...the girl who is crying in front of a stranger, the girl who feels stupid talking about herself. And suddenly I remember why I hate therapy.

Not that I expect any of you to hold hands with me and go skipping into a depression blog, but I haven't been feeling great lately. And I finally got that appointment. And now I am "in therapy." And I'll probably blog about it some.

another year

Thirty seemed like the beginning of a new chapter in my life. From that point I thought I would start reclaiming pieces of myself day by day, bit by bit. But somehow I woke up and a year has passed. And I can't seem to remember my dreams.

It's not about getting older. It's about time slipping away before I've found contentment in what I'm doing with this life.

that's fall

A little yellow leaf sailed to a soft landing right in front of my feet. I think Mother Earth was sending me a personal announcement of Fall's arrival. Thank you, Mother; I've been waiting.