Syd's Jack Bauer Birthday

Though we haven't yet officially celebrated in Jack Bauer style, unless you consider my stealth mission to the bagel store this morning as satisfying that element, Syd has verbally recognized that this year is indeed her Jack Bauer birthday year. For those people living in a cave, the year following your 24th birthday MUST be full of everything that is the essence of hardcore. Syd got a jumpstart on the hardcore memo as she has been Supermom for the past 7 months raising the Evster, but there is no doubt in my mind she is going to be taking the title of Supermom to the next level as she personifies everything that is Jack Bauer into her mothering methods.

For those of you who are familiar of the extent to which Jack will push himself and others, this may frighten you. But fear not, my wife has passed her extreme tolerance of pain and stubbornness to crack under pressure to our fearless daughter. As Ev embarks on this upcoming year, she will undoubtedly be pushed to her physical and mental limits. (Growing cannot be easy.) Both sides of our families come from long lines of excellence and Supermom Syd will stop at nothing to see that these characteristics do not fall short of her offspring. Ev has progressed so much in the last few months and it is all due to the quality effort and love Syd has put into her. Ev is her mother in every sense of the words "social" and "loving." Make friends with either of these two and you have a friend for life. If you want to see a face of pure joy, come spend a few minutes in our home watching Ev and Syd talk to each other in the kitchen or during bath time. Syd has a big year coming up and there is no better way to tackle it then knowing that if it came down to it, she could take Jack Bauer out. So here's to Syd's Jack Bauer birthday!



**Not really sure what happened to her hair, but look at that face!

Happy Monday

Love,

Evie

Flashback Friday: The Bad Poet

Remember last Friday when I talked about how awesome I was?

I'm starting to re-think that a little bit. I found an old poetry notebook from my senior year of high school. I'll describe what I read in three words or less:

Cheesy.

Cheesy.

Cheesy.

Here it is:

Seriously, its painfully cheesy - but kind of awesome at the same time. It hurts me to think about how "mature" I thought I was. I was born on a "Sunday in November," so I titled my poetry book after myself. Soooooooo emo.

In high school, I secretly wanted to be a poet. I'm grateful I didn't choose that path because everyone knows the only kind of poems I can write HAVE to rhyme. You could say I've got a way with rhythm, but you've all seen me dance, so I guess that would be a lie.

And we like to keep it honest here on Flashback Friday.

IE: Rhyming poem

Too Many Boyfriends

Abraham is poor and dirty, but honest as can be,

He always gives six cents for my treats at Dollar Tree.

Thomas likes to pitch in, but he needs to loose some pounds,

I usually ask for Frankie D's help when making my grocery rounds.

George is the most popular, but those guys get around,

I prefer dates with Alex, when I'm out on the town.

Ulysses didn't loose the war and currently has my favor,

The weekends he knocks on my door I'm always sure to savor.

Andrew is a player always disappearing fast,

Maybe someday he'll treat me right and our love will last.

Benjamin is a jerk he hardly ever comes my way,

And if I get a glimpse of him, I know its Christmas day.

William, the High Roller, has never asked me out,

Maybe he will pity me with perfectly needy pout.

And though he's long gone, I'd never date poor Grover,

Even with all that cash, his legacy is over.

The other Bettys laugh at me calling me a joke,

For wishing, desperately hoping for one to be my bloke.

Yet I sit here complaining, saying none of them is right,

Only dramatizing, over thinking my silly lover's plight.

And now that I think about it, I'm not such a prude.

And silver-stocking Grover might be my kind of dude.

Who am I to think that I'm not William's crush?

And its doubtful that Ben thinks I'm anything but lush.

Ulysses would be lucky to spend loads of money on me,

Even if he's war-like and obsessed with strategy.

George's popularité would be a compliment,

To my almost designer wardrobe - I'd be heaven sent.

And poor chubby Thomas still has much to offer,

If I'm at the Nickelcade he can help me prosper.

But not I'm back thinking about my poor friend Abe,

Who needs lots of boyfriends when all I do is save?

All those other Bettys can laugh and talk all night,

I'll find my Sir Gold Mine, my hunky Mr. Right.

But first I'll stop the drama and ditch all my suitors,

Then everyone will quit calling me a selfish looter.

Sure I'll be poor, only saving dime after penny.

But no boyfriends is better than having way too many.

-Sydney Smart

I don't mind sharing my rhyming poems because they don't bare my soul. It always gets a little uncomfortable when the closet emo in you is released through delicate high school-aged poetry.

For example:

Marie Antoinette

I am sitting on my duvet cover

reading a biography about the

Last Queen of France, discovering

what it must have been like

to walk

among those famous gardens

in Versailles.

But I am not jealous of Maria Antonia

because I have my own Eden to govern,

full of color and surrounded by

smooth stone, ivy, and Greek pillars.

3,000 Tulips of mango, mauve, and strawberry

bow their heads reverently

paying tribute to their majesty,

as I sit upon my throne.

Up high in my tower, and through

my open window

lilies offer sweet perfumes

to show their devotion.

The Iris grants me a soft melody

as it whisper through the breeze

it's desire for my mercy.

And the white rose,

stubborn and pampered,

watches peacefully in silence.

I am the Queen of my garden,

my Versailles.

And with my room as my palace, I reign graciously,

thanking my loyal subjects for returning,

without fail,

every Spring.

-Sydney Smart

It gets worse, I promise. You'll just have to trust me though.

This is me in Europe right before my senior year of high school. This trip "inspired" my cheesy Marie Antoinette poem.

And me, at my senior prom.

After reading my poetry, you probably thought I looked more like this in high school:

Luckily, I only "inspired" nightmares for small children during middle school and junior high.

Ahhhhh, a good dose of humility is good for everyone.

Project Nursery

I've been excited to post pictures of Ev's nursery, except its not done yet.

Here's an equation for you:

Law school = lack of funds = have to make everything yourself = lots of time = very slow process.

I've actually had tons of fun, but like I said, I have made pretty much everything hanging on the walls. Now I understand why women "nest" and prepare the nursery ahead of time. My only down time is when the Evster is napping, but working on her nursery requires me to be in her room. See the problemo?

Although I'm not quite finished, I'm happy with it enough to show a few pics.

Here is the hutch above the changing table.

The wall above her crib. I made the "garland" above the picture frames out of tulle and string. It cost me about $5. I also made the "pictures" inside the frames out of scrapbook paper, old fabric, and some trim.

My mom bought Evie this Madeline doll when I was pregnant with her. I'm hoping its her favorite doll until she is responsible enough to get her own American Girl doll. I made the print in the frame as well. (Are you seeing a trend?)

Here is a close-up of one of the pictures.

And another close-up.

Two more pictures/wall art that I made. I ended up painting the frames white to stand out against the blue wall. I'm not sure I made the right decision though...

I got this idea off pinterest and then busted out some serious skills (hardly) on Microsoft Word.

The bow art was a last minute addition. I was making bows for Ev's hair one night and thought they might be cute in a frame. 12 bows later and an old frame painted and voila!

Should I paint these frames a different color? I have some sample turquoise paint leftover and I could always use that. I don't think they look that great against the white wall, but I'm also afraid of a multi-color overload.

I still need to pick out some curtains. I want some that look like these from Land of Nod.

But I'm thinking I might end up getting white curtains. Again, I'm afraid of a color overload.

I also want to make a rug that looks like this:

And I still need to post photos of the crib, bedding, etc. But that's for another day. I feel like I have so many apartment projects going on at once. Its very fun, but also a little bit daunting - such is the life of a law student's wife with a DIY budget. I'm still working on my herbs, our family/living room/den/dining room. (Yes it's all one room!)

And what's a blogpost without some cuteness? Here is the inspiration for Evie's nursery.

She is my real life cupcake - sweet, delicious, and full of chub.

(Thank you Aunt Darcee for the costume!)

And here is a picture of Dobby, with its true master.

Wouldn't you want to be a house slave to someone that adorable?

Our House Elf

I have noticed something strange since approximately May 1, 2009 and I finally put my finger on just what it is the other day. There are mysterious, even magical, occurrences within the walls of our home on a daily basis. I am constantly asking myself how certain things get cleaned, picked up, fixed, or just done in general. Case and point: Syd and I went to bed the other night around 11pm and when I awoke around 5am to head to school, there was a sack lunch sitting on the counter with my name on it. I am sure it could not have been Syd because after the long days she has day in and day out, there is just no possible way she could get up at some point during the night to furnish such a lunch for me. It's not physically possible. After thinking long and hard as to whom the culprit could be, I finally found my answer in the most unlikely of places...Harry Potter. (Note: I am only a mere muggle and so my lack of knowledge to turn to magical sources for explanations is quite understandable, though not acceptable excuse if you find yourself a wizard or witch.) There is only one explanation to all the baffling happenings that occur in our home. We have somehow inherited ourselves a house elf.

I do not know how this house elf came into our possession, but I am most grateful to it for its abounding generosity. In a recent conversation with Syd about my theory on our newly acquired house elf, I was confronted with a barrage of horrible things that are done to house elves. They are beaten, yelled at, and generally treated with the utmost disrespect and disgust. After educating myself further through an unbiased source about house elves (Wikipedia), I learned that while there are some house elves that are treated in the manner Syd had explained to me, the majority are graciously happy performing their duties. Despite the seemingly horrid lifestyles house elves must endure, they seem to actually enjoy being enslaved. So I realized that ultimately our house elf was enjoying doing all those wonderful deeds and suddenly I stopped feeling so sorry for the house elf.

Of course, searching for information about house elves will return numerous articles about the #1 most talked about house elf, Dobby. I learned about all Dobby did to help others and how he was different than others because he was a free house elf. This got me thinking. Did I own my house elf? Was I its master? Did my house elf even like me as its master? In the goodness of my heart and maybe a moment of weakness, I decided one night earlier this week to set the matter straight and present my house elf with a piece of clothing in the form of my used fruit-smelling workout clothes. For those uneducated muggles out there, presenting clothes to a house elf is essentially the way to free it from your service. I figured my house elf has done so much for me in the past two years that it was time to reciprocate by granting it freedom.

I thought that maybe my house elf would aparate to the nearest tropical beach with stories of a tortuous tyrant of a master who demanded so much, but instead the magical proceedings continued. My house elf really knows how to take care of me. Syd went out of town again a few weeks and it was up to our house elf to pick up the slack. Miraculously, our fridge looked like this.



Those are three lunches ready to go for the next three days and underneath that is precooked meals for the next three nights. I wouldn't survive without my house elf. I would truly fall by the wayside and slowly slip away. I wouldn't say I could be diagnosed with "Failure to Thrive" like some other author of a renowned world-wide blog, but I would truly suffer without the aid of my loyal house elf. I am eternally thankful for my house elf, wherever it may be. It should know that my daughter thanks her though she can't speak quite yet. It should know that I couldn't function without it. And it should know that no act of magic around our house goes unnoticed. If there have been acts of magic that have slipped by without a thank you or sign of reciprocation, I am sorry. Our home is better because of our house elf. Our home is stronger because of our house elf. Our "Dobby" keeps us functioning well on a daily basis. We love our "Dobby."

I wish I could have captured a picture to post of our devoted "Dobby," but as everyone knows house elves are rarely seen and consequently I have failed to capture a picture yet. Our "Dobby" eludes us for now.