Through Their Eyes

As teachers, getting told we have a Snow Day is equally as exciting for us as it was when we were kids. So getting THREE this past week was well, like a little bit of Heaven to our hearts. We like our jobs just fine and I really do love teaching- but there is nothing like the time at home spent with our entire family. My husband and I are partial to our teaching careers and the fact that we have the same schedule, we have long breaks, we share the same kind of student work load having the same Master degrees and well, we get snow days together too! When our kids are in school (don't even go there) I imagine that perhaps I will appreciate them even more.

This past week, my tired Mom blinders came off as I watched as my kids witness for the first time this year, a real snow. Wednesday morning, our three-year old Pierson was awake by 6:30a.m. and his reasoning was, "I want to see the snow!" I tried to get him to sleep a little longer but finally I realized, he has so much anticipation, genuine heart-felt excitement over the fact that our ground may be covered in even a dusting of snow. I gave him the green light to run downstairs and I swear it was like Christmas morning all over again. He screamed with delight! He oohed and aahhed and carried a step-stool to our kitchen window. He cracked up laughing when I let our cat outside, only to have him sprint immediately back in. When his little sister woke up, he couldn't get the words out fast enough that she would see snow covering our streets. Together they were so ecstatic, so sweet. Their little faces at the living room window, watching as our streets became more and more covered. I began to realize through their two and three year old eyes, this was the first time. They've seen snow before, heck Reese cried her eyes out when we bundled up and attempted to play in one of our 'big' snowfalls last year, but they don't really remember that. To them this was so new, so magical and it reminded me to slow down, that I too should breathe it all in. Pierson went sledding with his Daddy and Reese and I took a nice long walk. I watched as she trudged through the snow, I'm sure it felt miles high to her still growing legs. She stopped and just stood often, looking at the ground around her, watching our dogs roll and eat the snowy goodness. I saw her smile and she caught my eye; "Thank you, Jesus," I started. "...for snow," she sighed.

The most magical day was when the snow began at eight o'clock in the morning and it didn't STOP all day and most of the night long. It came down so big and fast. We decided to go to the quaint little bakery down the street with Asa's sister and her family and the roads were already a slushy, snowy mess. When we got there, the kids stood on the sidewalk outside the shop and just kept squealing with delight every time snow landed on their jackets. "Pierson, LOOK! A snowflake!" Reese exclaimed. "Reesie Cup, LOOK! There's some on your HAT!" Not only was my Michigan heart exploding with happiness over the beauty that surrounded me, but my Mama heart was too. Through their eyes, the streets looked like Narnia. They had entered another world and they were so happy to have each other in it. 

Most of our days were spent indoors, building houses with Legos and for me, baking. We of course watched Frozen, a lot, and it was necessary that we attempt our very own Olaf too. I told Asa there is something about this time of year, the snow and the cold, the warm food and lots of cuddling; that makes me fall in love with him even more. We were married in December and a huge blizzard actually happened on our wedding day. For me, the snow reminds me of the sweet love that we have and I spent my snow days not only falling more in love with my children, but with him. He is the man behind all of us, behind this. He gets on the floor with the kids, is the first to turn on dance music when we need to move and he was the one who made Olaf happen. The rest of these images are their attempt at making this season's first snowman and every ounce of it is pretty dang adorable. Reese licking the snow, Pierson making snowballs to eat like "ice cream" as he called it. Our dogs in complete Heaven (more so Elsa, I swear she lives to roll and lie down in snow) and me laughing and cheering them all on. I am so thankful for these last 5 days. The time off makes re-entering the real world so hard, but really and truly, I love watching life through our children's eyes!

A Valentines Treat: Oreo© Cheesecake Cookies

My Pinterest SWEETS board is quickly filling up with an abundance of cookie + pie recipes and when I saw this one, I thought, 'What a cute idea for Valentines Day!' The original recipe is from Blogger 'Baker by Nature.' It may be one of the easiest cookie recipes I've ever followed and with only five ingredients, how could it not be?! Another Blogger, 'Nest of Posies' took it one step farther and added some red food coloring to hers, making the cookies festive and pink. With a total of six ingredients, you'll be able to whip these cute cookies up in no time!

Ingredients:
4 ounces cream cheese, softened at room temperature
8 tablespoons salted butter, at room temperature [I used unsalted because that's what we buy]
3/4 cup sugar
1 cup + 2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
A few drops of red food coloring
10 Oreo cookies, broken into pieces
 

Directions:
In the body of a stand mixer fitted with a paddle attachment, beat cream cheese and butter until light and fluffy, scraping down the sides as needed.

Add the sugar and beat well.
Add in flour, a small bit at a time, beating in on low speed, just until incorporated. 
Add in a couple drops of red food coloring.
Fold in Oreos until evenly distributed.

Cover the bowl with plastic wrap and place in the refrigerator for at least 45 minutes, and up to 2 hours. [With two toddlers and life, my batch ended up being in the fridge for probably 2.5 hours...]

30 minutes prior to baking, preheat oven to 350 degrees (F).

Line a large baking sheet with parchment paper. Using a cookie scoop, scoop out 2 tablespoon sized balls of dough, roll them into rounds, and place them on the cookie sheet. Lightly press down on each cookie.

Place pan in the oven to bake for 10-11 minutes, or until *just golden at the edges. They will be SUPER soft when they come up and that's what you want!

Cool on the baking sheet for about 10 minutes, then very carefully transfer to a cooling rack to cool completely.

My kiddos wanted'pink milk' to drink with the cookies. They are so soft and seriously taste like little drops of Oreo© Cheesecake in your mouth. I'm not sure how dipping a cookie in milk is an innate response, but apparently it is; Reese was cracking me up! I hope you enjoy these cookies as much as me and my family did! Happy Baking :D

Worn: Oversized Fringe Knit Poncho

Finally! Winter in Kentucky! As a Michigan girl, I live for snowy days, a cozy house and frigid temps outside. We have had two snow days in a row, so this afternoon, after baking some Oreo-Cheesecake Cookies (don't worry, they're coming to the blog too!) I wanted to try out my new over-sized fringe knit poncho from Pink Blush. 

This black patterned poncho is soft, warm and colorful, all of which I feel are winter must haves! With it's V-neckline and fringe trim, I think it is super fashionable for lots of occasions. You do not want to miss this fabulous poncho so hurry now, because it is currently on sale on Pink Blush's website!

Happy Wintering, Everyone! I hope you stay warm, (fashionable) and cozy wherever you are!

Photos by Looking Glass Photography.

Thunder Thighs or Skinny Mini: The Truths Behind Body Shaming

• body image. noun. "the subjective picture or mental image of one's own body."
  body shaming. noun. "shaming someone for their body type." (she hasn't lost her baby weight yet? she looks terrible!) or (did you SEE that girl?! she's too skinny!")

I have always been "the small girl." I reached my maximum height when I was in the fifth grade and from high school on, my weight remained a consistent 110#. Once I got to college and was no longer playing sports, fitness rarely crossed my mind. I continued however, to wear most of the same clothes that I wore in high school and I was beginning to come to terms with the fact that 'flat' was just my body type. I wasn't ever graced with good curves and many times I have been referred to as a 'rolling pin.' As I've gotten older, I've even had others refer to my 'chicken legs.' Society admits calling a woman 'thunder thighs' or 'chunky' is unacceptable. When is society then going to catch on to the same offense caused bylabels such as 'twig' and 'surf board?'

I met my husband when I was nineteen and we were married by twenty. My still-young body remained the same. Three years down the road, I happily got pregnant with our first baby, our son. When I read pregnant on the digital pregnancy test, I couldn't have been more thrilled. We had tried for several months and I was so ecstatic to rock a pregnant bod. I couldn't wait for the baby bump, and when it began to grow, my excitement never faltered.

He was eight pounds two ounces and I was so happy to have a healthy baby boy. Having no idea what a legit post-baby bod would look like, I was a bit traumatized that I had a miniature basketball belly still there, even after he came out. But I watched that little ball shrink more, and more, and more, day after day and within two weeks, it was completely gone. My belly flattened, and went back to almost 100% normal. My core was weak and I knew it would take some exercise to get those muscles back to my normal, but I was still thrilled. Pregnancy felt great and here I was, with a brand new baby, not feeling too shabby.

And then it happened. My hair began to fall out in clumps. Not the normal shedding while shampooing or brushing after a shower, but my hair, in piles. "This is normal after a baby!" everyone told me. Then my heart rate sped into high gear. It felt like my chest would burst at times from its' speed. I started to get sad, a lot. I cried over really silly things, like my son growing bigger. I worried over the most trivial nonsense. I walked down the hall at my school and my co-workers began to ask, "Are you sure you're eating enough?" I could hear the uncertainty in their voices; the caution and worry. "You're breastfeeding though, right? So it's normal to lose weight quickly for some women!" they would say. My pants began to fall off of me; my regular pre-maternity pants that I've worn forever. I stepped on a scale. 105#.

I yelled for my husband to come in and look at the number. "Well, you are nursing," he said. "I've heard it's normal for some women to lose weight quicker while nursing." I stepped on the scale the next afternoon, 104#. And the next, 103#. "Are you sure you're eating enough?!" he gently checked as he too, was starting to worry. We began to track my calories, and I indulged myself in huge amounts of Nutella, carbs and cheese. "If I get below 100# I have to see a doctor," I told him. I was worried, I honest to God felt like I was wasting away, I felt judged and like all eyes were on me, but there was nothing I could do about it. Rumors spread at work that I was anorexic; co-workers monitored my lunch eating habits. I started to hear comments about how 'sickly' I looked and how I needed to put on weight. Several days later the scale read 97#. I immediately went to see my doctor and after doing a heart test and going through all of my symptoms, she nonchalantly said, "You have hyperthyroid! It's no big deal. I'll get you referred to a specialist and you'll be perfectly fine." I was able to breathe a little bit better, knowing that I at least had a diagnosis, one that didn't sound too scary. On to the specialist I went.

Worse news there: she called it Postpartum Thyroiditis and said because it 'was temporary,' there was absolutely nothing she could do except prescribe a pill to regulate my heart rate. My body continued to work on overload and I had gone from a healthy pregnancy weight to a mere 97# within five months. My milk supply dried up because my body was in a starvation mode. Go figure, just a couple months after being diagnosed with Thyroiditis, did I learned that I was pregnant with our daughter. No period, no indication of a period; I had been nursing as often as I could, though I clearly wasn't producing much, and I was on a birth control pill safe for breastfeeding moms (that was obviously pointless and didn't work since I didn't have much milk).

Before my pregnancy with my daughter, my stomach was flat, there wasn't a single stretch mark and even my belly button that once held a ring (sixteen year old me was awesome, duh), was normal. And then the weeks turned to months, the lines appeared on my midsection and my body had a much harder time handling being pregnant. My legs felt like heavy cement slabs, my back throbbed 24/7 and I began to worry how I would feel after her birth. Three days before her due date, she arrived, another eight pound two ounce, healthy baby. And while I had the hardest time initially accepting my pregnancy with her, it felt like she had always been here. I held her in my arms, she latched on to my breast and she was soon sound asleep after nursing like a champ.

Postpartum Thyroiditis hit again, two for two. Luckily I never dropped under 100 and for two years actually, I've maintained the same exact weight. Except it's different. I may be the skinniest I have ever been but I have to admit that when I look in the mirror, I do it so quickly that I dodge certain parts of my stomach. That stomach- the one that carried two strong, healthy, gorgeous babies. The stomach that kept them safe, that was their home, for nine sweet, but difficult months. I never rocked that six-pack and I've always worn a small pants size, but until two years ago, I never had loose skin that drooped when taking off my socks, or pulling up a pair of jeans. There's a part of me who sees that skin and is reminded of the beauty that is my daughter. How I was terrified to have a second child so soon, how I was bitter to give up my body when I had forgotten what it felt like to be mine; but how I also have witnessed grace with her completing our family. Then there is also the other part of me-- the human part-the woman part. My husband could care less about the skin on my stomach. He would tell you he doesn't even see it. And maybe he doesn't. But I do. And the fact of the matter is that this is me.

This is the woman underneath the size 0 pants. The one who is told she has bird legs. The woman who is referred to as "a skinny little thing." Prior to babies, I guess I just had good genes (look at my Mama). Then Postpartum Thyroiditis caused me two years of an emotional roller coaster. And back-to-back pregnancies caused me saggy skin; skin that is difficult for me to wear. As I write, I am wondering when it became okay for others to body shame each other. If a woman is too heavy she is called 'fat,' and if you're in between, maybe you've been called, 'average' and if you're skinny, people tell you "eat a sandwich." No matter what size you are, how your skin looks or doesn't look, isn't this you? And shouldn't we put our arms around the women in our lives and tell them that they are freaking rock stars, child bearing or not?

If you think the answer is the number on a scale, I am telling you it is not. If you think it is in a pant size, well I've found no comfort there. If you are wondering if a skinny girl appearance on the outside has helped me sleep better at night, that's a no. But my so-called 'flat' hips have still served my children well. They have bounced them during long nights; they have been home to their tiny legs wrapped around me. When there's a "hold you" or "up, up, up" request, my 'skinny' arms don't complain. I have a hard time seeing myself without a shirt, I have to tuck in my pooch when I sit down and while I am blessed to be Mom, there is freedom in admitting that I am learning to love her. I don't strive for perfection; I could care less about a number. I want to be healthy and happy, I want my daughter especially to see a strong woman who is comfortable in her skin; a mother who can be open and honest about the trials that have existed on this journey of bringing her children earth side. And I want to be a woman who loves you no matter how you look. While I myself struggle to accept it, we are given these bodies one time. Of course they are going to change as we age; they will tighten and droop and re-tighten. And the bodies we had two years ago won't be the bodies we have tomorrow. We will all strive for different things, but can't we all work our asses off for one thing: to avoid the universally accepted process of body shaming and instead challenge our hearts to seek good in each other?