in case we missed you...

Our last frantic weekend as we moved from Dallas, we sent out some Christmas cards. But we're positive we missed a few, and we also don't know where the remaining cards or envelopes are at this point.

For anyone that might be curious, here's a summary of our year:

Hope you had a great Christmas!

For God so loved the world... and you.

You may have already seen this, but I'm just going to leave it here.
Merry Christmas.

creative partner

I think the last post I wrote could use some minor amendments. Or at least a little background.

Yes, there was name-calling and eye-rolling. As there always is on every project we work on. There's also negotiating and arguing over tedious things and consulting the Chicago Manual of Style.
But we're also having a REALLY good time while we do it. And the teasing is very good-natured. And we laugh very hard and stay up late and get goofy and spend much more time working on it than we should because, frankly, we like to work on creative projects together.

Mostly I'm just grateful to be married to a creative partner.
He has most the design skills and I mostly do photo stuff. We both generate content. And while I can't use Illustrator or InDesign for the life of me, he'll hand over the mouse and let me try a new idea or color palette and I'll do the same with him. We love to make plans of projects we can do together--from video, to decorating, to photos, to books, to the seldom occasion when we can do music stuff together.

It's worked out really well over our marriage. I think we really respect and trust each other's aesthetic, ideas, and edits. But one of the things I value the most is that he isn't afraid to tell me when an idea is not good. We have this really safe creative zone where we can throw all of our ideas--and then toss out the bad or tell each other when it's not working. It's a pretty candid process and not anywhere close to gushy, but it's in this working mode and there's a lot of energy and excitement for whatever we're working on.

Film school was so good for me in that respect. It was such a vulnerable and humble process of watching your rough cuts on a big screen playing for all your peers. But reading and filling out so many feedback forms with one column that said "what works" and another that said "what doesn't work" taught me to CRAVE good feedback. And showed me that usually the most helpful is when a friend, peer, or partner can tell you what isn't working. That's what you can't see when you're so close to your own work and that's what you want to make it better.

It's not always easy. It can get frustrating because I want to be done, and sometimes I've shown him a cut or a draft or a concept or a photo and he's said: "You're so close. But just do this and this and it'll be so much better." He's right. Almost every time.
And a few times I'll also choose not to go with his suggestion because, well, I can and sometimes there isn't a better--just a preference. Like how he likes the font Neris and I don't love it. Or how I almost always choose cool colors and he has to coax me to ever use red.

In the end, I'm just really glad to have someone that not only puts up with all this stuff, but also joins in. It's really nice to share.

There is an awful lot of name-calling and eye-rolling at the Browns when we work on Christmas cards. In the past five minutes, a few examples have included:
"Well that was a bad choice."
"You're a bad person."
"Can you help me do this? Then I can do the rest by myself." ... "I'm not sure you can."
"Bad color." "Oh yeah? What color would you do?"
"So, do you not use the Oxford comma anymore?" ..."YOU typed that."

It's tender in its own way.

I think I missed my calling in life. (I mean Dallas.)


I *should've* been spending our time here trying out every taco joint and making an authoritative and comprehensive guide to Dallas tacos. If there's one thing Dallas does right, it's tacos.
Now with a mere 3 weeks left, I just don't think I have the time.


You know what they say.
Hindsight is 20/20.

ode to a 1 year old

Don't get me wrong. I love babies.
I love skinny babies and chunky babies. Preemie babies and babies that grow too quickly. Babies that snuggle and babies that move.

But I think I love one year olds more.
Becoming an aunt at age 12 and having 15 nieces or nephews before having a child of my own showed me a lot of baby stages--and one year olds have always proved to be pretty tops. I've anxiously looked forward to this time of life, and trust me, Greta has been no disappointment. At 18 months, here's a few of my favorite things about her.

Her manners. She is VERY good at saying "please." She says it every time she wants to be done with dinner and whenever she wants something. She's also very good at wiping her mouth at the table.

How she blows raspberries on me whenever possible.

How she loves rocks and sticks.

How she's a little shy to try new things in front of people.

How she sets the table.

How she slings a purse or bag over her shoulder to go somewhere, and absolutely cannot leave the house without one stuffed animal.

How she waves her arms to dance.

How she is NO show-pony. On webcam with family she is often pretty dead-pan. She does not like to do tricks for other people, thanks. She does not perform on command. And I kind of love it.

How she likes to play ring around the roses.

How she cannot STAND someone going to the bathroom or showering without her. She will knock on that door and holler in until someone opens it for her to come in.

How she says no when she means yes. And how if we question her on it and say "do you really mean yes?" she'll respond "Yaaaesh."

How she exclaims "Oooohhh!"

How she kisses me very romantically. (I don't know where this girl has picked it up. She grabs my face, her mouth half open, and kisses me for a solid ten seconds. It's very affectionate. Sometimes she'll go back for more kisses.)

How she cooks. Taking one pot out of the cupboard and putting spices in it and then a lid on top.

How I know she's woken up from a nap because I hear quacking from the other room.

How she gets this delirious hysterical crazy goofy at the grocery store sometimes. I mean, it's also impossible to work with and involves so much wrestling and bribery and usually having Jason there whenever possible. But it's pretty funny.

Her little mullet curls. They are so sweet and dear to me.

How if she ever catches me sitting on the floor she will immediately and carefully start backing up until she is sitting on my lap.

How she can't stand not being in the middle of things or not knowing what's going on. She has some serious FOMO. You're cooking up there? I need to see! Working at the computer? Let me come, too!
Or the way she tries to come sit in the front seat of the car instead of the back, or always just wants to sleep in our bed. She's also pretty convinced she knows how to do everything.

How she loves to read. And really loves libraries and bookstores.

How much she thinks about animals, as evidenced by the frequent animal noises.

Her petite little body. We laughed the other day when we put a shirt on her that she has literally been wearing for the past YEAR. (It's size 3-6 months). She's starting to grow, but we have to be really careful getting the right clothes that will fit her skinny waistline, narrow shoulders, be long enough, and still go over her large head. (Percentile-wise she's in the 3rd for weight and like 60th for head.)

How everything except water is "juice."

How much she hugs. And how much she obliges if I say, "want a hug?"

She was playing peek-a-boo at the moment.

I love this baby girl.

(Okay, okay. She has now spent the past two consecutive nights sleeping all night in her own bed. This morning at 6 she did wake up, let out a "Woof! Woof!" and then immediately fall back asleep.

So it might not be THAT terrible all the time.)

Greta the Bed-Bully.

I have a draft of a post about how darling my 18 month old is. Last night I was uploading beautiful pictures of her and was going to write a whole host of nice things. Instead, this post might take a different tone. We have had some rough nights and mornings around here.

Most nights, we fall asleep with her, transfer her to her bed. Invariably, at some point in the night, she wakes up -- sees us on top of our airbed a mere 2 feet away. She stands up, walks over to me, and taps the bed saying "Up, up" until someone picks her up.
(Needless to say, we are greatly looking forward to getting more established somewhere and not having the same living/sleeping arrangements. Turns out it's really hard to keep a baby out of your bed when your bed is RIGHT next to theirs and they watch you sleep.)

This is how it goes from that point:

If you let Greta in your bed...
She would like to be spooned. Which is kinda sweet, right?
But she will also demand that no blanket touch her body.
(*Unless* she is a little bit cold. Then she would like a blanket covering her freezing toes until they warm up. At which point all blankets must be removed and none must make any contact with her.)

In her anxiousness to clear the space of all blankets, she may remove your blankets as well. Which you have to readjust very carefully so they cover you, do not cover all 32" tall of her, and still reach over to your spouse on the other side. It's an interesting U-formation that has to be very carefully done.
She will then realize that the very bottom of your pillow grazes the very top of her head. Which is unacceptable and she will fight until appropriate arrangements are made.

She will then require some back-rubbing and kisses to start to fall asleep.
At which point, she will roll over to now face you. (You, of course, being mom. Because mom is the one true person to sleep with.)
As she rolls over, she will roll over crashing into you. She would like to sleep exactly in your space where you have been sleeping. You must scoot over to allow her to do this. If you simply put her back in the middle of the bed in her new position, she will cry and scream. a lot. So you give in and roll over to the edge of the bed.

At this point, your spouse may say, "Greta, stop being a bully." Or your spouse may alternately quip, "Greta, you will make a very good wife someday," indicating her bed-takeover skills are already top-notch.

As she now faces you (while you sleep in a small space on the edge of the bed), she would still like to make contact and snuggle with you. But she will run into your blankets. So she will kick and push you away, angry at the existence of blankets on a bed.
As she flails and cries out and her little legs go flying into your face, you will scoot farther off the bed, while angrily muttering, "You have to be nice if you want to be in this bed."
She will still be unable to relax and will continue to be bothered by... we're not really sure.
So you will pick up all your blankets and move to the other side of her to allow her the open space she needs. Keep in mind it is 5am.

As you are now safely on the other side, with all blankets, and she has nothing touching her and a large radius of space, she will realize she is perhaps still uncomfortable. She may want to be spooned again.
She may want to have her back rubbed, which she will indicate by pointing to her back and tapping.
She will almost be asleep, until she starts talking. And scooting over until she finds you again.
At which point she will realize you have a pillow. Which she is again angry at, and bats it away until you move it or remove it entirely.
But she may decide the idea of a pillow sounds nice, and she will come steal said pillow and park her head on it. So you will give her your pillow, cursing her name. You will steal your spouse's pillow, who has now left the bed.

At some point, she may drift back to sleep.
You may not. Or you may for awhile.
Eventually you've decided she is asleep enough to move her to her own bed.
She will make the transition just fine.
For 10 minutes.
Until a little voice starts whimpering. A little dark head of hair will stand up, make it's way over to the bed, start poking and tapping.... etc etc.

Repeat until daylight.


At which point she wakes up, smiling, laughing, and somewhat resembling this child:

...which is precisely how she'll make it through another day.

The Rule

So I originally wrote this right after we arrived in Texas and just let it sit on my little private blog. But I decided to bring it out and share it a little more publicly -- just in case it comes in handy for anyone else out there.

-------

Recently, I went to two baby showers where we had to write advice to the mothers-to-be. I sat there sheepishly and couldn't come up with a thing. I was pretty sure I'd learned something in the past year and a half, but I sat mostly brain-dead.

Guys. I have remembered some advice. It is very important. Crucial, I'd say.

I know I don't have a lot of experience and I only have one child, but this is the advice I'd give to another first-time mom. It applies most to stay-at-home moms, or moms that stay at home a lot of the time.

THE RULE

Here's the rule: you have to get out of the house. You have to leave the house at some point every day. You need a plan, or an errand, or a visit.

(DISCLAIMER: If you're not a mom yet, I know this idea of *not* leaving the house in a day might sound absurd. I would've thought it sounded awful and horrible. Just wait, and don't judge. There may come a day of understanding for you yet.)

That's it. Just leave the house. It doesn't really matter what it is. But it has to be conscientious.

The days when I feel most unhappy are when I haven't left the apartment. I feel stir-crazy, yes, but usually by about 3pm I also get sad or weepy or anxious. I might get frustrated with my husband more easily or more frustrated by our situation in life. But one of the most common side effects is that I feel poorly about myself.

It's not that I haven't accomplished anything that day. I tend to keep myself productive and I've probably accomplished a great deal. I may have even done professional work, kept up on my emails, or accomplished something I had been looking forward to. But, strangely enough, I don't feel a sense of accomplishment for the day unless I've left the house.

HOW TO DO IT:

There are many ways to leave the house. You probably have enough errands that need attending to. You have a household to upkeep and people to provide sustenance and clothing for. You probably have returns. You probably have a shower coming up that you need to find a present for. And you might find, like me, that once you're out you find even more places that you need to go. Michael's? Obviously I need to go there. Target? I think so.

But then I started realizing that I needed to be able to get out of the house without spending money. We can't afford for me to just go aimlessly spend money every day. But my sanity and well-being can't afford not to get out of the house every day.

So then you start planning field trips. The library. Parks. Splash pads. The rec center. Grandma's house. Playdates. Hikes. The post office. Anything.

SOMETIMES YOU WILL FEEL SILLY. Because you have a 6 month old who doesn't actually care that you're at the library, let alone at story-time. Or you have a 9 month old that doesn't care too much about a playdate. Or a 1 year old that really doesn't want to be at the museum.

But remember, IT'S NOT FOR THEM--IT'S FOR YOU. It's not that it doesn't affect them. It will. They will observe and learn and be stimulated by a new environment. And it also establishes good habits and good traditions for both of you. And I dare say that you will have better relationships and good memories together as a result. 

But really. It's okay to do it for YOU. To learn and experience new things outside the home. To get a breath of fresh air. To meet new people and make new friends. To see more of the world.

I took my one year old to art museums over a dozen times this summer and she didn't particularly like it. In fact, she often hated it and cried. We usually didn't last altogether too long. But it made me think and feel alive and let me experience some great things. I have a tender memory of standing and holding back tears at an exhibit in the Whitney Museum while my daughter sat watching the museum curator make faces to entertain her. You know, at that moment she wasn't getting anything out of the art--but it was what I needed. I needed to be moved by those Jacob Lawrence paintings and maybe she needed a new face smiling at her. And I have a feeling that taking her to art museums in her childhood might have a significant impact in ways I can't yet recognize.

OTHER THOUGHTS

When I'm not working (which sometimes comes in projects or seasons for me and my field), I sometimes become quite reclusive. Like, not-answer-the-door-several-times-in-one-day reclusive. I know. It's an issue. Once again, this isn't something I ever expected of myself at 25. Sometimes I know I need to get out, so I try and break out by just going out and checking the mail. Or running things to the dumpster. I've left the house, right? But this is a cop out and I know it. I've left the apartment, but not left the property. It doesn't leave me feeling better.

I'm not entirely sure why happiness and accomplishment for me are so directly linked to leaving the house, but I have a few ideas.

When you are a mother and your life suddenly isn't run by professional or school deadlines, it needs a little structure. It's not that it won't have any structure--because that's a big fat lie. There's feeding schedules and nap schedules and sleep schedules. There's your husband's schedules (which don't revolve around the baby's) and social schedules and family schedules, too. But you don't choose those schedules very much.

The truth also stands that most of your errands could probably be pushed to another day, and you don't have a boss who would yell at you for it. Or your creative endeavors or service projects or correspondence or visits could be wiggled around. Procrastinated. Saved for later. 

So you need to create a schedule. And you need to create a motivation. 

At first, it can be so hard to find a time of the day to get out of the house. I remember wondering how I'd ever find a block of time where my infant would a) be fed and b) not be napping or needing to nap soon and where I would simultaneously also be a) fed and b) put together enough to go out. That new baby thing is hard!

While it does get easier, you still do have to push yourself to get out of the house. And to do it you might leave a bowl of cheerios in milk on the table or toys scattered across the front room or wearing an outfit that isn't entirely pulled together. But it feels so good--in part because if you can get out, you feel in control and like you can do this motherhood gig. Not to mention doing wonders for restlessness or anxious hearts.

THE EXCEPTION

You decide when this sets in. That first month or first six weeks or first three months or first six months or however long, you might need to not leave the house. And that's just fine. 

My sequestered, home-bound maternity leave was a little bit forced. I had a C-section and my doctor instructed me not to drive for at least a month. I also had a preemie who had recently gotten surgery, so we didn't really want to take her around.

And that first month, man, was great. I mean, it was really hard in a lot of the new-mom ways, but I also ended up feeling a sense of freedom. I suddenly had no deadlines or no one expecting anything of me. After all, I'd just had a baby. They weren't expecting to hear from me or for me to accomplish anything other than love my baby.

So I did.

I spent long, exceptionally quiet days holding my baby. I held her when she napped because I wanted to. I was very alone, and very okay with the peace and quiet. I thought about how I *could* be doing other things like cleaning up or organizing baby clothes or cooking or writing thank-you notes, but how I was mostly going to sit and hold my baby, thanks.

It was really nice. But it didn't last forever. And then I started wanting to take my baby out and experience the world with her. And then I started needing to do more things to not be a neglectful member of society. And then I needed to be needed outside the home. And then I also wanted to go out so I could experience the world again for myself and remember what it felt like to be me, and not just a mother. 

This isn't to say that you might have other periods of life where you need to just slow down for the sake of you or your kids or your family. You know you and your family enough to make that call and know when you need to NOT leave the house. That's just fine.

BABIES NEED TO GET OUT, TOO

We just moved this week to the middle of nowhere where we know relatively nobody. We're here temporarily, and don't know what the next step is. So I'm not working, nor do I really have major goals. We're also feeling pretty alone. I don't interact with people most days more than my husband and 16-month old.

I've been thinking a lot this week about how important it is becoming for me to get out more. To do more. To be a part of this new city more, especially as I've found myself discontent. But I didn't realize that my toddler was suffocating, too. The past few days she's been taking my keys to the door and standing to be let out. Or this morning, when she solemnly stood by the door in her diaper and said, "please?"--a wave of realization just hit.

She needs it right now just as much as I do. She needs to get out.

So that's it. That's my mother advice. 

Get out of the house every day. 

I know it doesn't come with a lot of clout. And I imagine things might change if you had more than one baby, or lived in a house and not in a one-bedroom apartment. I actually have no idea how important it might be for you or what might apply--so you can take it for what it's worth. But in this house, it's worth a lot.

Happy Halloween!

So this autumn season has been a little different than I'm used to. No chilly weather, no autumn leaves. No need for cocoa or cider. To be honest, we're enjoying that it's finally out of the 90s and nice enough weather to play outside!

(We're also laughing at how poorly we packed for Dallas weather. I'm still not breaking into long-sleeve shirts, let alone all the sweaters I packed. I've worn long jeans a few times.)

Regardless, the Browns have been enjoying pre-Halloween.

from the arboretum:

They had this darling little petting zoo. And Greta, well, tried very hard not to touch any animals, thanks. She wanted to keep a good distance from the bunny and goats. She touched the sheep once. She was most intrigued by the horse--but perhaps because he was behind a gate.

Jason's pretty horrified that I gave into the free face painting. I figure she's only a kid once.

(While we enjoyed these picturesque and fine holiday venues, we went home and bought a not-so-extravagantly priced pumpkin from the grocery store.)

Also, because I have no willpower, here's some pictures of baby girl in her costume. I took this little cow out to pasture yesterday and took some photos. I got eaten alive by bugs (like I have four bug bites on my face and a few others on arms and legs), and Greta was a crack-up as a cow.

 

Happy Halloween!

Galveston Island

The city is my adrenaline.
The mountains are my hideaway.
The beach? It's straight up therapy.

Nothing simultaneously soothes my nerves, stills my soul, and leaves me as intoxicated and deliriously happy as the beach. Something about that ocean. Gratefully, my husband indulged and took me on a quick 24-hour trip to Galveston Island from Friday-Saturday night.

Views on the way out of town.

Oh hey, Galveston!

So the truth of the matter is that we spent more hours driving than on the beach.
(Hey Jason? Thanks for being willing to spend late nights driving up and down Texas in quick succession.)
BUT we couldn't pass up an opportunity to go to the beach in October and still have killer weather. (Seriously? This is real life?!) Also, my husband was very understanding that perhaps with all the time we had spent cooped up inside I could use a little mental health break.

I also have the world's most perfect beach baby, which makes for an even better day at the beach.

This was her first beach trip as a walking individual and she LOVED the independence. She marched around on the sand, chased the birds, and walked into the water whenever she pleased.

She spent a lot of the day like this. She'd park herself on the shore in an inch of water, play with toys and scoop up sand. The water was delightfully warm and with every little surge and wave she would giggle in delight.

I was also so delighted with HOW far out in the water she'd go. She didn't mind standing in waist deep water with waves crashing up on her chest. When she'd finally start shivering we'd bring her back in -- but she had big grins and was pretty pleased with herself! (And I was probably even more proud than she was.)

It turns out we weren't as good at applying sunscreen to OURSELVES as we were to our daughter. About 2pm we had to go buy Jason a hat to cover his scorched face. I may also have come home with the worst sunburn I've had in several years.

It wasn't exactly a California beach. Not even close to a Florida or Hawaii beach. But when you've got the ocean next to you and 80 degree weather, you just don't mind the brown water very much.

Here's the other thing. I really do feel like it's this tender mercy that in the past six months we've been able to get to the beach as much as we have. With so many transitions and temporary moves, internships, and bouncing around the country chasing the next opportunity, we've been saying a lot, "So where do you think we'll be living in 2 months?" It's definitely been our most stressful year, but at least God made sure I could get to the ocean more than usual to recoup. You know what I'm saying?

The beach is my happy place.

Ebola Survivors 2014

As many of you may have seen on facebook, we are at Ebola ground zero! Our house is only 3 miles away from the infamous Texas Health Presbyterian Hospital. The latest nurse to become infected does in fact live in our apartment complex, in a building just around the corner and across the street-ish.

At first on Wednesday as we woke up to helicopters and cop cars, we were nervous. Not panicked or hysterical, but I think pretty understandably on edge a little.
I couldn't quite pin down where exactly and what building she lived in, and I was concerned about what common areas we might have shared. Although ebola isn't transmitted super easily, we did stand at risk more than most because we could have shared a pool, a fitness center, and a laundry room (all places where sweat could easily be transferred, not to mention other bodily fluids).

To be honest, the most concerning thing was the lack of information. Unlike what the internet or news may have told you last Wednesday, information was NOT distributed by police to everyone within a four block radius and the apartment complex management did NOT inform all residents of what was going on. We live very close and  had continued helicopters circling and cops and Hazmat trucks -- and yet had no idea what the impact on us would be. So I wanted to keep my toddler safe and stayed pretty isolated. Thursday we finally got first contact with a generic flyer from the City of Dallas about a healthcare worker near us contracting Ebola. Friday we finally got word from apartment management that her apartment was finished being cleaned by Hazmat and that they had cleaned the gym.

Our ward was cautious, too--a reasonable thing as ebola had now reared its head in the complex where probably 30% of the ward lives. But with no more cases and very low risk (after all, as we know she had been on a plane and hanging out in Ohio and not at the apartment complex!) all ward activities were kept normal.

We're living life as normal. We don't think we'll get Ebola. We don't have any fevers or flu-like symptoms, and now we know that we didn't even share a pool with her. Just like we promise our mothers, we'll be very careful. But we don't think we're doomed to get it.
On the other hand, we understand if people don't really want to visit us over the next, say, 21 days to wait it out.

We have refrained from sending texts to people that say "Jason's running a bit of a fever this morning, think he's okay to still go to work?" or a "I just threw up, think I should get checked out?" If you know me well, you might have an idea of how hard this has been to resist.
But we would be more than happy to send packages with fake bodily fluids or ebola samples to any of your paranoid, hypochondriac friends!

There is justice in this world.
Sweet, sweet justice carried out at our house every night at say, 9pm.

I was a master of avoiding bedtime. I ran out of bed, perpetually. I cozied up to my mom and told her all about my life (how can a parent resist?). I got scared a lot, which worked to my advantage when I came in crying for comfort. I worked my way into my siblings' activities, or my parents bed. Somehow I got my mom to constantly come in and rub my back and try to help me fall asleep. And then I'd interrupt with one more story. I routinely resisted sleep until I claimed my parents' exhaustion.

I remember in kindergarten my teacher asking what time I went to bed. "Oh, 10 or 10:30," I told her. I remember feeling pretty calm about it and I also remember that Mrs. Jensen was a little visibly horrified. She spoke to my mother about it. I think my mother dealt with the situation politely and responsibly and said something like "We'll work on it," but she explains she was tempted to respond with "Let's see YOU get her to bed any earlier."

Last night, like many nights, we collapsed in exhaustion. We had been doing the routine to get her to bed. It wasn't going great, so we tried everything. We tried putting her in her bed, letting her rest in our bed. We had sung "Old McDonald" and primary songs and the Dixie Chicks until we were blue. We had read stories. We had let her cry. She had a baby doll to hold. We rubbed her back, kissed her face. When she suddenly became chatty, I would attentively listen and acknowledge what she was pointing at, and then tell her it was time to be quiet and go to sleep. We tried turning off every light in the house. We tried turning on just a lamp. We tried turning on the overhead lights to see if it would make her close her eyes. But she would not succumb. As her eyes would flutter and her body would still, she would literally toss and turn and say "no! no!" (A pretty solid tactic, really.) She talked and talked and talked. We could not get her to stop talking.

By now it was 11. Through persistence, she had won. We jointly agreed defeat and each rolled away from her, fell asleep, and let her jabber until she fell asleep sometime later. Who really knows when that was.

And so I face my fate. I imagine roughly the next couple decades will be spent this way, until I hand her off to her college roommates and say "you try."

The unfortunate part is the innocent victim caught in the middle. Last night, Jason cried out, "But I wasn't like you, I don't deserve this!" I'm sorry, Jason. It's true. We should've warned you. I guess justice isn't always perfectly just. (And I guess I'll owe an apology and word of warning to Greta's future husband, as well.)

Texas State Fair

State fairs are what my dreams are made of.
(I know, they're kind of a big, dirty, crowded affair. But I'm kind of a junkie for spectacle. And they feel like a sweet farewell to summer.)
So we were pretty excited to be around in Dallas to catch the Texas State Fair. Wednesday night I picked Jason up from work, we took our canned food to get $3 admission, and we had a blast!

I took an excessive amount of pictures.
And was pretty excessively happy. My husband laughed at me when I teared up at the parade. I can't help it. Carnivals, fairs, parades--they just really bring it out in me. We were also pretty sweaty for an event in October that we left at 10pm, but Dallas has been in the 90s all week.

Here's a few glimpses:

People running the games at the midway kept calling out to Jason, "Hey Dad! Come win your baby a prize!" We were tempted a few times to try and get her a stuffed animal like the ones she kept ogling, but we opted not to get a "game card" and figured she'd probably be fine anyway.

We learned a few things. If you want to see animals, you gotta do it before sunset. We mostly just caught the cows' bathtime. (Turns out this was pretty okay, since Greta is now literally afraid of every moving creature. Including flies.)

Greta ate the whole thing up. She was running and spinning in circles. Walking around big-eyed. Going up to people running games. Waving and flirting.

I can't promise we won't go again. And I can't promise we won't post more pictures.