On the OG Heather and Why I Go to Bed After Midnight

Before I had kids, I used to pride myself in my confidence and self-awareness. Even as a teenager, I knew who I was (relatively speaking), what I was good at, what I was passionate about, and what was important to me. “HEATHER HAS A STRONG SENSE OF SELF,” is probably what I’d confidently say if anyone asked me about my best character trait. I’ve never been one to shy away from doing whatever it was I felt led in my heart to do, regardless of how unpopular/crazy/stupid it seemed to others. I’ve always been proud of that.

But then I became a mom. Pure, all-encompassing, sacrificial love poured out of me in a way I couldn’t comprehend before my oldest was born. Even at the times when I felt the most physically weak and exhausted, my heart bursted with a fullness that cannot be accurately described with words. When I placed each one of my three girls on my chest during the exact moment they took their first breath of air, I gave myself wholly to them. I vowed to love every inch of them—inside and out—because they were now a living, breathing extension of myself. Part of me, forever. My moon and my stars.

I had no idea that through this devotion, I’d soon lose something I never thought I’d misplace.

You see, when I had kids, my steadfast sense of self that I’d once taken so much pride in, seemed to back away in order to make room for them. Did my brain not have the mental capacity to retain “original Heather” as it learned and memorized the ins and outs of motherhood? Surely, my brain, with its 86 billion neurons and higher-than-average IQ, would be able to remember the old me and simply merge it with my new responsibilities. One would think. My life was now full of so many incredible things that made my soul bubble over—first steps and first words and midnight cuddles and family trips—but when I laid in bed at night—fragile, overwhelmed, and guilty—I hardly recognized myself.

Why don’t I do goofy dances to the music playing in the grocery store anymore? Why don’t I flirt with my husband? Why don’t I call my girlfriends? When was the last time I wrote? (Didn’t I always dream of writing a book?) Why do I cry all the time? Why am I plagued with so much guilt? Was there anything else I even liked to do that didn’t involve breastmilk, diapers, or cartoons? What’s going on in the world? I should be ashamed that I don’t even know anymore. When was the last time I wore high heels?  Why do I feel so much resentment toward so many different people and things in my life? Why did I snap at her like that today? Why do other babies sleep through the night so easily?

“Help me!” I could have sworn I heard The Old Heather cry from a dark, shadowy, and cobweb- covered corner in my mind. Had I lost her? I really liked the old me. I missed her spunk. Life as  her didn't feel this heavy.

Some of the older moms (including my own) in my life told me it was just a phase, and the age-old “this too shall pass” mantra was tossed my way more times than I can count. Other moms told me that you never really find yourself again because once your babies get older, your life just revolves around their sports, activities, and homework. Basically, you go from a living, breathing milk machine with bags under her eyes to a professional shuttle service and concierge. Great.

But now, here I am on the “other side” of the infant stage with a five-year old, three-year old, and one-year old. I’d like to say that I’ve triumphantly uncovered The Old Me and I’m now more confident, free-spirited, and sure of myself than ever, but that’s not the case. However, as I’ve become more seasoned in motherhood—battled some bouts of baby blues, spent hundreds
 of hours shushing colicky babies who wouldn’t be consoled, and memorized their weight on my right hip—I’ve learned a few things and reached some milestones that are encouraging and point positively toward my future.

• Some of those ladies were right, the fog does lift...at least a little bit. As your kids get older, your responsibilities don’t lessen, but you get into a routine that allows you a little bit more time for yourself. ROUTINE. (I can’t believe I just said that word—it’s the arch-nemesis of my deep rooted Type B personality.) As each child grows, they become a tiny bit more predictable, a tiny bit more independent, and a tiny bit more reasonable (finally—bribery works!). These evolutions, albeit small, allow mama just enough breathing room to do what she needs—exercise, write, talk to a friend, etc. I’m just now starting to rediscover old hobbies and passions that make me feel alive inside.
• ALONE TIME IS MORE IMPORTANT THAN SLEEP. I will never, ever go to bed immediately after my kids and husband. I would rather stay up for two days straight than be fully rested if it means being able to spend some solid time with myself. Dark, quiet evenings in my clean house are the only time in my day that people are not demanding things from me, climbing on me, or crying outside the door while I pee. Sometimes, in very special and rare moments, I remember again what it feels like to be a creative person. Inspiration usually finds me some time around midnight, and after those nights I wake up with a tingly fullness in my spirit.
• I need to care for myself as well as my children. You do, too. Seriously. Start NOW. Exercise. Get a hair cut. See a therapist. Walk the aisles of Target alone. Talk about your deep, dark feelings. Get drinks with your girlfriend. Eat healthy, whole foods that fuel your body well. Also eat ice cream.
• Change is okay. Different does not equal bad.

I always feel compelled to wrap my writing in a nice little bow. I’ve assumed that readers want to read a thought-provoking conclusion that brings everything full circle. However, this can’t be punctuated with a positive, conclusive statement of assurance, because I’m just not there yet. I’m still working on the guilt and occasional feelings of resentment and I still frequently experience what feel like existential crises. (BUT WHAT IS THE MEANING OF LIFE?)

So here is the question that persists: Will I ever be “there?” I’m not really quite sure if I know where “there” really is anymore, but I think I’m learning to lean into little bits of The Old Me in everything I do. I’m growing and maturing throughout this process, even when it feels like I’m not, and my sweet, inquisitive girls are now causing me to self-reflect more than ever before. I’m learning to reject comparison in all its forms, because momming is hard enough as it is without expecting myself to live up to other’s standards or parenting styles.

Most importantly, I’m learning to practice self-care. When my emotional, mental, and physical tanks are filled up, I’m able to see beyond the kid-filled chaos that’s in front of me at the moment and grasp onto the things that make me, ME. I can’t believe it took my five years to realize that I needed caring for, too.

Moms, I know what you’re feeling and I feel it too. Solidarity, sisters. Even though we often feel alone in these Big Feelings that we pressure ourselves to bury, we’re likely all experiencing the same thing. You're still in there, girl. You're still in there.

Love,

A mom who has to wake up in four hours.


1st photo- Shannon Addison Photography
3rd photo- Erin Brooks

The 6 Ways Motherhood Brings Me to My Knees

First off, let me preface this by saying that I am fully willing to admit that maybe I am just not the best at this whole thing. Maybe I am sensitive or emotional or dramatic or overtired. Maybe there are other moms out there who THRIVE parenting three kids, who get them all to bed without a peep, and who make exquisite preschool snacks in the shape of snowmen or turkeys or Millenium Falcons. Maybe other moms have figured out the magic method to get enough sleep at night and keep the house tidy throughout the day. I’d be willing to bet there’s probably some moms out there who can cook chicken cordon bleu for their whole family while correcting math homework and singing songs from the Tinkerbell soundtrack. But I do not. I have not. I can not.

Motherhood brings me to my knees. Every day—no, every minute—I am reminded that I cannot do this alone. I am reminded I am not superwoman, I must rely on others for help, and I need Jesus. Oh, how I need Jesus.

Before I had kids (when I was pregnant, even) I used to be amazed at how often moms talked about being moms.  I thought to myself, “Well, I am a wife, and I certainly don’t talk about being a wife all the time.” I guess I thought that it wouldn’t be so hard and that I wouldn’t feel like my identity was completely rooted in the fact that I was a mom (“I’ll still go out with friends all the time, I’ll still go to the gym every day, I’ll never leave the house in yoga pants and wet hair, I’m gonna be a cool mom!”), but I was in for a massive awakening. There’s a reason moms talk about momming so much: It’s HARD. It’s all-encompassing. It can feel like its overtaking you emotionally, mentally, and physically.

The other day when I was having a particularly hard day, I thought about the many ways that motherhood brings me to my knees. They are as follows:

• Motherhood has given me a total heart-check when it comes to the way I treat my spouse and the way we operate as a team. Man, nothing like two fighting toddlers, a poopy diaper, a colicky baby, a messy kitchen, and drawn-on walls to make me realize that we are in this together and need each other. I’ve learned to respect him for the strong, empathetic, and kind man that he is. Since we’ve had kids, I’ve often become overwhelmed with regret for all the times I’ve doubted him or given him grief. He is a GOOD MAN and a GOOD DAD. He’s the one who sits in the living room with the baby in the middle of the night when I’m weepy from exhaustion and just need to sleep alone for an hour. He’s the one who does the dishes, pays the bills, and mows the lawn. He doesn’t complain, he supports me emotionally, and he loves me—all of us—SO FREAKING HARD. I’ve learned that sometimes I just can’t afford to gripe or nag or bicker with him, because any break in our unified front will cause everything else to crumble. Our relationship is the pillar of our home. Motherhood has forced me to be nicer to him. He’s the most important human being in my life.

• Motherhood is the hardest job in the world but receives the least amount of glory. By the end of the day,I am simply run ragged. I’m lucky if I’ve brushed my teeth, I’ve consumed far too much caffeine, I’ve likely eaten PB&J crusts for dinner, and I haven’t even been able to pee in peace. Never in my life have I ever gone to a job where I’ve felt as worn out at the end of the day. Yet for motherhood, there’s no Employee of the Month placard. There’s no pay, there’s no vacation time, there’s no leave of absence. Heck, when people find out you’re a stay-at-home-mom, they rarely even ask you “How was your day today?” Giving of myself all day with no recognition has taught me humility. I “work” all day long, 7 days a week, yet I don’t even have my name on an office door. I’ve learned be selfless, to give all that I have to these three tiny humans, and to do so with joy.

•  Speaking of joy, motherhood has taught me to choose joy, even in the darkest, most chaotic times. The other night all three girls were crying. One was sick and complaining about her chapped, raw lips, one was face first on the ground in the middle of a tantrum, and the baby was inconsolable in my arms. My husband was at work, the house was messy with toys and crackers ground in to the carpet, and I was SPENT. I could’ve chosen to give in to the stress of the moment and either break down in tears or lose it on my kids, or I could’ve chosen joy, even amidst the chaos. One of those would make the situation worse, and the other would’ve made it a bit more bearable. When life feels messy or impossible—what else do we have other than joy (and Jesus)? Joy doesn’t come to you. It doesn’t appear when your house is clean or when your kids are behaving or when you have a from-scratch chicken tortilla soup cooking in the Crock Pot. Joy is a choice you make every day—every moment—even during the hardest times. It’s not always the easiest choice, but it’s the best choice (for everyone).

• Motherhood has taught me to rely on my community. There’s not much that’s better for my soul than sitting around and drinking coffee with other moms in the same stage of life me. Just doing life (diaper changing, chicken nuggeting, nursing, disciplining, playing, dance partying, milk spilling, tantrumming, nose wiping, laughing) with my friends is refreshing and reviving. When I had a newborn, my friends brought meals and coffee and held my fussy baby while I showered. When my father in law recently passed, my friends sent cards and flowers and sweet mementos for my girls. They reminded me that they were rooting for me. Through them, I’ve learned to be a better friend and champion the women in my life. We’re all in this together.

•  Motherhood has thrown me prostrate at the feet of Jesus. His grace, mercy, peace, strength, and special sleep powers that make 3 hours of sleep feel like 8—I need it all. Enough said. He is everything. 

• Lastly, motherhood has given me respect for my own mom. Mom, if you’re reading this, I am sorry for all of the times I gave you grief. I am sorry for talking back and letting my room turn into a pigsty. Mothering is hard enough as it is, and I am sorry for all the ways I made it harder for you. You had five kids and I have no idea how you did it with such poise and happiness. You always had a smile on your face, words of advice when I needed them, dinner on the table, and a tidy home. I am not worthy.

 I am still learning every day how to be a better mom for the sake of my kids and my own personal growth. I don’t know lots, but I do know that motherhood has (and still is) shaped me in ways I never thought possible. I’ve been forced to look at the parts of my heart I’ve been ignoring for years; the dark parts that I’d been hiding or refusing to acknowledge. But thanks to the three sweet, curious, lovely girls who call me mom, those parts are coming to the surface and refining me a little bit each day. I hope that with time I will become a little bit more graceful, a little bit more selfless, a little bit more loving, (and maybe a lot more organized).

Thank you, Willa, Maxine, and Ivy for bringing me to my knees and closer to Jesus.

Reminding Myself to Remember the Moments

I just had one of those mommy moments that I need to document before it becomes lost with the thousands of other fleeting mommy moments I don't remember anymore. The moments that have become mixed up in the haze of "motherhood is so hard and I think I am going to drown." The perfect moments that I am too tired to notice.

That's what is funny about  being a mom. As women, we are emotional creatures. As moms of small babies, we are more often than not hormonal (some suffering from PPD or PPA), driven by estrogen imbalances, our perception of reality a little bit skewed and tinted by our post-partum consciousness. We reason with feelings, suspicions, love, and "mama instincts" rather than logic. We cry because we are happy and because we are sad.  I know that for myself, personally, I tend to let the negative emotions overshadow the positive ones. In this crazy world (another dimension, if you ask me) of having two under two, I find myself letting the chaos and the sleep deprivation and the mundane tasks of motherhood outshine the precious moments that should bring me joy.

Well, I just had a moment that I don't want to forget. I am determined to make it last; to carefully pack it away in a section of my mind where it can't be erased by stress or exhaustion.

Those of you who know me well know that I solo parent most nights. My husband works a job that has him gone during dinner time and bedtime, so I am on my own with the two girls. Each morning I wake up already dreading the evenings. Let me tell you, sometimes I think I would rather bus dishes at a dirty bar than attempt to make dinner, clean up from dinner, give baths to two little girls, get two little girls ready for bed, and put two little girls down to sleep ALL BY MYSELF. I don't know if it is their closeness in age or my fragile mental state that makes it so difficult, but oh my word, IT IS SO HARD. (I am being real and raw here, people.)

For one thing, Max is a fussy and particular little baby. She often starts crying each night around 7:30--the time I start getting Willa ready for bed. No matter how hard I try to prepare for bedtime, plan in advance with pajamas and teeth brushing, early baths or postponed dishes, Maxine always seems to end up crying right when I am trying to put Willa down to sleep. Willa won't sleep when Max is crying, so it is my goal to get her to stop crying so Willa can go down. It's a stupid little game, really. Back and forth I go, feeling like a chicken with her head cut off. Scurrying from child to child, trying to calm one so I can go and soothe the other. Night after night this happens, and when both girls are finally asleep  I am sweaty and tired and hungry and feeling like I need to drink an entire bottle of wine and eat a pound of Sour Patch Kids.

(This part is long. If you're not a mom, you are going to think this part is annoying because it is stupidly detailed. Feel free to skip ahead two paragraphs.)

Tonight was no different. I took the girls to an indoor play center near our house, but was careful to be home before 6:00 and even picked up dinner on the way home. I tried to keep Maxine up as long as possible to GUARANTEE that she would be sleeping by the time Willa's bed time came. Sure enough, the moment I sat down in the glider with Willa, a book, and a bottle, I hear Max start to cry. Unfortunately, it wasn't just a "I-am-going-to-fuss-for-a-few-minutes-and-then-go-back-to-sleep" kind of cry. It was an ear-piercing, heart-wrenching  "I-need-your-boobs-right-this-second" kind of cry. I let Willa finish her bottle and then placed her in her crib, wide awake. She instantly started to cry. I went to Max, fed her, and put her in her swing, hoping she would hang out quietly while I got Willa calmed down. Willa continued to rage on, feeling abandoned by our cuddle session cut short. She started pounding on the wall, calling for mom, calling for dad. I left Maxine in the swing, and of course she starts to bawl, too. In Willa's room, I sang a couple songs in hopes that she would quickly settle, leaning over the crib to rub her back. I hear Max raging. My heart is breaking, my blood pressure is rising, and I become angry. Angry that Willa needs so much help to fall asleep, angry that I let her need so much help, angry that my husband has to work so late, angry that I feel alone and hopeless and depressed, angry that it seems like everyone else has it easier than me, angry that I haven't even eaten the dinner I brought home.

I tried bringing Maxine into Willa's room with me, but the moment Willa saw that she became enraged. "Why are you holding her but you won't hold me?" I became desperate. At this point I was about to call my husband and tell him all the bad words in the world. Does he not realize how much easier it is to be at work than it is to be at home? Does he not get that I am suffocating from the responsibility of motherhood? My back hurt from all of the bending and crouching and holding and soothing. Both girls were crying, the dog was barking, and the sound decibels coming out of my house probably mimicked those of a college house party. I got desperate. I scooped up Max and brought her into Willa's room, laying her down on a pile of folded laundry in the dark. I picked up Willa, sat down on the floor next to the baby, and began to sing while rocking her. "A is for apple, B is for ball, C is for cat and D is for Dog. E is for eggs that you love to eat, F is for fish that have no feet...." My right arm cradled Willa and my left arm was stretched across to the baby who held my index finger. Slowly but surely, Willa began to drift off and MIRACULOUSLY, Max just laid there without making a peep. Fifteen minutes went by with hardly any sounds. Maxine was just laying there wide awake, but she was quiet. It was out of the ordinary and completely amazing.

Fifteen minutes went by before I realized that this was a perfect moment. One of those perfect moments that gets lost in the chaos so I forget that there is even such thing as a perfect moment in motherhood. There we sat, the three of us, enveloped in darkness and calm and Jesus. I started to pray for my girls. My hands were on each of them as we sat in perfect peace, hours past their bedtime.Willa began to breathe deeply and rhythmically, but I didn't want to put her down just yet. I wanted to photograph this moment in my mind forever.

The room was dark except for the soft blue glow of Willa's night lamp. I sat on the floor up against the crib, breathing in the smell of my life. I don't know if I can describe what my life smells like other than familiar. Homey. Maybe it is a combination of diapers, coffee, and the fresh flowers I try to keep around. I don't think I have ever felt more immensely and purely grateful. In that moment, thankfulness consumed me. I was so sure of the fact that I was created to be these girls' mom. God picked me out of the billions of women in the world to nurture and cherish and love these two precious, beautiful children. Maxine continued to clutch onto my finger and tears began to roll down my cheeks. "My life is exactly what it is supposed to be," I thought to myself. My life is not too hard. My life was not made for someone else. I am perfectly designed to raise these children.

When you're in the trenches of parenthood, it's REALLY hard to look at your current life objectively. You just want to roll your eyes at the middle-aged women who tell you "treasure these moments" when you're covered in baby puke and your toddler just peed on the floor. You're anxious to get out of the "baby stage," ready to move on to the "fun part of parenting," like T-ball games and field trips with free food. But sometimes you get a needed kick in the pants (like I did tonight) and realize that it truly is important to cherish the moments. These moments will soon be gone and we will be old, needing our children to help us with our velcro shoes.

I wanted to write this post to make sure I remember to remember the moments that make everything worth it. I want to remember the moments when God graciously gives me a birds-eye view of my life and the perfect love that is surrounding me. I want to remember forever the moments that I feel so saturated in love--with my babies' warm bodies close to me, my heart feeling like it is going to burst of fullness and purpose--nothing else matters. These are the moments that give depth and meaning to the stress of my life. The silent moments that drown out the cacaphony of hormones and emotion. The moments that make me realize that even when I have reheated my cold coffee for the fourteenth time and my house is a disaster, THIS IS MY CALLING.

De-Cluttering Your Life with a Baby

Who likes clutter? I do.

Just kidding. Sort of. It isn't the clutter itself that I am actually fond of, it's the stuff. I love stuff. Baby stuff. Mommy stuff. Pet stuff. You name it. I like it. When things go on sale, I have a really hard time resisting.
Because of this super awesome  undesirable quality I have developed, we ended up with lots of extra fluff when preparing for Willa to arrive. It took only a couple of weeks with a baby to realize that a) we had way too much stuff for her and b) when you have a baby it is really hard to get stuff done around the house, so crap accumulates everywhere.

I don't want any of you soon-to-be-mommies to end up with the same problem that I had. I want your first precious weeks with baby to be clean and stress-free. Who wants to breastfeed on a mountain of unnecessary receiving blankets and bassinet sheets?

I have put together a list of the stuff that I feel is unnecessary for the first few months of a baby's life (or forever. For example, wipe warmers. You will never need one of those). This list is not exhaustive, nor will it work out for every family. This list simply comes from my own personal experience. Hope it helps you.

1. Receiving Blankets.

What are these things used for anyway? Too light to keep baby warm in a crib or stroller. Too small to swaddle with. Too large to use as a burp rag.

I ended up with mountains of these things (they come in the cutest patterns ever). Willa is almost eight months and still to this day I have not used a single one. I much prefer the bamboo Aiden and Anais Wraps for swaddling, and warm, thick blankets when baby needs to stay warm.

2.  Newborn Baby Shoes

We were gifted lots of teeny tiny baby shoes. I mean, come on. They are adorable! However, during the first few weeks babies sleep SO MUCH. It doesn't make sense to get them all dressed up with  matching shoes to boot if they are just going to be sleeping all day. The first month we were either holding her or she was sleeping in her bouncy seat or crib. Even when we did get her dressed up to visit family or go to church, I just couldn't bear to put her in shoes. They seem so uncomfortable and constricting.
Willa is seven and a half old and we are only just now beginning to put her in shoes every once in a while, and that is because she is cruising.

3. An Expensive Breast Pump

Now, this will only be true for you if you plan on either being a SAHM (stay-at-home-mom) or just don't plan on being away from your baby much the first six months of her life.
Everyone told me that a double electric breast pump (about $300) was an absolute necessity for moms planning to breastfeed. However, I stood my ground and bought the $30 Medela manual. SO. GLAD. I. DID.
I was able to express milk just fine with the manual. It is super portable (and not noisy and embarrassing). I would just milk myself occasionally before I was going to leave for a couple hours. Even if I wasn't leaving, it was nice to have some bottles on hand for Jacob to feed W in the middle of the night. I am glad I didn't waste the money.

4. A Bassinet

Have you ever met a baby who actually likes sleeping in a bassinet? I never have.
My friend gifted me an awesome (and super cute) white lace bassinet. I was so excited to have it next to my bed and have Willa sleeping close to me every night. Little did I know that sleeping flat on her back and away from mommy and daddy would be like torture to her.
For weeks and weeks we tried to get her to tolerate it, but we never had luck.
We found that she much preferred a) co-sleeping, b) sleeping on one of us, c) sleeping at an incline,  and d) sleeping on her tummy.
Willa still sleeps with us half of the night (and in her crib the other half) and we STILL have that dang bassinet next to our bed, taking up space. DON'T DO IT.
If you want something for your baby to sleep in, I would recommend this. It also rocks, so it could do dual duty and also be your "bouncer" while you do stuff around the house.

5. Myriad of Baby Toys

Okay, this is going to sound really crazy. Really insane. Get ready for it.......

 Willa's favorite toys are kitchen utensils!

She has a ton of bright and colorful toys; some that make noise, some that have remote controls, and some that make me want to pull my hair out. Don't get me wrong, I am sure some of them are great for her development and hand-eye coordination or some BS like that. However, I really don't think you need a lot of toys, especially when baby is <1 year old.

Even at her age now, nothing makes her happier than me handing her a mesh teether with an ice cube in it, a wooden spoon, or the metal whisk.

So, don't splurge on the Devil's creations  baby toys.

Well, that's all for now. I find it ironic that I am writing this post to help you stay away from too much stuff, but I can't write without too many words!

Stay tuned for my post coming up on my MUST HAVE baby items.

Family Photos

I love taking photos. I love excuses to take photos. I love the look on my husband's face when I tell him we have to take photos. Again.

We (I) decided to take Christmas-y photos this year so that we would have a good family picture to send out for our Christmas cards. They were the first real professional shots of us as an entire family.

I decided to go with Moch from Jon + Moch Photography . Her photos just seemed so natural and candid. I really wanted our pictures to capture us as a normal family, and not be stuffy or overposed.

I was able to convince my husband that these pictures were absolutely necessary. We ended up having beautiful weather on picture day (very rare for Novemeber in the Pacific Northwest).

Anyway, without further ado, here are some of the Sipes family photos.

Going for it.

Hey, I am Heather.

I am a mama to wee wittle Willa Capri. She was born on May 14th, 2012. The day my life changed forever.

I have tried this blogging thing before, but have never managed to keep my blog up-to-date. I have these lofty dreams of being a crafty mama with a beautiful home; who serves delicious (Pinterest inspired) meals every night, has a perfectly dressed child (and a lot of swagger herself), and a kick-ass blog. But alas, I just can't seem keep up with the cleaning. or the cooking. or the crafting. and forget the personal swagger part. Thus, I don't feel like I have much to blog about.

Anyway, I am giving blogging another go. Even if I am the only (sad little) follower, I will at least be able to chronicle miss Willa's happenings. She's quite the interesting kid, if I do say so myself.

Welp, I guess this is the part where I tell you a bit about who I am.

I live in the absolutely beautiful Pacific Northwest with my husband, Jacob. We have been married for almost two years.
We used to be really fun, but now we are just a pair of pombies (parent zombies) trying to make sure we leave the house looking half decent and remember to feed ourselves and our child.
When we are feeling adventurous, we like to spend time at our family's beach cabin on the Puget Sound. We love boating, bumming around the beach, and barbecuing. Willa loves the beach house too. Jacob likes racecars. I like makeup and clothes and other important things.
We have a furbaby, Kobi. He is a Shiba Inu with a terrible attitude and a penchant for doing Very. Bad. Things.
I like to craft. Most of the projects I try to tackle end up being Pintrocities.
I like to decorate. (Translated: I spend a lot of time decorating a room or a wall and then I get tired of it in a matter of months [or weeks, or days] and I end up tearing it down and trying to start all over. This upsets my husband. We have lots of holes in our walls.)

I am excited that you have read this whole post. Please, please, PLEASE check back and see what we are up to. Help me become the celebrity blogger I dream of becoming. Just kidding. Just kidding, I am being serious. I promise to update at least once a week.

Thanks for reading. :)

-Heather and Willa