The one time of the year I eat meat

Some of you may remember this post, where I briefly explained my path to vegetarian/flexitarian-ism. And while it's safe to say that I am now a wholly-committed vegetarian, there is still one time a year wherein I partake of a minuscule amount of meat. In my case, meatballs. (And only three.)

Said day is my family's Easter (or, in this case, week after Easter) feast, in which my aunt makes all of my great-grandmother's Italian recipes. None of which are even remotely vegetarian. Thus, while my husband and daughter thoroughly enjoyed their sauceless homemade pasta, I partook of the sauce that is marinated with meat and my three meatballs (while abstaining from the ravioli), partially to ensure that the ghost of my great-grandma Rose would not haunt me what forever and ever amen, and partially because I still want to participate in my family's Easter ritual.

Behold, the holy feast.

Which all gave pause to some serious introspection about the cultural/emotional value that we all assign to food, but since I want to keep this light, I won't go into it. Though let it be said that this whole inner conflict would not exist if my aunt didn't make some damn good meatballs.

And somewhere, Rose (with a picture of Karl Malone clasped in her hand) is smiling.

Amen.

One.

I have a one year old. No, scratch that. In a few days I will have a 13 month old. The (rather cliche) question I keep asking myself is, "where did the time go?" I swear it hasn't been that long. But then at times it feels longer. I suppose it's like anything else, really.

After I gave my notice at work, I knew that I needed a new project of sorts. Just something to focus on to aid me in the transition. I decided that said project would be my daughter's birthday party. I am not crafty by nature, so it was a bit of a stretch, but I have to say that I was pleased with the end result. It was a happy day celebrated with our (incredibly generous) family, accompanied by a special project done by our talented friends that I can't wait to see. (Which I will definitely post upon its completion.) I should also mention that I could not have pulled this off without the help of my amazing mother, along with my incredible husband, who patiently viewed all of my ideas, tissue paper swaths, etc. and watched our girl so that everything could come together. Plus my dad and siblings who helped the day-of.

Please excuse the iPhone pictures. The rest are still living in my mom's camera.

Ch-ch-changes.

It was the Friday after Memorial Day three years ago that my (old) boss came downstairs with a certain look on her face that communicated nothing and everything at the same time. "They want to see you upstairs," she said. And I knew what that meant.

At the time, it was a pretty horrendous experience (one that I will happily give you all the details about off the record)... but it turned out to be a huge benefit to my career and to my personal well-being.

Which is why it is thoroughly ironic that this year, on the Friday after Memorial Day, I walked into my (current) boss's office and gave him my notice. This action was not preceded by a disdain for my job or my coworkers or anything like that; rather, it was based upon something infinitely more personal. I had reached a point where I felt that I had to choose between my career and my child. And while the choice felt obvious, it wasn't easy.

For the past ten months, I've been in the unique position of having a foot in two disparate camps: the stay-at-home mothers and the working mothers. I've always had a disdain for the idea that these groups often seem to oppose each other. I touched on that idea a bit in a previous post, but I have to say that now that I am a mother, and a working mother at that, I think I have a better insight into the complexities of this issue.

My choice to go back to work following the birth of my daughter was not a simple one, but one that my husband and I decided was the best decision for our family at the time. The company I work for generously allowed me to come back at slightly reduced hours and gave me the flexibility to work some of that time from home. And oh the health benefits. Let's just say that because of said benefits, Sofia's NICU bills (and her birthing costs) were not in any way prohibitive. Greg was finishing up law school at the time, and it felt selfish of me to stay home with her when it felt like this work opportunity would be such a benefit to my little family. Plus, I really loved (and still love) my job.

[By the way, isn't it a bit sad that I feel like I have to defend my choice to go back to work?]

I'll be honest when I say that I felt a bit of judgement come upon me from the stay-at-home set. Which I fully expected, but didn't enjoy. But I also felt a bit of judgement come from the other side, from the working set, because I wasn't working enough. Which was less expected but equally undesirable.

I had this epiphany one day that pretty much substantiated what I'd already been thinking. It basically revolves around the idea that we as women should stop judging each other. You can never fully know another person's situation or the motivation and intentions behind how they parent. I know women who work who make more time for and pay more attention to their children than a lot of women who stay at home. (Don't get me started on that, because I might start sounding a bit judgy. Because what. in. the. hell. do you do all day? Pinterest can't be that all-consuming. Can it?) I also know women who have eschewed illustrious and fulfilling careers to stay at home who have done so in order to be fully present and committed to the rearing and development of their children. (Ladies, I salute you.) And I also know women who work who have to work to support their families, who would love to have the option to stay at home, but who literally cannot. (It really sucks that women don't have better options, people. That's what we should really be focusing on. Seriously.)

Like I mentioned above, the reason I did what I did is because things got to a point where I felt that I had no other option but to choose between my career and my child. (Remember how I mentioned it sucks that women don't have better options?) So obviously, I'm going to pick my child. And not just because she's cute and has mastered some mad dance skills, but because I do want to be more actively involved in raising her and watching her grow.

Frankly, I'm a bit scared. Scared because I am beginning to understand the level of commitment that it takes to raise a decent human being, and that is now going to encompass more of my time. (Since she was born, she's either been with me, my husband or my mother.) Thus, she's not going to be able to interact with her dad as much or with her grandma, and that makes me a bit sad. Because they're pretty damn amazing. It's also scary to give up such a great job, in this economy, and one that I know I'm good at. Because I don't always feel like I'm the best parent. It's just not something that you can ever be perfect at, and that irks me.

All of that aside, I am excited to begin this new phase of my life, this new career, if you will. Though I will be sad to leave my job and the amazing people I work with, I know that I have a vivacious and giggly little girl at home who likes to read stories and play with her mom's shoes and cuddle when she's sleepy. And that's pretty amazing too.

My little ham

And then there was a swearing in, commencement, a holiday and some pretty flowers.

Highlights of the past little while...
     - Yellow pants
     - Official "lawyerdom"
     - Commencement
     - Peonies(!) for Mother's Day
     - Spring flowers
     - Outdoor mall excursioning
     - Collectively keeping up with an active ten month old while working a combined three jobs

Images from Easter

Wasn't today lovely? It was one of those perfect spring days that I wish we had more of around here. 

 Happy Easter, everyone.

The parentals have been married for 29(!) years

I wanted to take a quick moment to send some online love to my amazeballs parentals, who are celebrating their 29th anniversary today. Thank you for literally being the best parents in the universe, and for showing me what a couple should be.

And thank you both for being so awesomely 80s back in the day (and for not killing me for posting this picture)...

Love you both higher than the sky. Happy anniversary.

Because there are so few smashing couples these days

I hope you will indulge me as I take a break from the present, and wax a little nostalgic. 

A couple of years ago, I compiled a book for my parents' anniversary that basically told their "story." (That's where I finally got a hold of my favorite image of them on their wedding day, which can be seen here.)

While I was searching for photos to include, I came across some amazing photos of my mom's parents. You know, Peesh and the Colonel.

I mean, these two are just classy my friends. Old school glamour at its finest.

I am kind of really obsessed with all of these photos. Doesn't Peesh have fabulous style? And the Colonel! So dashing. They are my inspiration in many ways. The best grandparents a girl could ask for.

And just for fun, I included a photo of me and the grandparents from back in the day, amongst all of my boy cousins. I was the first granddaughter, after all. Something that my baby and I share.

Speaking of which, I think there's a bit of a resemblance between my daughter and me in the above photo.

What do you think?

Baby Jesus in a tutu and other Christmas happenings

I decided to jump on the "Christmas spirit" train this year, since I have a child now and all that. Though she won't remember it, I wanted to ensure that her first Christmas season was one to remember. (Through photographs, of course.) So I set up our little tree, and put out my limited amount of Christmas decor. And bought my baby girl the cutest stocking I have ever seen.

On Christmas Eve, an ugly sweater party was held and the nativity recreated. Since my baby was the youngest baby at the party, she had the esteemed honor of portraying the Christ child in the manger. (Which was actually a Fisher Price bouncy chair, but we did our best.) For some reason, my mother thought that adding a white tutu would be apt (in an effort to negate the impact of her green polka dot onesie, I'm sure), and the overall effect was maybe a little unorthodox. But still great, I think.

Christmas Day brought copious gifts to my sweet daughter from Santa and all of her grandparents. I took a photo to illustrate. [Please refrain from all passive-aggressive comments regarding how we are enabling the notion that Christmas is all about commercialism, and focus on the incredible generosity of my parents and in-laws. And Santa.]

We also got to Skype with my little brother who is currently serving an LDS mission. The best part? He got to see his niece for the first time (besides pictures). I love technology. Always and forever. (Always and forever.)

 
And now, I leave you with a few more images of the day. I hope everyone had a lovely holiday season. Filled with commercialism. (Just kidding.)

Reticent vegetarianism, the holidays and why I spelled my child's name with an "f" and not a "ph"

Time seems to be passing at an accelerated rate these days. Which, in my mind, is pretty bat sh*t crazy. Which shouldn't be confused with ape sh*t crazy, because, let's be honest, that's soooo 2007.

Anyway.

Did you know that BYU-Idaho just banned skinny jeans? I. mean. really. This is one small step toward totalitarianism, one giant leap to ridiculousness. And is also bat sh*t crazy. Or maybe ape sh*t crazy since it took them so long to ban something that has been on-trend for at least two years.

I digress.

Some monumental changes are afoot. First off, I, after reading this book, have decided to become a vegetarian. Well almost. Let's just say I'm a flexitarian for the time being, with the aspiration to one day achieve vegetarianism. Unless salami is involved. Or bacon. Kidding. (Kind of.)

A couple of holidays have also transpired since last I wrote, and since I have a kid now, I guess I need to be making a bigger deal about them. Though Halloween has always been a fav of mine. Let's just say my child was a darling little witch, and that the included photos were actually taken on Thanksgiving because I didn't get a decent photo on the actual day. But hey, better late than never, right?

Is she posing for this one? I'd like to think so.

Thanksgiving also happened, turkey-less this year. (But, to be honest, I have never really cared for turkey that much anyway. I'm more of a sweet potato/stuffing/pecan pie girl myself.) It was held at my parentals home, and was quite the event. Thankfully, my sister captured this pic, because I am terrible and didn't break out my camera. Or iPhone.

Sporting Missoni for Target, because she can.

Since we're on the subject of Italian designers (you know, because of the caption above?) I guess this would be the appropriate time to discuss the spelling of my daughter's name. It's S-o-f-i-a. Not S-o-p-h-i-a. The reasons for this are simple really. We (meaning the husb and I) decided to give her the Italian spelling of the name that we decided suited her best. I've loved this name since high school, probably because at the time it seemed both classic and unique (re: Bella). In my mind's eye back then, I thought I would have two little dark-haired girls and name them Bella and Sofia. I realize that in recent years there has been a resurgence of popularity with this name, but honestly it was a perfect fit. And you can't beat an alliterative name. (Coming from someone with a formerly alliterative name, I can assure you it's amazeballs. Which should not be confused with "amazenuts" because that's just crass.)

And now I leave you. Because there's some mushroom risotto leftovers with my name on it. With a side of bacon. Kidding. (For reals this time.)

Blessed

Per doctor's orders, we waited to bless Sofia until she was three months old. Luckily, the day she was blessed was on one of the last warm days of the year. (Thank you, October 30!) It was a really great day filled with family and friends. We greatly appreciate all of the love and support.