Twin pregnancy: Week 17

This pregnancy thing is getting real. 

I'm 17 weeks along, which in a twin pregnancy is almost halfway there. Sadly, that does not mean I'm free of the fun first trimester symptoms, like nausea and if-I-have-to-take-another-step-I-will-literally-collapse exhaustion. Now, I also get to add on belly pain and acid reflux so bad I'm not so sure I'll have an intact esophagus after all this. 

I'm also pretty noticeably pregnant. It's hard to objectively say how far along I actually look, but at my 15-week appointment the doc said I was measuring about 17.5 weeks (excellent for twin growth). Even though I felt so big, I had only gained 7 lbs., so it must be all in the gut (I flatter myself).

Now, at 17 weeks, I feel crazy big -- ridiculous, because I'm not that huge. I don't have a pic this week, but it's just that compared to when I was pregnant with Evan, I look more like I did at 22 weeks: 

Oy. And I can definitely feel it. I have crazy pains all throughout my belly -- sometimes like cramps, sometimes like muscles stretching, sometimes like shocks of lightning, always like there's a bowling ball pushing down on my pelvis. It is unpleasant, to say the least. And it's only going to keep going.

The irony is, some days I feel enormous while others I worry that I'm too small and the babies aren't growing enough. Such is my paranoia. 

But all that -- that's just me being whiny. On top of the not-so-fun aspects of double pregnancy, I am really getting excited about having twins. This is largely due to the fact that, at my 14-week appointment, both the fetal-medicine specialist and the ultrasound tech were about 75% sure we are having TWO GIRLS!

Baby B with her little hand underneath her chin

Notice the line across the middle with Baby A's face peeking from the bottom.

It was still pretty early to be sure, but at my next ultrasound we should be certain. All I know is, with the kind of wacky hormones I've got going on, I know there's at least one little lady in there. There's just no other way to explain the crazy. (At least, that's my story and I'm sticking to it.)

The funny thing is, I had no idea how much I wanted two girls until they told me that's (likely) what we have. When I was first pregnant, before I knew there were two babies in there, I thought I wanted a boy. I get boys now, and Evan would have a buddy. Plus we have all boy stuff. But when they said two girls, I could not believe how excited I was. I guess I wanted this all along but perhaps didn't dare to hope. 

It's funny how, along with seeking out some sort of crystal ball to help you get any potential glimpse of the future, your mind also turns to the past when you're pregnant. At least it has for me. I've been thinking a lot about myself as a little girl. 

When I was young I was a very typical girl. I loved playing dress ups, spent hours coloring and drawing princess dresses, and watched "Cinderella" so much I had each and every word memorized. I loved to read and even used my beloved toy kitchen to play library. When I was 3 or 4 I was in dance class, but then I discovered sports and that was it for me. I was kind of on a tomboy incline from then on out. 

Now, at 31 years old, what has changed? I still love sports and play a grown-up version of dress ups whenever I get the chance. I love words almost more than anything, and I still have "Cinderella" memorized. 

It's amazing how, no matter what happens in life, so much of who we are is boldly evident almost from day one. As a parent, this is both daunting and endearing. It's fun to wonder who these little people will be and hope our mini-me's actually become the best versions of ourselves -- and yet the challenge is to understand their complexities and love them no matter how baffling they and their actions may seem. (I feel this almost daily with a wild and wacky little boy who is so often such a complete mystery to me.)

So while I may daydream of two little dark-haired, dark-eyed darlings who will twirl their princess dresses and stay up late reading their favorite books, I know that I don't get to choose who they are or who they will become. I can hope and pray they turn out OK and then do everything in my power as a parent to steer them to correct paths, but it's up to them to decide who they are going to be. They come to this earth with a spirit all their own and an important mission to accomplish. I only hope I can love my children for who they are, no matter what they may ultimately choose to do, and encourage them to be the absolute best versions of themselves, not just figments of my pregnant, idealistic imagination.

The Mommy Wars: Just let it go

I'm going to break away from the twinsanity for a minute on this post, and it probably won't be very popular, mostly because I may be alone in feeling this way. But I wanted to chime in on something that's getting a lot of attention lately: The Mommy Wars.

What I have to say is probably not what you've heard before. At least, I've never heard it before, and that's why I wanted to speak up. What I want to say is, I don't get it.

I just don't get what the fighting is about. I mean, I get it — moms are judging other moms, and some leave feeling superior while others leave feeling insecure and beat down — but what I don't get is, why are you mommies letting it get to you?

Hear me out: I know that "just letting it go" is so much easier said than done. I know that although we may have heard and said a million times, "Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me," we have all been deeply wounded by words, by glances, whispers, and opinions. Words, whether spoken or not, do hurt, and can scar. But what I'm about to say next is very important:

Non-physical pain can only hurt us if we let it. 

This is not an empty phrase, some mantra I cut and pasted from a self-help book. This is a truth that took me years to believe. And I do believe it, with all my heart. I absolutely know that it's true, because I've spent just as many years learning to heal non-physical pain without anyone's help but my own, in spite of the people and circumstances around me and despite brain chemistry that tells me I am incapable of peace and happiness.

So I'm going to say it again:

Non-physical pain can only hurt us if we let it.

Yes, it is easier said than done to "just let it go," but believe me when I say that learning how to let things go will change your life. I don't mean in a vague, "This is a nice way to live" kind of way, although that's true, too. I mean it will literally change everything about yourself, because it will change your outlook on life, the people around you, and how you feel about the person you are becoming.

I promise you this: If you focus your energy on letting things go instead of on the hurt, you will be a different person, one who feels love and patience for others, no matter how frustrating their actions may seem. You will feel confident in your own actions and be able to cut yourself some slack when you're not at your best. You will be ready to try again tomorrow, because you will not hold onto the mistakes of yesterday except to learn from them before leaving them behind. You will not be blinded by the faults of others but instead be eager to see all that is good in them, and you will be much more capable of helping to bring out those shining qualities. And because of this, the people around you will seem to change before your very eyes.

How exactly to "just let it go" is for another post, because it could probably fill an entire book. And I am no expert, I have just walked the path and learned how to do it for myself. I will share my experience another day, but for now I'm going to get back to the Mommy Wars.

Here's where my opinion is not going to be very popular.

The fact is, some mothers are better than others. It's a plain truth that's easy to see when you read of a drug-addicted mom who leaves as many dirty needles as dirty diapers lying around the house. Even outside of extreme examples, this is still invariably true. But from my perspective, rather than engage in the wars and the pity parties and the backbiting, I believe my time is better served learning from the mothers who are better than I instead of tearing them down or being jealous of their accomplishments. So much of what I know about parenting (which, as a relatively new mom, is admittedly not a lot) I've learned from other mothers, and I am so grateful for their ideas, experiences, and wisdom. Without it, I'd still be in that newborn-phase fog, unshowered and wandering around in my pajamas wondering how to survive from day to day.

On the other side of the coin, just because I can learn a lot from other mothers doesn't mean I have to be exactly like them. Diversity in motherhood is a beautiful thing. I can get 10 good ideas from 10 different mothers — and even 10 ideas of what not to do from moms who aren't at their best — and use them to enrich my situation tenfold. It's an all-you-can-eat buffet of life lessons, free for the taking ... but there's a catch.

When we take the good, we have to let go of the bad. This means that when I learn something great from another mom, I can't beat myself up over the fact that I have been doing it wrong. It is not a judgment on my character or my abilities as a parent that someone else figured it out before I did; and even if another mother tried to make me feel that way, it doesn't mean I have to believe it.

The best part is, I know that I don't have to be everything to everyone. I don't have to be crafty and stylish and an amazing chef and homeschool my kids and teach them to read by the time they're 3 and have clever, exciting dates with my husband every week. I can work on the talents I have and maybe try some new ones, but if I'm not great at making tissue paper pompoms or refinishing furniture then so what? I am who I am, I like what I like, there's room for improvement when I'm up for it, and that's the end of it.

As long as I am truly doing the best that I can, that is all that matters. And truth be told, I'm not doing the best I can every minute of every day, because I'm human and have some really rough times, too. (Full disclosure: While writing this article I stopped and yelled at my son for banging on the bedroom door when he should have been taking a nap. This is real life, folks.) But I know that I can always try again, and life will get better and I will be better and my son will be happier and better off.

In the end, no one else can make me feel bad about myself without my permission. That's another cut-and-paste mantra I believe, because it is also very, very true. Once the words leave someone else's mouth, it's up to me to decide if I'm going to let them go or hold onto them indefinitely.

So are you going to learn from other mothers, condemn them, or condemn yourself?

It's entirely up to you to decide if you're going to get caught in the war.

Now that I've gotten to the end of my message, I realize it's been said before by someone so much more capable than I, President Dieter F. Uchtdorf of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

(Full video and written address available HERE)

I'm going to leave that with you, and a beautiful visual reminder from My Sister's Suitcase:

Nursery for two

Ever since I received the shocking news that I was not expecting one baby in February, as I had suspected, but two babies in January, I did what any normal person would do in this situation: freak out.

But now that reality has sunk in and I've been assured the babies are healthy and growing (thank goodness), I'm starting to get more excited. Yes, having two newborns and one preschooler will be an incredible challenge, but I'm up for it. You know how I know this? It's not because I actually believe it myself, or that I have any clue how I'm going to make it work. It's because Heavenly Father does not give us more than we are capable of handling. Period. (And really, there's just no way this could possibly be as difficult as what I went through in my untreated bipolar days, and I not only lived to tell the tale, I became an infinitely better person because of them.)

So you know what?

BRING IT ON, BABIES! LET'S DO THIS!

OK, now that I've gotten that out, let's get into to some warm-and-fuzzy baby stuff, shall we? Today's item of business: the twin nursery.

Back when I thought there was just one little tot in there, I had already planned the perfect boy nursery: a space-themed room that wasn't a space-themed room, ya know what I mean? Definitely spacey, but sophisticated. I actually started working on this idea when I was pregnant with Evan, before we knew he was a he. When I was 16 weeks pregnant we were at Disneyland and discovered you can buy prints of vintage ride posters, like so:

The problem was, we didn't know if we were having a boy or a girl, so we didn't end up buying any. We came up with a gorgeous nursery inspired by these posters instead:

Funny enough, I never actually took pictures of the nursery itself (probably because it wasn't finished until after Evan was born), and now that he has a Big Boy Bed it's all been changed. Just take my word, it was lovely — craftsman style, classic, yet soft — and my favorite room in the house.

So anyway: I went back to my first idea and drew inspiration from Disneyland's Tomorrowland posters and came up with this little boy nursery:

View the mood board online here!

I already have key pieces, like the crib, rocket night light, toy robot, and a similar floor lamp and clock, so the rest would be easy enough to put together.

The girl's nursery has been harder for me to dream up, perhaps because I've never actually created a truly feminine space in my life. Seriously, while there are plenty of feminine touches in my house, it's all pretty heavy and masculine. I must have quite a bit of a manly side.

At any rate, I have this amazing vintage dresser I adopted from my aunt and uncle, which I painted like so:

Dreamy, isn't it?

To go with it, I pictured lots of soft pastels, like salmon and pale yellow; a fluffy white sheepskin rug; and of course a chandelier. Perhaps something like this gem from Project Nursery:

I even fancied an "Alice in Wonderland" nursery, but it's SO theme-y it seems a little hard to pull off with any practicality:

So I let the girl nursery ideas simmer for a bit and thought, "I'll cross that bridge when I get there." But then with the twin news I had a new scenario to content with: a shared, gender-neutral nursery.

Oy.

This was a tough one for me, but I did find some lovely inspiration online:

(Again, a bit on the masculine side, but I could soften it up)

And this from High Cotton Style:

But what really caught my interest was this "Fantastic Mr. Fox" nursery mood board from 100layercakelet:

I think it's the colors that I really love, so I kept the mint dresser in mind, went with the color palette, and came up with something I love for a boy/girl shared nursery:

View the mood board online here!

I am smitten. Sadly, though, I don't have as many pieces (and I could never afford that $1,170 orb chandelier!!), but I do have key ones: the crib, both dressers and that chair — yes, the actual chair, that I picked up from the thrift store today. It is dreamy, in excellent condition, and with enough color in it that I could push it silver for my space-boy nursery or pale blue for the girlie pastel nursery. The best part of it is, the guy gave me a discount. I walked away with my dream chair for $15! 

So, perhaps it's fate. Perhaps there really is a boy and a girl in there (although can I pause and freak out again for one little moment that there are TWO FREAKING BABIES IN THERE!!?!?!!!), and now that I have the perfect gender-neutral nursery, I can REALLY start getting excited about my little twinners.

In the meantime, here's to hoping that it's not too early to tell: I have my first appointment with the fetal-medicine specialist and we're going to try to find out the gender TOMORROW MORNING!! HOORAY!

Along came a miracle...

The unintentional blogging hiatus hasn't truly been for naught. So much has been going on that I've wanted to write about, but we chose to keep the news to ourselves for a while. But now the time has come to make our big announcement:

You read that right: We're expecting twins!

Believe me, no one was shocked more than Aaron and I to receive this news. Learning that you're going to have not one, but two babies at once is mind-blowing, to say the least — especially after what happened with my last pregnancy. It truly is a testament that God does not forget us. Things may not happen the way we want, hope, or expect, but if we have faith they will happen just the way they're supposed to.

Confession: That's not to say we're completely thrilled with the news. To be honest, I think we're equal parts excited and terrified. We realize what an incredible blessing this is, but it is also incredibly daunting. Every single day for the past few months I've had to balance the excitement of pregnancy with the fear that something will go wrong again. I've been just as grateful as I have been anxious, and it's exhausting to have those two emotions raging in equal share.

Now that I'm almost 12 weeks along and the risk of miscarriage is practically nil, I have a host of different worries, some of them great, some of them small. Will I be able to carry the babies full-term? At 5'2" with narrow hips, what on earth will happen to my body to make this pregnancy possible? And how am I going to come back from that?

Then there's the issue of helping Evan adjust to life with not one, but two new siblings — to say nothing of what a challenge it's going to be having two newborns at once! Will my postpartum depression come back? Will they be just as difficult as Evan was as a baby? Will they be easier? Will I be able to give all three children the love and attention they need?

And lastly, how on earth will we be able to afford any of it?

I don't want to sound ungrateful — words simply cannot express my gratitude that I am not only pregnant again, and we are healthy, but that I am being entrusted with two little spirits at once. But the plain truth is, I just don't know how to process it all yet. I don't know that I ever will; I think it will be one huge learn-as-you-go experience and I will have no choice but to take it as it comes. This does not sit well with a person like me, but perhaps that's why I'm being given this challenge. Therefore, I will accept it, and do my best to accept it gladly.

Now that we're finally spreading the news, however, I am simply loving all the well-wishes. Your enthusiasm is contagious, and it's what I desperately need right now. So thank you all so very, very much! I know that as things progress I'll be able to take it all in better and see the joys more than the unknown, and for that I am excited indeed.

I've been getting a lot of questions since we broke the news, so I thought I'd post a little FAQ.

Q: When did you find out?

A: Two-and-a-half weeks ago, at my first OB appointment. I was 9 or 10 weeks along and the doc wheeled in the little portable ultrasound machine so we could make sure there was a heartbeat and to check the dates. After just a few seconds she said, "Oh! There's two!" Shocked, I yelled, "Shut up!" And then I started laughing. It was so unexpected, and so baffling and exciting at the same time. She immediately sent me to get a full ultrasound to confirm this, and sure enough, there were two little babies, their tiny hearts beating away.


Q: How did you tell your husband?

A: He was at work and I wanted to tell him in person, so I had to wait about five hours for him to get home. It was torture, but I kept quiet and waited. When he got home I casually said, "I got an ultrasound printout. Take a look." His reaction was exactly mine: "Shut up!" Then he refused to believe me (as if I'd ever played a practical joke on him), until he finally realized this was legit.


Q: Do twins run in your family?

A: Not really. I have one set of  fraternal twin cousins and on Aaron's side there are twins a few generations up, but nothing to suggest we were predisposed to have twins ourselves.


Q: Were you on fertility drugs?

A: Nope. This is completely spontaneous.


Q: How far along are you?

A: Almost 12 weeks, so a third of the way done!


Q: When are you due?

A: The official due date is February 10, but twins are usually born between 35 and 37 weeks, putting it some time in January.


Q: How have you been feeling?  

A: It depends on the day. I'm exhausted beyond all reason and have had some terribly sick days, but on the whole I think things are improving at last. Hooray!


Again, thank you all for your enthusiasm and kind words. I'm starting to see all the wonderful benefits of having twins, and I am eager to keep going down that road.

Two pregnancies, one baby

Today is April 29, 2013. This date doesn't have any significance to most people, but to me it will always be the day that my second child was supposed to be due.

Supposed to be. If things had gone according to plan. But of course, things don't always go according to plan. In this pregnancy story, hardly anything went the way it was supposed to.

This story actually begins before the beginning, long before the birth of my son, Evan, who is now 2-and-a-half years old. Aaron and I were trying for a baby the last few months of 2009, but we decided to put things on hold when I was offered a new job. I always joke that Evan must have heard us talking and didn't want to wait, because just a few months later, to our great surprise, I wound up pregnant anyway. Little did I know just how lucky we were.

The pregnancy went better than expected at first. I was hardly nauseous and only threw up once, and other than the occasional migraine, I felt great. So great, in fact, that I felt confident staying off my bipolar medications and have been without a serious episode ever since. Toward the end of the pregnancy, however, I developed pre-eclampsia. At 37 weeks labor was induced, and there I stayed for 36 hours —12 of which were unmedicated as I went through an entire day not realizing that awful cramping pain was from contractions, and the last 6 hours were of back labor that the epidural didn't touch, as the baby became posterior. The midwives were finally able to turn him after my water broke, but he was still breach, so after a few hours of pushing it became clear that a C-section was necessary. Still, off I went to the operating room with a smile, excited to have it all over with and get this baby here, safe and sound. But then the shakes started, so violently I had to be held to the table. I didn't dare open my eyes, using every ounce of concentration to calm myself so that I didn't bite off my tongue or sink into a panic attack.

And then Evan was born.

He was healthy and thriving, 7 lbs. 1 oz. 20 inches long, with little wisps of dark blonde hair and eyes so brown they were almost black.

I don't remember much about the rest of that night, only that I was too scared that I would drop him because of the shaking, so I wouldn't let the doctor give him to me yet. When I finally did hold him, I was so exhausted I could barely open my eyes. But he opened his, and I was shocked to find out that his eyes were exactly like mine, that this tiny little boy actually looked like me.

After that experience, well, I kind of wished there was some medal to be had for enduring a ridiculous labor, because I was sure I had earned it. But then, there's no pretty way to deliver a baby. You do what you gotta do, and then you thank heaven for a healthy baby if you're blessed to get that far. And we were.

The months (and years) that followed weren't easy, either. Evan is as strong-willed as they come, and he's made it known since day one. More often than not, he was doing this...

And this...

And this...

Don't get me wrong; it has also been a truly wonderful journey, and Evan learned how to be happy at last...

But between that and the memory of my marathon of labor, neither Aaron or I have been brave enough to take on the task again. So we waited for the day we would feel ready for baby #2.

We never felt ready, but that didn't stop Mother Nature. Again to our great surprise, I ended up pregnant last August.

This time, everything was different.

When I saw that little pink plus show up on that home pregnancy test, I burst into tears. I was terrified. Could I really do it all over again? And how could I with an angry toddler at my heels? But the scariest question was, how would we pay for any of it?

Aaron was only slightly less afraid than I, but we did our best to be excited, teasing each other once more about the horrid names we could give this child. But try as we might — and believe me, we tried — we could not truly get excited. For me, beyond the financial anxiety, the hardest part was trying to find some sort of emotional connection to the pregnancy. My belly grew and the nausea was ever-present, so I knew it wasn't a hallucination. But I just could not get my head around it and my heart into it.

Around week 8 I had resigned myself to the situation, and then all-out forced myself to be happy about it. And by week 9, I kind of was. I was excited for the possibility of having a girl, and I started pinning nurseries to Pinterest with reckless abandon. Aaron and I agreed on a name for a boy and continued the good-natured trash talking of each other's choice of girl names. Evan was getting easier by the day, and it seemed like things were starting to fall into place. Like I could do this, we could do this, and it would be great.

But then, one Thursday afternoon in late September, I started spotting. And again, I burst into tears. I called Aaron in an absolute panic, and in between the sobs, I told him what happened and said, as calmly as I could, "I don't think there will be a baby." For all my weeks of wrestling with ambivalence, suddenly the thought of it all being over shook me to my core. I was devastated.

When I regained my composure I called the midwife. She told me not to jump to conclusions, that this happens to many women and I could still go on to have a healthy pregnancy. I tried to hold onto hope, but somehow I knew it would not happen.

The midwife also told me that if it was to be a miscarriage, there was nothing to be done. You cannot prevent it, you cannot stop it once the process has begun, and most importantly, it was not my fault.

I went into my first prenatal appointment the next day, a Friday, trying to keep an open mind. The midwife said it wasn't clear that a miscarriage was imminent, and although I could have had an ultrasound to find out for sure if the baby was alive and growing, I declined. The $600 bill was a huge factor, but beyond that, despite all the encouragement, I still just knew that a baby was not coming.

For two more days I waited, swallowing the panic and trying to get lost in everyday activities. Besides Aaron, only two other people knew that I was even pregnant, so to call someone up to say, "I'm pregnant, but probably not for long," was unthinkable. Even with Aaron there wasn't much to be said. It was a cross I had to bear alone.

And then on Monday it happened. The bleeding had steadily increased over the weekend, but on October 1st, when I was 10 weeks pregnant, my fears were finally confirmed. I called my parents and had to say what I had dreaded: "I was pregnant, but I'm having a miscarriage." They were so caring and sympathetic, and took Evan for the morning. In what was another tender mercy, Evan took a three-hour nap, and in the afternoon I called our babysitter and again told her the news. Without question she came and picked up Evan, and again Aaron took him out in the evening. I was alone, but it's just what I needed. I was in such physical pain — a parallel to labor, but less intense — but by that point, the emotional anguish was gone. Worse than the final knowledge that we would not be having the baby was the four days of agony of not knowing one way or the other. The question was finally answered, and at long last I could put it all to rest.

And somehow, the next day, I was all right. I knew there was nothing that could have been done, that it wasn't my fault, that it was not meant to be. I was calm, and even at peace. In a lot of ways I think I knew it all along — perhaps why we could never get emotionally attached: There was never meant to be a baby. Perhaps it never even was a baby, no spirit to go with the flesh. Just an experience we had to go through, but for what reason I do not know.

I'd like to say that it made me stronger, but I don't think that's true. I think the truth is even better. This experience confirmed the strength I had built over years of trials and tribulations, confirmed the faith I had that my Heavenly Father is in charge and everything will be all right if I follow His will.

There have been constant reminders over the months, however. Like the friend who announced her due date just a week after mine, and the call from the lab at the hospital asking if I wanted to take part in a pregnancy study two months later, and the box of maternity clothes we had brought up from the basement but never bothered to put away, and the occasional thought that "I would be finding out the gender this week," or "I would be eight months pregnant by now," and of course, "Today is the day my baby was due."

But then again, I would be lying if I said I didn't also have feelings of relief. Not in the days that followed, but in the months. At first I held to those thoughts of, "Well, now we don't have to worry about how we're going to make it all work," to look for the bright side. Now I have thoughts of, "I am so glad I don't have a screaming newborn keeping me up at night right now." But then those thoughts are also tempered by guilt — guilt that I could be so ungrateful for the opportunity, that I would put my selfish comforts above the commandment to raise a family. It's a mental battle I can't win.

It's been a strange journey. But it's given me many fresh perspectives. For one, I realize how blessed I am not to have been destroyed by this. I know this experience has utterly devastated many other women, and my heart aches for them.

Most importantly, it's made me realize how truly, astoundingly blessed I am to have a healthy son, here with me now. It is an unspeakable gift to be given a child of our own, and I am so grateful for him — even all the trials and angst we've been through from birth until this very day, when he spent half of it whining and wailing for reasons I just could not decode. And that childbirth medal? I'm grateful just to have been able to make it that far.

I truly understand now that life is a gift — all of it, every bit of it — even the life that only grew for a few short weeks.

I do not know what is in store for us. Supposedly I am at no greater risk for additional miscarriages, and chances are that any subsequent pregnancies will go according to plan. I am not even sure I can get pregnant again or that we'll ever have another child ... but I still have that unshakable faith that what is meant to be will come to be, and I will survive every storm. No matter what happens or what does not happen, I am not in charge, but that's OK. We will be all right.

Recipe: Mexican Lasagna

I'm in a dinner rut. I love cooking from scratch, but I don't have a lot of time or money, so I usually end up making the same things over and over again. I used to turn to Pinterest in times as these, but I've struck out far more times than I've scored, so I've become leery.

But instead of taking someone's word on a recipe for "The Best Mexican Lasagna EVER!!!!" I checked out several, and then came up with something on my own.

Before I go any further, let me assure you that the irony is not lost on me. Here I am bemoaning the poor quality of recipes found on Pinterest while writing up a recipe so that I can share it on Pinterest. I get it. It's either hypocritical, egotistical, or both. Be that as it may, I came up with something we loved, and this is my blog and I'll write what I want. So there.

OK, without further ado:

Another Mormon Mommy's Mexican Lasagna

Ingredients:
1 lb. ground beef or ground turkey
1 package taco seasoning (or about 2 Tbs homemade seasoning)
1 can or small jar of red enchilada sauce (or about 1.5-2 cups homemade red sauce)
4 oz. diced green chiles
1 cup salsa
8 oz. diced olives
2 small Roma tomatoes, chopped
About 10 corn tortillas (one small package)
1/2 cup shredded cheese
1/2 cup fresh cilantro
Taco fixings (shredded lettuce, tomatoes, avocado, olives, sour cream, etc.)

Brown the meat; cook with taco seasoning. Drain the grease. Return to the stove on low heat and add green chiles and half of the salsa, olives, and enchilada sauce. Simmer until heated through.

Line the bottom of a greased casserole or baking dish with one layer of corn tortillas. Pour half the meat mixture on top and spread evenly. Top with a layer of cheese. Repeat with another layer of tortillas, meat, and cheese.

Top with one last layer of tortillas, then pour the rest of the enchilada sauce over the entire thing. Top with cheese, then bake in a 350-degree oven for about 20 minutes or until heated through. Remove from oven and garnish with olives and fresh cilantro for added flavor and texture.

Slice and serve with taco fixings to your liking.

Enjoy!

Makeover #1: Reclaimed wood wall

It has taken me almost a year, but I've actually completed three major(ish) DIY projects that I am stoked about! And when I say "I completed," I mean I coerced my husband into hours of manual labor ... and I love him for it.

I'll post these projects one at a time, beginning with the biggest: a reclaimed wood wall for the master bedroom. The inspiration began with a look at the Gramercy Park Hotel in NYC...

Everything about it is drama and contrast and texture and feeling. I love everything about it, absolutely every last moody, color-saturated inch.

And yet, this was my master bedroom:

Cue the sad trombone, folks; it was, indeed, sad. No drama. No spice. No excitement. 

But alas, I am a poor writer, a work-from-home mama with no budget and no time for the drama of Gramercy Park. 

Until I saw this little gem, from the blog Mom and Her Drill via Pinterest: 

She did it all out of pallets. Pallets! The same material that lies piled outside my husband's work. And so the coaxing began. 

Somehow or other I actually convinced my husband that this was what our bedroom wall needed. And so he dug through the pile of pallet wood, clear to the bottom to find the oldest and most weathered boards, some of which have been there for 12 years. He hauled it all home, pulled out the nails one by one, and set to work.

I give full and complete credit to Aaron for a job well done. He figured out not only how to mount the boards so that they could be easily removed without having to re-sheetrock the whole thing, but he mounted two lights and wired the electrical for these new bedside lamps.

Here's a peek at the work in progress:

And at the end of a long Saturday afternoon, the work was complete:

Yes, my husband is amazing. And so is this wall! I love both so, so much.

The room is nowhere near the splendor of the Gramercy Park Hotel, but I'm working on it. I'm trying out some new pillows...

And I'm working on a little gallery wall going on nearby, not to mention drooling over this fine specimen from White Faux Taxidermy to mount above the bed:

But really, it's hard to get anything done around here when I have this adorable little guy literally getting in the middle of it all:

The frustrations are worth it, though. He's awesome.

UPDATE!!

Fast forward to late 2013, and I finally finished the bedding, and now I have an "after" to be proud of:

(More details on the bed in THIS other post!)

UPDATE #2!!

I've been pining over tufted headboards for ages, and I finally convinced Aaron to help me make one. Now I know why those things cost so much. It was a beast to make! If you buy one, just know that your money is well spent. 

I stopped taking pictures at this point, because the upholstery is where it got hard. It wouldn't have been so difficult, but I just had to have this curvy, corner-y silhouette. It took both of us working together through a lot of trial and error, but we finally got a finished product that we love. 

I was going to do a full post on it, or at least on what not to do to save others from my mistakes, but ain't nobody got time for that. (Seriously, after spending a whole week working on this thing I DON'T have time for that.)

It's up now and I absolutely love it! It was worth all the struggle, and actually, it was a fun project in the end because it really stretched my skills (or lack thereof) and I loved working on it with Aaron. The guy can do anything! 

Here it is in the bedroom. We just need to tweak the placement a bit (you know, once we're not so sore from hauling this gigantic thing upstairs and hoisting it into place) and we are in business!

The only problem now is, the bed is so cozy I just want to lie in it all day. At least it makes for a comfy spot to hang with the kiddles :)  I call that a win-win.