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October Photo Challenge

Guess what? Including this month, five more months of challenges and I’ll have done it for a whole year! I’m not breaking my arm patting myself on the back — not yet anyway — but I’m kind of excited.  I’m thinking about what I’m going to do with these images.

Maybe I’ll make a calendar.

Maybe I’ll print out my favorites and hang them in the house.

Maybe I’ll make a coffee-table book called “Hilary Snaps” and fill it with 365 images of photo challenges.

Maybe I’ll do absolutely nothing except revel in the fact that I set a goal and completed it.  I’ll make t-shirt for that.

Whatever the case may be, I’m excited and I really want to get people to participate.  My hashtag (#hilarywithonel) is really being used — I’m claiming some real estate out in the social media megaverse!

For those of you unfamiliar with the Photo A Day Challenge, I’ve provided you with a list of prompts or suggestions for each day of the month.  On the designated day, you snap a photo of the suggestion or a photo of your interpretation of the suggestion and post it to Instagram.  You can add a caption to your photo, as well as the hashtag #hilarywithonel so we can keep up with you.  If you input #hilarywithonel in the Instagram search box, you’ll be able to see what others have already posted.

These monthly challenges are part of my greater year long challenge to take one photo a day.  You can follow my progress here: f/365

Don’t beat yourself up if you miss a day. It’s just a fun way to be creative.  No penalties for missed days, and no prize for hitting all the days – well, satisfaction is a prize in and of itself right?

Snap on, my friends, snap on. 

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IN: ON: September 30, 2013 TAGS: , , , , , BY: Hilary
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Sick Day

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I never know what to do with the kids when they’re home sick from school.  This is especially true when their illness miraculously vanishes with the dawning of a new day. 

Yesterday, Co had to be catapulted out of the bed after repeated attempts to rouse her with just my soothing voice proved futile.  When she finally staggered into consciouness, she kept saying that her stomach hurt.  I figured that since she didn’t want to get up in the first place, an achy tummy was just another arrow in her quiver of morning complaints.  I brushed it off, motivated her to get washed and dressed and to meet us downstairs.  She and her sisters at a hearty breakfast and did a passable job of clearing their places before running around the house like half-sized superheroes, the living room throw blankets rucked up about their shoulders.  I guess the tummy ache disappeared when the threat of crime rears its head.  I guessed wrong, though. When I summoned them to the car, the tummy ache was back. 

In any event, they were jettisoned out of the car and off to school.  I went about my routine with Viv, until I got “the call” at about 1:30.  Could I come and get Co from school, please? She’s saying her tummy and her head hurt. And she’s got a fever. Cue the mommy guilt.  I boogied on over to the school, scooped up the girls and came home.  We were precariously low on apple juice and didn’t have any children’s aceteaminophen on hand. A trip out with one under the weather, one out of sorts for having to come home early and one just being on year old was highly off-putting.  Thankfully, my dad was kind enough to brave the Kroger for supplies and drop them off.  We managed the rest of the day with Co swaddled and resting on the sofa, Viv trying to kiss her, and Mo peppering the house with post-it note Sick Tips such as “Washing Hands = R.I.P. to Germs”!

Co was on the mend, having rallied after a dose of juice, crackers and some medicine. She and Mo passed the afternoon being elementary cartographers, coloring landscaped named “Mo-land” and “Co-ville”.  As the sun set, we all went upstairs to start the bedtime routine.  I got caught up pulling out my fall fashions and packing away my summer duds, while the girls amused themselves.  After a prolonged absence of “She’s touching me!”, “She’s in my stuff!”, and “She won’t let me have XYZ!”, I got curious and went to have a look at what was going on.

My three little biscuits were having a MIchael Jackson dance party in Co’s room.  Viv was perched on the bed, wiggling and giggling in time to the music. Mo was doing her best approximation of the Thriller dance even though the song on the dial was “Shake Your Body Down to the Ground”, and Co was shaking down and popping up in time with the lyrics.

Wait . . .did you get sent home from school today?

Talk about a speedy recovery.  Evidently,  I’m Florence Nightingale and I didn’t even know it. And yet, the achy tummy re-surfaced just as I was turning out lights and tucking in blankets.  I find that in order to get to the bottom of things, you’ve got to provide some options as to how the tummy feels, otherwise you’ll just get “achy” and between you and me, I don’t know what to do about that.

Does it hurt like you have to go poop? No.
Does it hurt like you have a bruise? No.
Does it hurt like when you go on a Grover Coaster? No.
Does it hurt like you’re hungry? Yes! I’m hungry.

Of course.

So, back to the kitchen for crackers and a cup of water (I’m keeping it real austere in here), before sending her back up to bed with promises with a tuck-in.

Fast forward to this morning and your girl Co is bright-eyed, asking, “So, what are we going to do today?”Good questions, kiddo.  Fever’s gone, tummy’s full, and I’ve got you and your sister looking me dead in the face like I’m Julie from the Love Boat (if you don’t know, look it up).

And now, it’s almost lunchtime (I know what to do about that), and then. . .maybe we’ll fire up the Michael Jackson.

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IN: ON: September 18, 2013 TAGS: , , BY: Hilary
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Swim, Swam, Swum

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I got in the pool for the first time in 8 weeks today. The minute I was submerged, I just relaxed.  I heard myself sigh underwater and felt my muscles go slack as they were bouyed up.  The water was cold and the pool had recently been cleaned.  When I opened my eyes, through my goggles,  I could see the lane ahead stretching out ahead of me, urging me to it’s depths. 

In the water, I am weightless.  I am unfettered. Everything slides away except my focus to breathe, kick, and stroke.  I am thinking when I begin, but a shift occurs when the brain and the long muscles of my body undergo a changing of the guard.

I  was so excited.  I just sunk, literally and figuratively, into the water and felt it embrace me, envelope me, a chilly reunion to be sure.  I just felt so good as I began my warm up.  When that was done, I readjusted my goggles, giddily pushing off from the wall.

I felt strong.

I felt my shoulders and my arms working in harmony.  I felt my legs moving, churning in synchronicity.  In my minds eye,  I could see the tendons extending and flexing. I could see the muscles tighten and relax, feel them swell with energy.  Everything was working as it should.

I felt strong.

With each lap completed, I felt like I could do anything. I saw myself cutting through the water, the rotator cuff of my shoulder, vigorous and hard.  My hands sliced through that surface, pulled down  down towards my thighs as I propelled myself forward, forward, forward.  I pushed my face further into the water, breaking waves over my head, adding to my speed.  Faint, but present, was my instructor’s voice in my head reminding me to cup my hands just slightly, to kick with my whole leg, to breathe every third stroke, a subtle soundtrack that centered my focus.  The unity with which my body was moving, I felt like I could have chopped down a forest, busted down a brick wall, lifted a car off of a trapped child.  I could do some amazing feat of strength because I . . .because I could. 

I could.
I felt strong.

After 8 weeks of recuperating and taking it slow, I got the clearance to swim.  Three weeks ago, my doc said I could any type of physical activity except swim (wound healing). 

“I know you want to swim, but let’s wait on that. You can start running again!”

But I don’t want to run!  I mean, running is great exercise, but I don’t want to.  I’m afraid. I’m afraid of falling. I’m afraid of tearing something, ripping something, undoing all of this hard work.  When I’m in the water, submerged in that chlorinated embrace, everything is strong, nothing is broken, nothing is lacerated or shattered or less than. 

I just — I can do anything.

My lungs were burning for oxygen, my nose was burning from some inhaled chlorine. Sure, I scuffed up my pedicure trying to navigate a flip turn, but I don’t care. My eyes were raccoon ringed from the pressure of my goggles and my hair is in need of a deep condition, but I don’t care.

I was moving through the water, cutting down the lane like the prow of a ship. I felt strong. I haven’t felt that way in a while.

When I came out, I was tired.  I was hungry. I was cold and wet.   I  pushed myself, pushed my muscles and relied on their memory to keep me from sinking down, down, down.  I was glad of that. 

I felt strong.

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IN: ON: September 4, 2013 TAGS: , , BY: Hilary
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September

How did we get here? I mean, I know how we got here, but really? September already?

*squeeeeeee*!

September means back-to-school and back-to-school means the end of summer and what comes after summer?!

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Fall, snitches! My absolutely favorite season of the year.  
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Fall means watching the leaves change. It means a little bite in the air in the mornings, and the promise of an extra blanket at the foot of the bed in the evenings.  Fall means football games, vests, chunky sweaters, and smoke tinged skies.  Fall means brisk days, longer nights, crunchy sidewalks of fallen leaves, and cranberry, orange, and golden hues that cast long shadows on the driveway.   Fall means cuddling under blankets, wrapping chilly fingers around warms mugs of something tasty, and of course, pumpkin.  Mmmmm, pumpkin.

I haven’t been on Pinterest yet, but I know there’s a pumpkin recipe out there that is waiting for me to discover it.  Pumpkin bread? Pumpkin bars? Pumpkin cheesecake in mini mason jars? Pumpkin martinis? I’m like the Bubba Gump of pumpkin between the months of Septemeber and November. Come December 1st, my pumpkin fixation goes to ground as quickly as it sprouted.  But I’m getting ahead of myself when I should be looking at the orange creamsicle tinged days ahead.

Every time I pull a fresh load out of the dryer, I squirrel away one or two of the girls’ summer tops and bottoms.  This past week-end, we had a mini fall preview of the clothes that had been stored from last fall.  The girls love the changing of the wardrobe; it’s a fashion show for them.  Once they’re all squared away, I turn my attention to my own closet and start pinching out things that won’t make it back into the rotation for the rest of the summer.  Yeah, I’m giving June, July and August the two fingers and a hearty “See you next year” as I throw open my closet to welcome back my sweaters and boots.  Of course, this being Virginia, it’ll probably been Halloween before I actually get to wear any of that stuff, but whatever. I’m excited. When I pull out the storage bin that houses my fall and winter clothes, it’s a reunion with old friends: Hello, corduroy pants! Well hey, cable knit-sweater! Look at you, tall riding boots. So glad I got you re-soled last spring! Yes, I’m a dork, but a well dressed, well heeled, ready for fall dork, thankyouverymuch!

Mmmmm, fall is in the air and it smells like pumpkin.

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IN: ON: September 1, 2013 TAGS: , BY: Hilary
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Septemeber Photo Challenge

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For those of you unfamiliar with the Photo A Day Challenge, I’ve provided you with a list of prompts or suggestions for each day of the month.  On the designated day, you snap a photo of the suggestion or a photo of your interpretation of the suggestion and post it to Instagram.  You can add a caption to your photo, as well as the hashtag #hilarywithonel so we can keep up with you.  If you input #hilarywithonel in the Instagram search box, you’ll be able to see what others have already posted.

These monthly challenges are part of my greater year long challenge to take one photo a day.  You can follow my progress here: f/365

Don’t beat yourself up if you miss a day. It’s just a fun way to be creative.  No penalties for missed days, and no prize for hitting all the days – well, satisfaction is a prize in and of itself right?

Snap on, my friends, snap on.

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IN: ON: August 30, 2013 TAGS: , , , BY: Hilary
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Home Again, Home Again.

It’s Thursday, a rainy, humid day here in VA.  Just one short week ago, I was Vegas bound. I landed, immediately embraced by high temps and a shining sun. 

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Time is moving way to fast for me.  My trip to Vegas hardly feels like it happened it all! My sorority sisters and I spent several days out in Nevada, catching up and kicking back.  There were casinos, there were clubs, there were shows.  There was drinking and gambling and laughing and lounging.  I’m not going to spill all the gory detailsYou know what they say, “What happens in Vegas. . .”  I’ll let you use your imagination. 

hee hee!
view from the hotel.  really amazing.

poolside. *le sigh*

whomp, whomp!

It was a much needed break.  I think all of us were in much need of a respite from the day to day goings on that occupy our lives. 

And now, here I am, back in the thick of things.  Seriously, there is no rest for the weary. My plane landed on Monday evening and I came home to happy kids, my tired parents, and a mountain of laundry that my mom had attempted to scale. I admire her effort, but as well know, laundry is a Herculean task.  Tuesday was going to be the girls’ second day of school with me at the helm of drop off and pick up.  Yes, I missed the first day of school as I was cavorting out in Nevada — truth be told, I was making my way home all day Monday. . .all.daggone.day.

While I didn’t snap the first day of school photo, it did get taken and for that I’m grateful.

a 3rd grader and a kindergartener? already?

The Hubs parting words to me on Tuesday morning were, “Try to ease into things.”  Yeah, have you met me? Have you met my kids? So much for that.  Tuesday morning after drop off found me back in the gym, working off all the imbing from the previous four days.  V and I came home, had lunch, wrangled the laundry into something manageable.  I stripped beds and changed sheets.  I prepped dinner and made lunches for the following day. I got us together and on time for after school pick up.  Just as Mo and Co got buckled into their seats, I got a call from my cousin P who was in town for work. I haven’t seen P in five years, at least.  She’s never met the girls, so it’s probably more like 10 years.  Could I get together with her now?  Of course!  We made a pit stop at the house before heading downtown to scoop P up from her hotel. En route, Co says that her chest was hurting her when she took a deep breath. I asked her when did that start?

“Just now,” she says.  So, I told her not to take breaths and just breathe normally. She shrugged and we were on our way.  We get P and decide to head over to Carytown to walk around a bit.  As we’re driving, Co gets progressively worse.  In a matter of minutes, she’s doubled over in the back seat, globes of tears burbling out of her eyes.  By the time we find a parking space, I’m visibly calm, but inwardly freaking out.  I lift her shirt, palpate her chest, finding nothing.  Her crying is not helping as she sucking in big gulps of air.  I’m not seeing anything but my sweet girl in pain and tears.  I get back in the car, turn to P and say, “I gotta take you back to the hotel.”

Which of course is in the opposite direction of the doctor’s office.  I’m on the phone with the doc, navigating back to school traffic around VCU’s campus, trying to keep Co calm and keeping one eye on the gas gauge which is winking at me as it dwindles down towads empty.  When we get within eyesight of the hotel, I basically slow down enough for kick P out (sorry, P) and hightail it back towards our part of town and the doc.  By the time we arrive, my bloodpressure is high enough to cause my hair to straighten. Co is calmer, though she’s keeping one hand on her chest as though to press the discomfort away and out of sight.  She’s taken back right away, with Mo and Vivi on her heels.  I retell the situation to the doc, who then examines Co.  Suffice it to say, your girl had a bad case of gas.

The relief I felt was nothing short of miracle.  The treatment prescribed? Soda to help her burp.  Co picked up on that and was all smiles.  By the time I had gathered our stuff, the nurses were plying the girls with lollypops and stickers, smiles all around.  The girls were bickering as I checked out and full of yelling at one another as they buckled themselves in the car. Crisis averted, everything back to normal.  I looked at my watch.

I had been back home for less than 24 hours. 

My phone pinged an incoming text message from one of my girls who went to Vegas with me: “All I have to say is today felt like this past weekend never happened.”  Looks like I’m not the only one who had a rough re-entry.

So here it is, a few days later.  I’m finding my groove (coffee is helping considerably).  The laundry is almost done. V is napping while I’m writing.  I’m winning more now that I did in Vegas.

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IN: ON: August 29, 2013 TAGS: , , BY: Hilary
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