Hickmans at Home

Home Improvement Ninja: Wallpaper

Because why do a project when you have time and resources, when you can catch it (and yourself) unawares?

When it comes to home improvement projects, I tend to have a cat-like approach. I meander slowly and aimlessly for a while, looking like I have absolutely zero interest, before suddenly and viciously mounting an attack, pouncing on my unsuspecting prey – be it a pantry that needs organizing or a closet that needs decluttering. This used to manifest as late-night room-rearranging – why sleep when you can move your desk or alphabetize your book collection, setting up a library checkout system for your family? I’ve also been known to determine that a wall needs sprucing up right now – I can recall a time in college when I was not at a Husky game (for what reason, I couldn’t tell you), and decided in my boredom to repaint the bathroom at our rental house. I did a good job, too.

The funny thing about these projects is that they typically come completely out of the blue – something that I didn’t know needed to happen until all of a sudden it was imperative. The project I completed today was… not that. In fact, it has been on the list for years. When we moved in to our current house, it was clear that the previous owners had taken a bit of a shine to a cabernet red accent color. The kitchen, living room, bedroom and powder room each sported an accent wall in the hue. Needless to say, I took a week off of work when we moved in and almost immediately got rid of three of the four. The powder room remained unchanged because, honestly, I just didn’t bother.

Then, somewhere around June of this year, I decided that it was time for the final red wall to be erased. Thank you, pregnancy nesting. We had painted the adjacent family room about a year previously, and the fresh green-toned white that I had picked had me excited to freshen up the powder room and continue my leafy-green theme. I had briefly toyed with the idea of putting up wallpaper (like this, or this) in the baby’s nursery but had ultimately decided against it in favor of clean white walls and a very fun safari rug. Instead, I decided to replace the painted accent wall in the powder room with something I had only ever removed from a space: wallpaper.

I ordered up my Opalhouse wallpaper from Target (on June 4th, my order history tells me) and then I ignored my project. Rick periodically asked when I was going to wallpaper and I noncommittally replied. Shortly before the baby came, he painted the bathroom white in order to prepare for the wallpaper. I did not wallpaper. We changed out the light fixture. I still did not wallpaper. Mid-September, I ordered a wallpaper smoothing toolkit. It arrived, I set it on the kitchen counter, and I still did not wallpaper. Then, this morning, I woke up and was struck with inspiration. Today, I would wallpaper.

I wasted no time. “E, wanna watch me wallpaper?” I said, chuckling at myself. I got out all my supplies. I put the baby in the bouncer just outside the bathroom, put on some music, and got to work. Measure and pre-cut all panels, the directions included with the wallpaper said. Nope, don’t have time for that. It is helpful to have two people, the instructions said. Does my 11-week-old count? Work slowly and carefully, the notes warned. I don’t have time for that, I’m HOME IMPROVING, here! I unrolled my first roll, reached up to the ceiling, and started peel-and-sticking. I was so excited that I forgot to use my bag-o-tools from Amazon. I was just going for it! I got a few feet down the wall and E decided she had Had Enough and was Ready for A Nap. I smoothed the paper down a little more and stepped back, pleased with my progress thusfar. Here’s where I left the project when I took the baby up to her crib:

And here’s what the room looked like 10 minutes later when I came back downstairs:

To be entirely honest, I was not surprised. As soon as I walked away, I started to hear the telltale crinkling, un-sticking noise indicating that my hand-smoothing of the paper just wasn’t cutting it. I remembered the wallpapering tools and got to work un-sticking the paper from itself and trying again. I wish that there was video of me working on this project, because I will tell you – it was not our best nap. Every 5-10 minutes, I was running back up the stairs to progressively work through our “get yourself back to sleep” routine, but I think the baby was frustrated that she was missing out on the fun. I tried not to get frustrated, reminding myself that it was not her fault that I had decided to do this project on a random morning with no planning and no Rick around to help (either with the project or the baby). This was all on me.

Eventually, she did go to sleep, and I started cruising. Luckily, the paper I chose has a pretty forgiving pattern. I did very well on the first strip, and even fairly well matching up the second vertical strip. The trouble came when I had to match up two seams on one piece – things got a little wrinkly. Eventually, I got it all worked out, though, and the toilet paper sits in front of that part anyway. I gleefully tape-measured and X-acto-knifed and slicer-ed my way through the rest of the wall, racing against the end of naptime. I will say that I would absolutely recommend this style of wallpaper – it seems eminently manageable and allowed me lots of adjustment, un-sticking and re-sticking as needed, until I smoothed it down with my handy scraper tool. The second vertical strip was definitely more challenging (remember, I cut nothing in advance), because I was dealing with the matching and also with a piece wider than the wall on which I was trying to work. Toward the end, I just peeled all the backing off of the paper, preferring to deal with the sticky vinyl on its own so that I could maneuver it around the toilet. This resulted in a lot of wallpaper sticking to itself, but I was able to separate it fairly easily. Here’s the final before and after:

I am super pleased. It’s not a huge change, but it’s a bit of whimsy in our house and it makes me smile. The whole project took me about an hour and a half, including nap- and feeding-related interruptions. Ultimately, actual hands-on was probably 45 minutes. The cost was about $75 and included two rolls of wallpaper (of which I have about 3/4 of a roll left over) and the toolkit. The white paint was leftover from the nursery. All in all, it’s one of those things that has been on my list for a long, long time and, even more than the aesthetics of the finished project, I’m glad to be able to cross it off. Perhaps would have been smart to do pre-baby, but honestly I don’t think my pregnant self could have wedged in there, so it’s probably for the best that I waited. And, like say, I do like to sneak up on my projects when they least expect me.

Signed, Sealed, Delivered

I’m the Oprah-giving-out-cars-meme of mail. The nostalgia is strong in this one.

Greeting cards are a staple item for many occasions in my family. My pack-rat nature is testament to this – I have had to actively work to cull my collection of signed cards from birthdays, graduations, Valentine’s days, etc. of years past. (Funnily enough, while my own family never gave cards at Christmas, this is a key component of my husband’s family’s tradition, so now I have a collection of those as well.) When I was younger, these cards were simply handed over as part of whatever festivities were happening. On my birthday, I knew to avoid looking at the kitchen counter (by the mail sorter) for a few hours leading up to dinner to ensure that I wouldn’t inadvertently catch a glimpse of my card and ruin the surprise. When I left home, the cards did not stop – instead, they were delightfully delivered via mail. I distinctly remember getting a singing Cookie Monster card for either my 19th or 20th birthday and opening it, unwittingly, in the lobby of my dorm. I’m sure anyone in the vicinity got a kick out of my very startled reaction.

Sending mail is something that I have always enjoyed, in general. I am certain that I learned this appreciation from my mother (just like I learned my love of grocery stores from my dad). My mom sends cards, yes, but she also has declined to adopt online bill-paying, preferring instead the tactile confirmation of writing a check, stamping an envelope, and depositing it at the post office. I can picture her sitting at the dining room table, well-balanced check book close at hand, with invoices spread out in front of her. After a little while, the papers would find themselves organized into a neat stack of stamped return envelopes, tucked into the side of her purse, ready to be dispatched. As a kid in the front seat of the car, I would be responsible for pulling the envelopes out when we got to the drive-through post office box, checking to make sure that they each had a stamp affixed so as to make it safely to their destination. I’d hand over the envelopes, mom would check them again quickly and deposit them into the blue metal mouth. Now, sometimes I’m the one driving, as we make our way to some small adventure or another, and I find myself doing the same double-check.

There is a simple sense of satisfaction in putting something in a mailbox and sending it on its way out into the world. For what it’s worth, my coworkers would tell you that I find the same satisfaction in putting papers into the shredding box, so I’m not sure what that says, but I digress. For a long time, I mailed all my own bill payments in, largely because I just wanted to mail something. I’d set up my own bill-paying station and write out my checks, stamp my envelopes, and send my checks out into the world. Eventually, I decided that online bill pay was a better solution for me – mailing checks is great, but it only works when you remember to do it on time, yikes. While the click-and-confirm instant gratification of the internet is great, I found that I really missed sending things in the mail. I needed a fix, so I started sending cards.

When was the last time that you sent a letter or a card in the mail just because? If you haven’t done this lately, I highly recommend making it a priority. Find a card that makes you laugh, or that’s beautiful, or that just feels like it might make someone’s day a little better. Write a quick note, throw a stamp (support the USPS!) on there, and pop it in the mail. These days, it will take a little longer for it to arrive, but it’s worth the wait. As an extra bonus, treat yourself to a fancy personalized return-address stamp – you’ll want to stamp everything you own, I promise.

When I worked at Molbak’s, there was a woman who used to come in every couple of months and fill up her cart with greeting cards – a few of every different kind she liked, just to make sure she was ready for any occasion. I didn’t understand it at the time, but now I do. I look for pretty much any excuse to send a card. Birthday? You’re getting a card. Had a rough week? I’ll try and send a card. I found a card that looks like something you’d like? I’m sending it. I may be the rare person that enjoys sending thank you cards. In fact, I have to actively stop myself from sending thank you cards for a thank you card I receive. If I didn’t, Rick’s grandmother and I would be in a never-ending thank you card battle. Which, come to think of it, might be pretty funny. Sending mail may be a relic of days past, but you can’t argue with me that receiving a card in the mail doesn’t put a smile on your face, and by sending a card you get to create that smile. Put a little good in an envelope and send it out in the world. I promise, it’s worth it.

P.S. In between when I wrote this and when I posted it, I got a thank you card and baby E got a Halloween card from my mom in the mail. The best, I tell ya!

Halloween, witches!

I do love a good play on words.

Let me start by saying that I like the idea of Halloween. I love Fall (as long as you don’t make me rake leaves), I like the crisp air and smell of wood-burning fires that always seems to go along with it. I like woodsy candle scents. I like apple pies and changing colors and all that good stuff. I like candy. I like the idea of trick-or-treating (especially for little kids) and of pumpkin carving, but when it comes down to actually doing it, I just am… unenthused.

How I still feel about pumpkin carving, tbh.

I don’t actively push back against trick-or-treating (except this year because #COVID), and I can’t wait to take my own little goblin out and about when she’s old enough to know what she’s doing. I just think that fairly early on, I decided that I was not a huge fan of going up to doors and asking adults for candy, and when I was a teenager and my friends still wanted to trick-or-treat, I adopted the role of group mom, standing at the end of the driveway waiting for them to come back. Picture a 13-year-old doing that – I think it was probably pretty funny. At the time, I really didn’t mind. I wanted to be part of the group, but I genuinely wanted no part of the actual trick-or-treating. It was a good compromise.

All of this is not to say, however, that I don’t enjoy a good Halloween costume. In fact, I love a good costume – any time of year, doesn’t have to be Halloween (dress-up is the best), but there’s something extra-special about Halloween costumes. Now, let me be very clear: we are a spooky, hand-made costume family. I wasn’t a princess or a movie star until late elementary school and even then, it was because I found a fancy dress I wanted to wear. Eventually (college), I did participate in a “Halloweekend” three-costumes-for-three-parties fiasco that included an Olive Penderghast number and (I think) a “sexy firefighter,” because what’s scarier than exposed skin around open flames?! Those were the exceptions, though. Most recently, Rick and I donned skeleton onesies (with pockets!) and went to an actual grown-up party, at which we were absolutely the comfiest, but also probably the sweatiest.

The two coziest skeletons you ever did see.

The reality of the party: hiding in the bathroom taking selfies because #socialanxiety. — The two coziest skeletons you ever did see.

Given that this year, Halloween will look a little different for everyone, I wanted to go on a little walk down memory lane and explore some of the costumes of my youth. If nothing else, I gave myself a chuckle looking back.

For many years, my costume of choice was A Scary Witch. In fact, I was pretty surprised to flip through old photo albums and see the variety of costumes represented – the most memorable ones to me are absolutely the witch costumes, of which there were many (made both for me and for my sisters, sometimes overlapping). In my opinion, there are two key elements for a successfully Scary Witch costume – a flowy dress (ideally adorned with spiders and/or sequins) and a good pointy witch hat. The hat is very important.

When I was in second grade, there were about seven witches in my class, but I had the best costume. I’ve inserted a picture to the right (or above/below depending on where you’re reading this). Note the felt appliqués crafted by my mom and the well-sized hat. For the class party, I didn’t bother with makeup (honestly, I’m not sure we were allowed – we only had a short time to change into our costumes in the bathroom after recess, before the party started). Later on in the evening, I covered my cheeks with green eyeshadow, for that witchy-skin look. Also, I’m not entirely sure what shoes these are (clogs? I think almost certainly they were from the Bass Outlet store, because that looks about right), but I appreciate that I seem to have adopted the witches-wear-square-toed-shoes truth – I am nothing if not devoted to the authenticity of my craft.

I resurrected the witch costume a number of additional times (and I had worn it at least a couple of times before). By high school, I was perhaps a saucier witch, but you’ll note that all the important elements remain: flowy dress, sequins (belt), and an excellent hat. To be honest, that could be the same hat. They’re an important staple of the dress-up collection in my parents’ basement.

There were, however, other costumes over the years – cat, miscellaneous cloaked figure, some sort of Cruella de Ville-but-not (because to this day I have not seen 101 Dalmatians), but I can say that without a doubt my crowning achievement was the year that I announced that I wanted to go as a Slug Queen. I have no recollection of why, if there was any reason other than to think it would be appropriately spooky. I do vaguely remember going to the fabric store to select the correct brown felt, so that my mom could whip me up a costume, complete with pipe-cleaner antennae (she says that was my idea) and a trailing bit of slime (her idea). I popped on a tiara sourced from my sister’s dance costume stockpile, and I was ready to ~~roll~~ slither. I think I spent a lot of time answering questions about my costume, but people probably just chuckled at me. It didn’t matter, I felt great. Still hands-down my favorite lewk of all time.

I held my breath and Googled “slug queen” before I wrote this, just to make sure I wasn’t going to be inadvertently associating myself with some scary part of the internet. I discovered that a SLUG Queen is, in fact, a thing. According to Wikipedia (because I’m an adult now and I can use Wikipedia as a source, so there), the queen is “a humorous character concept considered to be the unofficial goodwill ambassador of the city of Eugene, Oregon.” I highly recommend both the aforementioned Wikipedia article and a browse through the official SLUG Queen website, which lists and profiles each and every Queen since 1983. While, in general, the SLUG Queen costumes are less directly related to an actual slug (some would argue mine is a little derivative, I suppose), I can’t help but to appreciate the spirit and commitment of the whole event. This is one of those times that a somewhat suspect Google search really paid off.

This year, Rick and I will once again be donning our skeleton onesies, but we’ll have an extra little skeleton with us. We’ll snuggle up at home, having carved no pumpkins and with no plans to trick-or-treat. We’ll give the neighbor kids (who plan to be a fighter jet pilot and a scary monster) some candy and then eat the rest ourselves. If we’re lucky, we’ll get to see our zombie princess niece. All in all, sounds like the perfect Halloween to me. Happy Halloween, fellow witches!

To My Baby Girl

…

I’m sitting, as I do for several hours each day, in the chair in the baby’s nursery. Feet up, I have my perfect little girl stretched across my lap, completely milk drunk. She’s got her arms up and a little smile curls her lips as her long eyelashes flutter gently – I hope she’s having a good dream.

I can hear her breath, slow and steady – a noise I often pause and hunt for in the night or when I poke my head in to check on her during daytime naps. She fell asleep too early, and not according to our normal routine, but I’m giving her (and myself) grace. My first instinct was to be frustrated at the break in our routine, but I tell myself that she had a busy day, fought all her naps and played with her Nana – she deserves this rest, snuggled up against my chest. I’ll try not to worry about the impact this early evening will have on our overnight sleep – I haven’t been sleeping well regardless and, in any case, I often find the nights that I’m sure will be a problem are the ones she sleeps the most. For now, I just relish the opportunity to watch over her, inspecting and memorizing each bit of her face at this moment in time.

It’s funny – this started as an ode to my chair. That’s what I set out to write. The chair that I was nervous to ask for, because it was expensive. The chair that I joked about and my husband teased me for, because it’s a fancy recliner. The chair I was worried wouldn’t get much use, when I was nursing my baby in bed every night. Then, one night, I decided to get up and go into the nursery, and everything shifted. Instead of being frustrated, trying to get comfortable and positioned correctly in bed, trying desperately not to fall back asleep while my baby nursed, I gave myself the opportunity to make space for what I needed. I no longer had to worry about moving too much and disturbing my husband or about spilling milk on my sheets. This chair supports me, secures us and, yes, has even protected us when my eyes are just to heavy to keep open. I love my chair deeply, but this isn’t an ode to my chair.

No, it’s a love letter to my daughter, who is growing up too fast but to whom I have nevertheless whispered “Please grow big and strong, my love” every day since I found out she was in my belly. She has obligingly complied, hungry since I first met her and growing like a weed. Every day I am amazed that she chose me to be her mom and I want to work hard to prove to her that I deserve the honor. There will be many more love letters to come, many accomplishments and celebrations and hard moments to fight through. There will also be infinitely more mundane moments that take my breath away and make me cry silent, thankful, happy tears when I take the time to stop and appreciate them.

So sleep tight, baby girl. I’ll sit here in our chair and work on memorizing your features, so that even as they change and you grow bigger and stronger, I will be able to remember this perfect moment – you at twelve weeks old, sound asleep and completely at peace, sprawled across my lap – and me, fully and entirely in love.

Unnecessary Accessories for Your Newborn

S**t you probably don’t need but might buy anyway and that’s OK.

As I mentioned in my “must haves” post, I like to think that I did a pretty good job, overall, of not purchasing/requesting too many baby items that we really didn’t need. Even still, there are a few things that we ended up with that haven’t gotten the use that I expected (and one item that we just avoided completely). I know these lists are often called “Newborn Regrets,” but I wouldn’t say that I regret anything on this list. My type-A self would far rather be over-prepared with anything I might need and not use something than find myself missing something that I really do need. That’s probably why I packed literally 100 hair ties in my hospital bag. Just gotta be ready for anything. I used the one I wore on my wrist on the way there. In any case, here’s the list.

Too many extra swaddle blankets. Don’t get me wrong, lightweight swaddle blankets are good for lots of stuff: putting down under a baby who will otherwise spit up on the floor/bed/couch, shielding the sun, covering up exposed boobs while nursing (if you care/want to), etc. They have ton of uses, so I’m not discounting that. What I am suggesting is that you might not need every single pattern that aden + anais, Copper Pearl, or Clementine Kids has to offer. Know that while creating those links, I had to work pretty hard not to go shopping. It’s tough – babies are cute! Swaddle blankets are cute! There is a pattern for every occasion! I have learned, though, that more blankets just means more things to store and wash and more decisions to make. Get a couple you love, use them until they’re worn out or too stained, then treat yourself to another. Just don’t buy them all at once.

Along the same lines, SwaddleMe swaddles. Just buy the Ollie Swaddle, truly. It’s worth the extra cost, and I’ll tell you why. While the SwaddleMe ones work okay, they involve wrangling baby’s legs into a pouch (no small feat in itself) and then securing the Velcro. More importantly, they’re sized, and as any person who has ever had a child will tell you, newborns grow really fast. I am thankful that we ended up adopting the Ollie so quickly, because I would have found it particularly frustrating to feel like I continuously needed to be purchasing bigger sizes of something so key to baby’s sleep routine.

A baby bath. This is a controversial one, even for me. I fully understand that this is a necessity for a lot of people, but I’m including it here because it’s something that is currently taking up a chunk of space in our house and which we have used exactly twice. I also don’t ever remember seeing one around the house when my sister was a baby, but I was only (almost) four so I could be wrong – Mom, let me know. The couple of times we did give E a bath, she hated it, and the hassle of getting the thing filled up, scrunching ourselves onto the floor in the bathroom, and hoping she wouldn’t poop in the bathwater just felt like a lot.

The sink is a no-cost alternative to the baby bath, at least until your newborn gets too big, but for us the solution was even easier – the shower. On the night we were going to give her her third bath, I decided, “Screw this, I’m taking her in the shower.” Turns out, she loooooves the shower. Some of her most reliable early gummy smiles were while the water ran over her, and the shower has become a staple of our bedtime routine (I know, I know, dry skin – we lotion her up really good after). I am convinced it’s part of the reason she sleeps so well – every once in a while we opt to skip the shower part of the routine, and I usually regret it. No one ever told me that the baby bath wasn’t an absolute necessity, so here’s me telling you: there are other options.

A swing. This one is on me. I didn’t register for a swing, didn’t think I needed one. Then, all of a sudden, I hit 37 weeks and started to freak out at the possibility that my baby might want to swing in a baby swing and I wouldn’t have one and then she would cry and I would cry and we’d have to order one and what a mess. Whew. I was in the throes of a very sincere debate with myself over whether to spend the money on the swing in my Target cart when Rick turned over (it was also late at night) and told me to just buy the dang swing. So I did. My kid hates it. Sigh. At the beginning, she would cry any time we put her in the swing. At this point, she tolerates it (most of the time), but it’s got nothing on the bouncer. Ultimately, the thing takes up a lot of space and makes me shake my head at my past self every time I see it.

Finally, something that is more of an “unnecessary for now” – a high chair. I totally get it if you want to register for a high chair. It’s on the list of higher-dollar items, especially if you want a fancy convertible one. It was on my original list. Then, I realized that I didn’t really like the look of the one I had picked out. I started thinking about the amount of space it would take up (can you see there’s a trend here?), which led me to realize that it would be several months, at least, before baby E even needs to sit in a high chair. So, off the registry it came. At the moment, I’m thrilled not to have another baby-item-in-a-box to store. At least, for now.

So, there you go – the list of things that I think you can avoid. Keep in mind (with the exception of the high chair), I actually bought all of these things, so at the end of the day… buy all the swaddle blankets you want.

Crows Beats Bats

Battlestar Galactica. Alternatively titled “Watching a Murder,” but I was scared to bring that kind of internet-search traffic here.

You hear a lot about the bats in Austin, Texas. When we took a trip there in early 2018, I looked up “Things to Do in Austin” and, from the responses, determined that pretty much the only thing the internet thought was worth doing was going to see the bats. I was extra-excited to realize that the hotel that I had booked was right next to the Congress Avenue Bridge, meaning that we’d be in prime viewing range for this amazing experience. On our first evening in town, we walked over to the bridge, joined hundreds of our new closest friends (yay, pre-COVID times), and waited for the bats to appear.

Right on schedule, we started seeing swarms of bats fly out from under the bridge, floating in waves up through the sky. It was neat to see (and probably worth doing if you’re there), but I found myself underwhelmed. They seemed so small. It was like watching clouds of bugs fly through the air. I mean, cool, but not really the spectacle that I was expecting. I was honestly more taken by the people watching (and the super-fun experience of dodging guano) than I was by the bats themselves. It all just felt a little anti-climactic, because I was used to a remarkable (and sometimes chilling) nightly experience that is much less talked-about: the Bothell Crows.

We used to live in a condo in Bothell(ish) by the Home Depot. We moved in in mid-October and I remember one night, early on, walking out onto our deck and seeing (and hearing) a terrifying number of crows flying overhead. Weird, I thought. The next night, it happened again. And the next night. Every single night, huge swaths of crows would pass over our heads, cawing and flapping and all heading in the same direction. Sometimes, if we took a walk through the nearby office park in the evening, we’d see hundreds of them sitting on the grass, pecking away. Carl (our rascally shepherd mutt) would gleefully chase them and make them take to the sky in waves. I was perplexed, so I decided to do some research – I have lived in the Redmond/Woodinville/Bothell area my whole life and had never heard or seen anything like this.

As it turns out, the Bothell crows are A Thing. Every night, up to 16,000 crows roost in the wetlands surrounding the University of Washington Bothell (UWB) campus. Before they settle in for the night, however, they converge on the rooftops, sports fields, and even the parking garage. They swoop and caw and generally are a spectacle. This video most accurately illustrates the feeling of being on campus when the crows descend – it’s a pretty good time. The murder is largest in fall and winter, but year-round at least some of the crew decide to show up. In our current house, we can see the crows making their way to UWB out the spider window, which is a nice homage to our first home.

Back in August, we decided to take an outing to see the crows. We loaded up and drove out to the parking garage in the dusk. Even on a random Thursday night, there were a couple of other families out and about. No one else looked to have decided that it was the perfect adventure for a two-week-old infant, but what can I say, we weren’t getting out much. We all watched as the crows swooped and glided and puttered around, with groups periodically breaking away and disappearing into the wetlands. At one point, a man holding a Big Gulp soda called over to us, “Is this your first time here?” We shook our heads no, and he replied “It’s wild, I’ve been here twice this week already.” Then we went back to watching the birds in silence. After a while, with proper darkness setting in and most of the crows hunkered down for the night, we packed the baby back in the car and headed home, feeling content to know that we are not alone in our appreciation for the creepy spectacle that is the Bothell Crows.

Yeast is a Bully: Cinnamon Rolls

We all have different motivators, ok? Mine just happens to be cream cheese frosting.

One of the bright spots of 2020, for me, has been the breadmaking. Not my personal breadmaking – the few attempts I’ve made have somehow gone incredibly poorly – but observing the success of others from afar, mostly via Instagram stories. Jenna Fischer (Pam Beesly) has some mad sourdough skills, y’all. My sisters are also exceptionally talented at crafting loaves. (My little sister described my big sister’s quarantine sourdough starter bread as “A loaf borne of the air” which is just about the most beautiful phrase I’ve ever heard.)

Yeast, like toilet paper, quickly became a treasured commodity in the early months of the pandemic as hordes of home bakers stocked up to try something new, or simply to avoid a trip to the grocery store for bread. I felt a little guilty about this – I had purchased a pound of yeast at some point before The Bad Times and suddenly found myself with a cache of gold. I foisted as much of it on friends and family as I could, but I still have copious amounts. Which, as it turns out, is good for me because it means I can make all the cinnamon rolls I want.

A few weeks ago, during a rare trip out to the grocery store, I spotted a can of Pillsbury cinnamon rolls and snatched them up. I was pretty excited, but determined to save them for a weekend morning. With cinnamon rolls on the brain, I stopped at Woods Coffee the next day and treated myself to a chai tea latte and a cinnamon roll. It was delightful. Big, fluffy dough and cream cheese frosting. I felt God in that Safeway parking lot. So, you can imagine my disappointment when I got up on Saturday morning and made my pop-can cinnamon rolls. Don’t get me wrong, I still ate a couple of them, but the small, dense pucks of processed dough and watery sugar frosting could not possibly live up to my expectations. I was left with a deep feeling of unfinished cinnamon roll business. Something had to be done, so I started Googling and found this recipe. It made big claims, but I had the yeast and was ready to tackle the project.

I decided we’d have cinnamon rolls with Sunday morning football, so Saturday night I got out my stand mixer and got to work. I finished the dough and I set it aside to rise. I had to make a trip to Whole Foods for cream cheese, so I scooted off to do that, jauntily browsing the aisles with neither a husband nor baby in tow. I was on my way back home when my ulcer-which-wasn’t-an-ulcer started acting up. By the time I got to the house, I was nearly doubled over in pain. I got the groceries unloaded, found my Tums, and crawled to the couch. The timer I had set for the dough rise went off, and I squeaked at Google to cancel it. Ten minutes passed, then fifteen. I laid there, desperately not wanting to get up and finish making my cinnamon rolls but equally upset at the thought of letting dough go to waste. These were supposed to be the best cinnamon rolls ever, dammit, I was not going to over-proof my dough. So I got up. I finished prepping the cinnamon rolls (wincing the whole time), put them in the refrigerator, called the nurse line, and went to bed without dinner.

Sunday morning, I got up, feeling only marginally better. I gingerly fed the baby and asked Rick to get the cinnamon rolls out of the fridge to rise before we baked them. “I have to make them while they’re still going to be good,” I said. He sweetly and dutifully did as I asked. We got the cinnamon rolls baked and I managed to pull myself together and make the frosting. “Thank you for making these, even if you’re not going to eat them,” Rick said. With the pain I was experiencing, I had barely eaten a proper meal for days. I looked right at him and determinedly said “Oh, I’m eating one.” I had come too far, pushed to carry on with my project in the face of my discomfort because of my unwillingness to let my yeasted dough fail. Yeast is a bully, but damn that cinnamon roll was good.

Newborn “Must-Haves”

I’ve had a kid for two months now so I guess you could say things are getting pretty serious.

I love doing research and I love lists. So, you can imagine how much fun I had putting together a baby registry. I watched approximately one million YouTube videos on baby gear (all of which contradicted each other, more on that in a minute) as well as what to pack in my hospital bag, first 48 hours at home, etc. I ruined all my recommended feeds with non-stop baby content for months. I love YouTube. Anyway! With all of that information, I did my best to curate what I thought was the perfect selection of stuff I needed and, honestly, I did a pretty bang-up job. There were some misses (that’s another post) but overall we ended up in a good spot. If you aren’t about to have a baby, you may not find this interesting, but as someone who loves to read opinions of almost any kind, I figured I’d throw it out there just in case.

I mentioned above that all of the videos I watched contradicted each other – they did. Some people LOVED certain items, some people hated them. Nearly every recommendation came with the same caveat I will give here: every baby is different. Also, babies change fast (like, really fast). There are some things that E hated at first that have turned out to be OK, some things that we thought she would really like that she has decided are beneath her. Or something. Finally, as you’ll also hear from everyone, babies don’t need much. They want food and a safe place to sleep and your love – pretty much anything else is just gravy. But babies are cute and buying stuff is fun, so here we go. Oh, also, I am linking everything for convenience, but I am not fancy and monetized so I am getting no benefit from this. Don’t come for me, FTC.

Baby E’s favorite place to sit, second only to true happy place: her changing pad.

A bouncer. This is one of the “baby gear” things that I remember having around the house when I was little and my sister was a baby. You don’t need an expensive one (cough Ergo Baby cough) – the $25 Fisher-Price version will do. I freaking love the bouncer. I can plop E in it and she will kick and coo and amuse herself with the animals – she’s doing this literally as I type. I credit this bouncer for my ability to shower (almost) every day since she was born – I simply move it to the bathroom and buckle her in while I shower. She likes the shower noise, I like being clean, we both win. This bouncer has a vibrating feature that we never use (because I didn’t have batteries when I was frantically putting it together one day and I have not bothered to install them since), but I can imagine that that might be pretty nice for soothing purposes.

The Honest Company Diaper Rash Cream. Yes, this specific stuff. We have tried every version of Boudreaux’s Butt Paste (seriously, there are four kinds littered all around our house) and I have been underwhelmed by them all. Enter the Honest Company stuff – it’s amazing. Clears everything right up and doesn’t leave a weird-colored paste everywhere. 10/10. It’s diaper rash cream, I don’t have much else to say about it.

A portable sound machine. Portable being the key word here. We took one of these Hushh ones to the hospital with us, we use it every day for nap time, and I bought a second one to keep in the diaper bag for naps at Gramma’s or wherever else one might be encouraged. I am personally pretty particular about white noise, and I like the wave sounds this one makes. Plus, it gets really loud if needed (our hospital home videos sound like we’re standing at the edge of the ocean because we have it turned up so loud) and the charge lasts for a while. Really, though, any portable/rechargeable version will do. We have the Hatch Rest also, which is awesome for our room overnight, but it plugs in and isn’t something I want to lug around all the time. As an aside, I also discovered that I can say “Hey Google, play ocean sounds” and it will. Technology, man.

The Ollie Swaddle. OK, hear me out. Yes, it’s $60. Yes, the Velcro is incredibly loud in the middle of the night. Also, yes, it chills my kid out and has been a key part of our routine to get her to sleep through the night. I have a whole bunch of other swaddles, and they mostly sort of work, but the Ollie Swaddle is by far the easiest (I just leave it spread out in the bassinet or crib so it’s ready to go when we need it), snuggles her up tight, and I don’t have to worry about it coming undone and posing a suffocation hazard. It’s also super breathable, which was nice peace of mind when we had a newborn in mid-August.

Also, the seasonal jammies are the BEST.

Burt’s Bees Sleepers. Or, as they should be called in the Hickman house: “All-dayers” (har har). I am not someone who spends a lot of time dressing my baby. I mean, she’s adorable, but really I’m just making diaper changes harder on myself and that feels unnecessary. I bought a bunch of onesies (dutifully mostly in 0-3 mo. sizes) and almost exclusively use them at night as an extra layer. Most days, E is in a sleeper all day, and the Burt’s Bees loose-fit ones are my favorite. They make more than chapstick, who knew? The Target (Cloud Island) ones are also very cute and less expensive, but they’re fitted and she grows out of them much faster, so the cost-per-wear pretty much evens out. Moral of the story: more sleepers, fewer onesies. Bonus, with sleepers you don’t have to deal with baby socks. Praise the Lord.

And finally, a ceiling fan. Kidding, but also not. Literally nothing entertains my kid more than our ceiling fan. She loves it – just stares and smiles and chirps at it for about as long as I’ll let her.

Honorable Mentions: Boogie Wipes anything (the whole line – I love this stuff), muslin burp cloths (they are super absorbent), changing pad liners (because girls pee all over during diaper changes, too) and this play gym (yes, it’s expensive and trendy, but it’s cute and doesn’t flash lights or sing songs – hallelujah!).

The No-Excuses Book Club

I love to read, but sometimes it’s not about me.

I love to read. Like, I really, deeply love to read. Always have. I have very strong memories of very specific books from a young age. When I got lost as a child in Barnes & Noble, I know that we were there looking for Elmer and the Dragon (the sequel to My Father’s Dragon). I have vivid memories of my mom bringing home the first Harry Potter book* when I was probably six and me sitting on the couch just devouring it, as I did with each one after that. I was forever getting in trouble for staying up really late reading sneakily, and I have always been able to get lost in a book, to the point where I don’t want to do anything besides read.

I love the smell of books, I love the feel of books. I’ll read my Kindle if it gets a book into my hands faster and let me take more books with me. As a result, I always scoffed at audiobooks. One year, for Christmas, my little sister got the book-on-CD version of The Akhenaten Adventure – I think there were something like fourteen discs. I started listening to it to fall asleep. I checked out all the subsequent books in the series from the library, but never that one, because I practically knew it by heart. Years later, I downloaded the audiobook and, honestly, I still turn it on and fall asleep to it when my brain won’t shut down for anything else. To me, audiobooks were something to have on in the background, to fall asleep to. Why would I deprive myself of the joy of looking at words on a page, of seeing the new chapter header and of being able to hear the characters in my own voice? That didn’t make any sense to me.

Then, earlier this year, the world exploded. Everything is the worst, but there are glimmers of hope peeking through the dark clouds. The systemic injustices that BIPOC have been facing forever are being thrust into the forefront, and the movement to drive change is not going anywhere. My privileged white self has a lot of learning to do to even begin to catch up on understanding. Of course I, like many people, turned to books. I desperately wanted to read everything I could get my hands on, to try and begin to learn and understand something that I was never taught. I will be honest, it took me a few months to get there. I spent a lot of time initially overwhelmed and frustrated and lost by the sheer amount of information that was (seemingly) “all of a sudden” available. Then I’d feel guilty for being overwhelmed and frustrated – after all, this is something that I am getting the opportunity to learn about, rather than an experience that is simply part of the reality of how so many people have to fight to survive. I struggled to figure out the “right” book to pick up. Then I had a baby and felt like I didn’t have time to do the books justice. Turns out, none of this should be about me, and not having time is bullshit. I just wasn’t ready to do the work, and cleaning my house was easier mentally than facing reality. Again, the amount of privilege is really remarkable, when I step back and look at it.

I don’t remember how it happened, but one day I downloaded the audiobook of Austin Channing Brown’s I’m Still Here: Black Dignity in a World Made for Whiteness. I noted at the time that the book was read by the author – good, I prefer that in general. I popped in one of my earbuds and started listening to the book while I folded laundry. That day, and the next several, I listened to Austin speak while I did dishes, tidied the house, and in the car while I drove to my parents’ house. I chuckled to myself and sometimes I cried while I put mugs back in the cabinet. When I finished I’m Still Here, I started Born a Crime: Stories from a South African Childhood by Trevor Noah. Again, laughter, tears. I was a little surprised by my emotional response to both books, because while books can often make me feel something, I’m not used to the emotions welling all the way up to the surface. Midway through Born a Crime, I realized why it was happening: I was listening to Austin and Trevor tell their own stories in their own voice. I wasn’t relying on my own internal voice, which comes from such a different place of lived experience, to convert the words on the page to a narrative. The audiobook provided the opportunity for me to start listening (by allowing me to make the time), but I realized that I would prefer listening this way even if I wasn’t doing anything else at the same time.

I’m listening to Michelle Obama read Becoming now, and I have How to Be an Antiracist queued up next. I took a seminar through the library and the facilitator (Kenesha Lewin, who was wonderful) recommended Why Are All the Black Kids Sitting Together in the Cafeteria, so I downloaded that too. I’m still way behind on my learning, and it takes me longer to listen to the books than it would to read them, but I’m not sure that that’s a bad thing. I listen and I absorb. I can pause when I need to sit with something. I have no excuses for not having time to listen because I am doing some other task. Most importantly, I feel like I’m getting a little bit closer to understanding what the author wants me to focus on, rather than putting my own emphasis on their words. This feels important with any book, really (I have loved listening to Brené Brown read her books), but in a world where whiteness overpowers so much already, it seems especially important to promote space for Black (and BIPOC overall) authors to tell their own stories as they intended them to be heard.

I still love to read words off a page myself – that’s never going to change. I’ll still want and need days where I bury myself in a novel about summer on Nantucket or a crime-fighting duo, I’m sure. Those, I can read through at my usual warp speed, more or less retaining most of the details of the story and moving on at the end. Now, though, is the time for me to listen and to learn.

* Yes, JK Rowling has promoted (and doubled down on) some deeply disappointing and hurtful views regarding transgender women. I’m super salty about it and I’m always going to fight to disassociate my love for Harry Potter from her, because I refuse to let her ruin a deeply ingrained and wonderful part of my childhood. I recognize that the ability to do this itself comes from a place of privilege, and I’m sorry.

True Life: I Love Laundry

Proof that the best-laid plans sometimes fail miserably and result in you feeling like a big dummy.

At about a week old, baby E started having a prickly-looking red rash all over her torso. It didn’t seem to bother her, but it refused to go away. The pediatrician didn’t seem particularly concerned, but recommended a few topical solutions to help encourage it to clear up. I dutifully lotioned and massaged, no change. I tried a new lotion, no change. Of course, I turned to the internet. I was perplexed – I wasn’t putting anything irritating on her skin. I had washed all of her clothes before she wore them with the special newborn-friendly detergent. I was even doing separate loads of laundry with just her tiny items! Then, in the middle of the night, I realized: I was still using dryer sheets. Uh oh.

If you’re a parent, you can probably imagine what happened next. If not, I’ll paint the picture for you – me, frantically throwing all of the clothes that I might POSSIBLY have let come in contact with a dryer sheet (so, all of them) as well as any blankets and a fair number of my own shirts into the washing machine, while also trying not to spiral into deep anxiety about how my quest for fresh-smelling laundry had clearly caused me to fail as a mother. Poor Rick tried to stay out of the way while I Tasmanian-deviled my way around the house ranting about laundry. I was simultaneously praying that eliminating the dryer sheets would solve the problem (because I wanted it solved) and weirdly kind of hoping it wouldn’t (because I didn’t want this to be my fault). Let me remind you, E did not seem to be bothered in the least by this rash, but I saw this as a deep failure of my new parenting skills.

Eliminating the dryer sheets solved the problem. Almost immediately. Like, comically fast. So, that was that – no more dryer sheets for the Hickmans. As it turns out, I really should have been on this train a long time ago – dryer sheets are not great for your skin, your clothes, your dryer, or the environment. It just took me giving my baby a rash for me to figure it out. Oops.

The funny thing is that you’d think that I would be a laundry expert, given how much I love doing it. I distinctly remember getting excited as a kid when I got to do my own laundry (I felt so grown up!) and even now, there’s something very satisfying to me about dumping a load of laundry into the wash. Folding has taken me a bit longer to come around to, but I’ve determined that the secret is to do daily small loads of laundry, so that I don’t end up with a veritable mountain of clothes that feels like an impossible task.

With all of this practice doing laundry, I have formed some strong opinions about the products that I use. I don’t separate loads by color most days (they would be too small if I did), and I was going through Dreft like nobody’s business – probably because I have always been more of a “just slosh some detergent in there” kind of person. Enter, Charlie’s Soap. I love this stuff so much that I am willing to go to the extra effort of measuring it out, one ounce at a time. It makes our clothes soft, smell clean (but not perfumey), and it didn’t destroy our washer when Rick misheard me and put two cups instead of two ounces in the other day. I’m a big fan. As for the dryer sheet replacement – wool dryer balls are the winner. You can scent them with essential oils and whatnot if you want to – I don’t bother. I spray them with water (to reduce static) and chuck a couple in the dryer with the wet clothes and they work just fine. If anyone wants to try them, let me know, because I decided I needed to buy multiple sets (as I often do when I find something I like). Pro tip: save your money, you don’t need nine dryer balls. Three or four will do.

One of the things that I have found most valuable about being on maternity leave (aside from, you know, spending time with my baby) is that it has given me the opportunity to re-train myself to have some better habits. I do the dishes every day. I eat breakfast. I do a load of laundry. I still don’t cook dinner (there are limits, OK?). I joke that my house has never been cleaner, but it’s honestly true. Forcing myself to keep up on my chores daily has meant that I don’t fall into the trap of leaving everything for the weekend. Weekends, I’ve decided, are for napping. We’ll see how this all turns out when I go back to work – it very well may go straight down the drain. For the time being, I’m going to enjoy doing my laundry every day and take solace in the fact that, even though I gave my newborn a rash, at least I sleuthed my way into solving it and I only cried a little.