Dear Balin,

Your third birthday was Friday, but it felt like we celebrated all weekend. On Friday, we went party shopping, did party prep, ate a special birthday dinner at Culver's, and opened presents from family.

On Saturday, you had a birthday party with some of your new Wisconsin friends. You played in the new sandbox - a hand-me-down gift from Carter and Anders - and planted sunflower seeds. You hardly touched your dinner (eating only a fruit kebob) because you were too excited to eat a cupcake.

When everyone sang "Happy Birthday," you smiled and giggled like you were the most special little person in the whole world. I will remember that light-hearted laugh for years to come.

You already know the alphabet and the numbers to twenty. You even know a few random Spanish words. You love to get out as many toys as possible, but hate to clean up. You love to read and will beg for just one more story. You speak as a boy much older than your time, articulate and polite. My heart swells when you say "you bet" after someone asks you for something. You have an unhealthy obsession with Blizz the Jawa and am greatly looking forward to the day I present you with a Jawa costume. You desperately want to meet Astro the Steller sea lion.

I cannot wait to see all of the things you accomplish this year. I cannot wait to hear about your new interests and hobbies.

I love you, my sweet boy.

Blessed be.


Of all my interests, I've been focusing on writing lately. There's something exciting about expanding a fresh idea, integrating research, and incorporating real-life experiences into a story.

I've been working on a science fiction story for the last year (or so) now. It's gone through many, many plot changes and revisions. I've brought in new ideas and restructured the story. It was going to be epic. It was going to be a best-seller. It would inspire new fanboys (and fangirls!) everywhere.

For all of the writing I've done, I feel as though the entire process has become stagnant and, at times, a bit boring.

Recently, that changed. Last week at the library, I checked the creative writing section and found a book titled If You Want to Write: A Book about Art, Independence, and Spirit. Sure, why not? I thought.

It was such a simple read, but incredibly profound. The author's thesis?

Write honestly. Write as though everything you tell is true.

So, I took a few days to think about the story I wanted to tell. I thought about how I could make it more epic with less. Just yesterday, I approached my story with an entirely different view and began cutting, pasting, revising, rewriting. When it's finished, it may not be the length of a novel, but it will be good. Good enough to publish, maybe.

These are the first few paragraphs. I'm eager and a bit afraid to share them. It's still a rough draft and it's not perfect, but I'm more satisfied with it now than I was only a week ago.

Blessed be.


Finding Isurus

DAY ONE: THE CAPTAIN

My name’s Tuki Varselona.
I'm the captain of a 1200 Peregrine-class freighter, ID code Aivas-0014-98063-T47. To me, she’s just the Aivas. She’s more than a decade old and a little clunky, but she runs well enough to get me from job to job.

Well, she would if there was any real work to be had. Only a year ago, you could get a job - any job - from any one of the 34 colonies and no one would think twice about your politics. I used to freight cargo from the Inner Colonies to the Outer Colonies and anywhere in between. Back then it was more important that you were reliable and honest.

Now, everyone's picking a side, including my clients. Since I’m still formally unaligned, the Freighting Association has restricted my business to the four Border Colonies: Lawor, M-----, Kluane and their mining operations on nearby asteroids, and my homeworld of Vori. Needless to say, I’ve got more time on my hands than I’d like.

I don't regret my decision to stay out of the war - I don’t ever plan on officially getting involved - but it's getting harder and harder to survive. The money I make on jobs now barely pays for my travels and crew wages.

I’ve had a bit of help, though. My parents give me most of their business and even Ty, my Unionist brother, throws me odd jobs here and there. It sounds great, but earning Ty’s “easy money” usually falls somewhere between hours of extra paperwork and catastrophic engine failure: there are always unexpected difficulties and delays. I often wonder why I still accept jobs from him. At one time I could have been more discriminating. Not anymore, I guess.

This morning, he contacted me with another job offer. Just a stop-and-drop, he had promised. The pay’s worth it.

And so, against my better judgement, I tell Dez, my navigator, to take the most direct flyway to Vori.


I fell in love with my Ergo baby carrier when Arthur was about one. We went everywhere with it. We walked the upstairs track at the Dipper, hiked the UAF trails, and explored the McGrath bike trail with it.

Arthur gladly accompanied me until he was about three. Then, as he became more and more independent, the less content he was to go for a ride. He wanted to run ahead of me, to prove that he was no longer a baby.

I bought the Ergo second-hand on ebay for $80. It was one of the only baby things that survived the "Great Purge of Unnecessary Baby Gear" in 2009. (The Kelty and the Boppy didn't make the cut.)

I couldn't wait until Balin was about five months old, holding his head up proudly and ready to see the world from my back.

As he nears the age of three, however, his desire to see the world is overshadowing my desire to keep him confined to the backpack.

We've taken to walking the track at the Beloit YMCA three mornings a week. The other patrons think he is adorable. They joke that I must have a strong back or that he's got the right idea. Most days, Balin is content to walk a lap or two before he insists it is time to go to the play area. On rare occasions, I might be able to convince him to stay for another two or three laps.

I've heard mothers say that they wish that their little ones would stay little forever. That they love the baby years, the cuddles, and the sweet kisses that they give so generously when they are young.

I don't miss any of those things. Maybe I will someday.

But I do miss carrying my boys on my back.

I miss hefting them up with an expert hand, the warmth of their little body pressed against mine, and the feel of their tiny fingers grasping my hair or the Ergo straps. I miss the stories they tell me and the songs they would sing with their tiny voices and broken sentences. I miss pointing out animals we'd spot on the trails or the noisy construction trucks that so captivated them.

On the long (and sometimes depressing) journey of motherhood, the Ergo was a truest friend. She is nothing more than worn scraps of fabric, but she maintained my sanity and reminded me that things would not always so difficult: One day your boys will sleep through the night, they will be able to read on their own, and they will be able to ride their bikes. 

One day they will not need me.

But I still need you, Ergo. Even if my boys don't.

Blessed be.


Breakfast.

Brings up a whole slew of images, doesn't it?

While I prefer bacon (or sausage), scrambled eggs, and hash browns with a hot cup of tea on the side for my morning meal, I can't justify eating that hearty breakfast every single day. (As much as I might like to.)

I don't consume as many breads and carbs as I used to and often I am too busy to bake anything for a week-day breakfast anyway. I'm not a fan of oatmeal and since I've pretty much stopped drinking milk, I don't tend to have cold cereal.

Ugh.

Some mornings I just have a cheese stick wrapped in deli meat. No joke.

But I'm always up for a bit of an experiment and I thought I could somehow incorporate more Greek yogurt (which I love) into my diet.

Enter the smoothie. I have these at least twice a week now. Sometimes there's enough to make popsicles for the boys.

On the Menu: Fruit Smoothies
Makes 2-3 medium servings or 4 small servings

1/2 cup fruit juice*
1 cup Greek yogurt (I like Fage)
2 bananas
2 cups frozen fruit**
1 tbs ground flax seed (opt)

Combine ingredients in blender and blend to desired consistency.

* (100% fruit with no added sugars - I've used grape, orange, pomegranate, pineapple and they all make delicious smoothies!)

** You can use fresh fruit as well, but if you do throw in a few ice cubes.

Blessed be.


I apologize, dear readers. I'm becoming a horrible blogger.

You see, I didn't mean to. It just sort of happened.

I have the usual excuses, as well as a few new ones: the move...learning to live in a new space...meeting new people...adjusting to a new climate...biking everywhere...Pilates...

Laundry...

Taming the farm jungle...

Finding new fabric stores...quilting...

Writing short stories and fan fiction...

Laundry...

Learning digital drawing with Procreate...

Scanning and compiling of pictures into Shutterfly albums...

Playing way too much TOR (which is part of my problem - if I didn't play so many computer games, I'd probably have more time to finish...whatever!)...

Laundry...

And there's still more to do!

There's always something.

Anyway.

We're all busy. I get that.

But I do enjoy this blog. I enjoy sharing my life with you.

I promise to try harder in the future to make more time for you.

Blessed be.


In Alaska, real spring doesn't exist before April. Sometimes it lasts until May.

It snowed. We received about three, maybe four, inches and everyone is moaning and groaning. I laugh a bit, because coming from Alaska, this seems pretty normal.

Spring in Alaska was never a specific day; rather, I could always tell spring was coming by the warmth of the sun on my face. It was always an optimistic sign - one that suggested long summer days ahead, plenty of time at the Church Park, and gatherings with friends.

I'm not sure what the sign of spring is here. Typically, everything has been melting in the afternoons and freezing at night. Like Alaska, right? 

But here, when you sit indoors in the sun, it's not just warm. It's hot. 

Is spring supposed to be hot?

Blessed be.