How Not to Take a Picture of Your Wife

(especially when she asked nicely, and you’re not doing shit)

I occasionally ask my husband to take my picture like when I've just given birth to our first child, or I just got my haircut. It’s a rare request and here’s why. He acts like a big baby about it and doesn’t do a very good job.

So, when there is an urgent need to document a moment and a random stranger isn’t available, I take a deep breath, quickly lower my expectations, and say, “Hey honey, can you take a picture with my phone?”

A perfectly fine and nice way to ask, right? I think so but...

I know what’s going to happen next. First, I get an eye roll. Next, he puts his hand out like I’m giving him a dirty diaper. And then, I have .2 seconds to get ready. Sometimes, he’s not even looking at me or the camera. I know going in that he only has the energy to take one. It’s like it’s 1987 and we must conserve film to avoid another trip to Rite-Aid in the Taurus. So, before he halfheartedly clicks, I make a little wish to the universe that it turns out okay. It never does. Let me show you.

Below is the picture he took last Saturday of me and my lovely friend and neighbor, Jen. At least, I’m pretty sure it’s Jen. It’s hard to tell because it’s WAY too dark. No filter is going to fix this. Our other neighbor’s house looks great though.

Here’s another example. Now, I should have set this up better and just swiveled around on the stool. I blame both Brian and sleep deprivation for missing this chance to document baby Linc and I bonding over our love of stripes.

Aw, here’s one with me and my girls after hiking up a large-ish hill to see this waterfall. It’d be an okay picture except my eyes are closed. Of course, that’s not technically his fault either. But can anyone explain why he is only capable of shooting a single picture?! Asking for a tap, tap, tap is apparently too, too, too much.

Here’s one of me and my friend Liz getting ready to run a half marathon. I specifically asked him to get the start line in the background. Check. But in the excitement, I apparently forgot to ask for her lower jaw, as well.  She has a chin but I guess you’ll just have to take my word for it. 

An actual photographer told me once to be careful not to indiscriminately cut off limbs in pictures. Subconsciously, it makes people uncomfortable. I see his point. This picture makes me squeamish, but that might be because I look like a hard-boiled egg. 
 
Let's move on.

Here’s a recent shot of the extended family heading out for a wedding. It’s not often that we’re all together in metallics. Let me be clear about my issue with this picture. Yes, my daughter Baya was distracted by something on TV. Annoying but no problem. Kids are kids, and they’re notoriously difficult to pin down for posed pictures. I have 7,256 pictures on my phone that prove that point. 

No, my issue with this picture is that a large sea creature appears to be either sucking my brains or telling me a secret. Either way, I don't like it.

Again, I take responsibility for not anticipating this problem with the background in advance. However, a little input from his vantage point would have been welcomed. He doesn't robotically execute any of the rest of my commands so, why just this?
 
Brian didn't actually take this last example. (I’d already cropped the fuck out of the similar ones on my camera.) However, they're worth including because they illustrate a common problem: WAY too much background.

My otherwise darling brother-in-law, Mike, took these pictures of my sisters and me after lunch (and a lot of rose) at their house. Mike is very smart and has an actual Ph.D.-- just obviously not in photographic composition.

He took a couple pictures and proudly handed the phone back. Upon getting clear and immediate feedback about the amount of brick wall, he did something interesting though. He smiled and took the camera back to try again. He then shot 22 more identically bad pictures, but I appreciated the effort. He’s Canadian.

In the hopes of getting a different reaction to my most recent request, I tried a different tactic. I told Brian that the picture was for his mom. I was thinking he'd see the obvious value in having two women he cares about happy at the same time. No such luck. The words he said back were deeply concerning. “No need. I send her pictures of the kids all the time.”

So, Lynda. Mrs. Camarote. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize that was happening. If you don’t mind, please delete everything he’s sent you over the years. I'll forward a new batch straight away. Forget whether they’re too dark, too far away, or oddly cropped, you shouldn’t be receiving any pictures that aren't prescreened for cuteness and cleanliness. If any made you think the carpet needing vacuuming, I assure you that’s not the case. It’s an optical illusion created by your son’s crappy photography.
 

'Til Dirt Do Us Part

I’m occasionally surprised. It doesn’t often happen because I have ESP. A fortune teller told me so. When I asked her directly if I had psychic powers like hers, she said, “a little bit” which means I do. Being psychic is like being pregnant. You are, or you aren’t. I think she downplayed my abilities because she worried I’d set up shop next door and steal away business with my lower rates. She also might have been a little thrown off by the fact that I didn’t ask anything about future love or money.

Anyway, it’s not a good sign that this post got so off-track so fast. I sat down to write about gardening.

We have a garden. It consists of 3, 4x8 foot raised beds. The royal "we" grows lettuce, herbs, tomatoes, peppers, and snow peas. So, that’s the thing. This garden is totally my husband, Brian’s, baby. I just get to enjoy the veggies of his labor.

So, what was the surprise? I’ve known Brian for roughly a gazillion years—which seems funny because I still sometimes think of him as my new boyfriend. Kisses, honey! When we met, he was an government IT cost estimator. Yes, that’s the job and, yes, I’m pretty sure that’s what he wanted to be when he grew up in New Jersey. He drove a Porshe and liked to shop. Actually, I don’t know if he liked to shop, but he liked to dress nicely. You could blindfold and spin him around in the middle of Brooks Brothers, and he’d be able to find a matching shirt and tie. He just didn’t strike me as someone who’d dig in the dirt.

Years later when he floated the idea of starting a garden, I was taken aback. I was so shocked, in fact, that I immediately called my mom (master gardener) and said, “Get this! Brian wants a garden! Hahahahahahaha.” By sharing this detail, I set into motion a series of events I should have been able to predict. My parents immediately packed up their car with all the materials, soil, and seedlings he’d need to get started. It was like reliving the moment when he asked for their blessing before getting engaged, they saw their opening and sprung into action- perhaps afraid he’d change his mind?

They helped get everything set up and then we waited. Even with my parents' help that first year, I wasn’t terribly optimistic. How was this going to work? How were we actually going to grow stuff?

Then, I was surprised again. Most everything we planted grew, and it was fun. And this about when my interests diverged from Brian’s. He leaned into the work: the strategies, planning, building, buying, weeding, watering, pruning, checking, and nurturing. I conserved my energy for clicking on recipe sites. That’s it- no surprise there. Four years later, it’s a pretty good system.

So, if you’re looking for actual gardening advice, I have none. Instead, I might offer some words of encouragement. From where I sit on the patio watching with a glass of wine and cookbook in hand, gardening doesn’t look that hard. Your husband could totally do it too. The kids seem to enjoy it and are presumably learning some valuable lessons about where food comes from. Though, I mostly just see them fighting over whose turn it is to squirt the hose.

Marin with green bean plant started at school and transferred to our garden.

Here are some pictures from where our garden is now.

Apparently, this is what happens when you dump an entire package of seeds- just to see. Surprise!

Can you see the lettuce through the leaves?

We also have kale for green smoothies and herbs creeping along. In the come weeks, we’ll probably have some snap peas. Sometime in July, I’ll be wishing fresh mozzarella grew on trees because we’ll be inundated with tomatoes. And when it’s too late in September, I’ll think about how nice it would be to have planted Halloween pumpkins.

Although rare, surprises like this can be fun- and delicious.

All's well that ends well: Linc's birth story

So, you think YOU’RE a procrastinator? I had this baby in a car.

Lincoln James, May 26, 2014

It was just about 5am, and I was in the front seat. My husband Brian- completely calm- was driving about 80 miles per hour towards the hospital. Though we were only a few miles away, I knew we weren’t going to make it. The speck of my brain that was still thinking rationally was telling me not to push. But when I say I had to, I HAD to. It’d be cliché (and not quite right) to say it was like trying to stop a train. It was more like I’d jumped off the high-dive and changed my mind mid-air. There was just no way to stop this gravity-like force. The baby was coming out whether I was in the stirrups or not.

My body took over, and after a couple of hard pushes, the head was in my yoga pants. Then slip, slip, slip as they do, the rest came out. I pulled the little body to my chest. There was no cry but just the sound of strong, raspy breathing in my ear and my husband casually turning to me to ask, “Is this where we turn?”

Minutes later, we pulled into the ambulance bay at in front of the emergency room. Brian got out to tell someone, anyone. I sat there stunned and alone with this new baby. We were now in the light, and I could see it was a boy. It was Lincoln!

The only thought I had was, “thank god it’s over.” The pain, I mean, the pain. The chaos of the emergency room, the doctors and nurses, the car mess, wondering if my mom had made it to our house, and the transition to being parents of three, three and under was just starting.

Arriving at Virginia Hospital Center

Within seconds the car was surrounded by dozens of people- including several people who appeared to come from the waiting room (like that guy on the far right!) The emergency room doctor opened the car door and said, “Hi Mom, how are we doing?” And before I could answer he started giving instructions to someone else, “…I need an OB kit with a plastic clamp…”

I looked up at him and said, “The cord is still attached.” The look on his face said, ‘Dumb Ass: You’re the one sitting in the front seat of a car with your pants down in front of 25 people holding a slippery baby. Who’s the idiot here?’ Instead, he just said, “I know.”

From there it was a blur. I got on the rolling bed. Hospital staff checked me, and they checked Lincoln. Fine and fine. They patted Brian on the back and handed him a pack of industrial-sized wipes and wished him good luck with the car. Not so fine.

I briefly wondered if they’d let us stay. They did. (As a side note for anyone considering this strategy to save money, please don’t. You pay twice.) Anyway, we then went up to Labor and Delivery to get our ice packs and paper underwear. We were completely average again.

When I tell people this story, they immediately ask, “Are you kidding?” When they realize I’m not, they ask, “How did this happen?”

My canned answer is that he just came really fast. That’s sort of true. The reality is that I didn’t leave my house in time. It was my third pregnancy and I was totally “fucking over it.” This is the actual medical term for the 40th week of gestation. (The language only gets more colorful for those moms who go into week 41 and beyond.) I was big, worn out, generally sweaty, and anxious to meet this baby.

Leading up to my due date that holiday weekend, I put my multi-pronged eviction strategy into effect. Brian and I did a 4-mile hike and I'd tried on clothes from my Stitch Fix. I’d had labor-induction foot massages and was eating a whole pineapple per day. The day before, we took the girls to the zoo, set them up with art projects outside, and then walked to dinner.I was trying everything Google suggested- except for the “Italian method” which was out of the question.

I was trying everything Google suggested- except for the “Italian method” which was out of the question. The problem with using any multi-pronged approach is that you have no idea what works. So, I’m sorry. When I approach in line at the grocery store with unsolicited advice, I’ll tell you to try it all too.

The night labor started, the signs were there. I’d woken up with contractions. I laid there for a while switching between timing them on my phone and reading about Lucky Lindy in “One Summer: America, 1927” by Bill Bryson. I’d hoped this would be a funny distraction, it wasn’t. The contractions came every 18 minutes, then every 12, then 7. When I got up to go the bathroom and get a drink, suddenly it was 5, 4, 3, 2… grunt. I had the urge to push and knew I then I was officially running late.

My mom wasn’t yet there to watch the girls, our doula was 45 minutes away, and I hadn’t even called the midwife yet. When labor started, I’d hesitated. I knew as soon as I made all those calls, several people were going to spring into action. I didn’t want to bother anyone until I was sure. By the time I was certain, it was too late. I kind of set myself up.

Oh well. They say, and I believe it, that- all’s well that ends well. Linc’s arrival was dramatic but uncomplicated. The girls slept through the whole thing- only waking up after grandma had arrived. Brian was able to trade in the car without having to confess to its gory past. And, of course, we got another great kid to go with a story we’ll never forget.

Totally Soaked

My typing fingers are still pruney after my run this morning. I was soaked.

Like many, managing work and life for me means striking a balance between my plans and staying flexible and open to whatever might come. I set my running schedule for the week on Sundays, and it’s one of the few things that I try to stick to no matter what. So some days, that means I’m out in the driving rain looking like a fool. That was today.

A couple of things from my week:

• I came across this playlist with the 100 most (surely subjective) uplifting songs in Apple Music and am loving it. If you’re looking for something different for your workout or commute, you might enjoy it too. Which, by the way, my toddler unwittingly bought Apple Music for me when playing with my phone a couple of months ago. I’ve never gone back in to cancel because it does come in handy when you need the latest Kids Bop tune in a hurry.
• I met a man named Noah Currier this week. He’s a paralyzed vet and entrepreneur who created Oscar Mike, a rad t-shirt company. He has an inspiring story that you can check out on his site’s “About” page here. In short, he started the company six years ago as a way to fund other paralyzed vets’ participation in the adaptive sporting events and adventure races he credits with saving his life. I snagged a shirt this morning and am looking forward to the next sunny day to wear it.
• Lastly, the Kentucky Derby is tomorrow! I don’t care for juleps, and my only suitable hat is rather unspectacular. However, this is one of the few sporting events I look forward to each year. My kids and I have a complicated horse-selection process that starts with the question- Is there a filly in the field? If not, we move on to picking by saddle blanket color and horse name. We'll be watching and doing some friendly betting with neighbors tomorrow.

Spring Mini-Break

We took the kids down to Williamsburg and Busch Gardens for a couple of days this spring break. Because our oldest is now in kindergarten, this year was our first experience traveling at the same exact time to roughly the places as everyone else in the DC metro area.

Ugh.

I don't know why it didn't occur to me that other families might have the same idea. I spent three days in continuous awe at how many people were out and about-- and it all started about 20 minutes after leaving the house when we got on 95 South.

There was traffic and long lines and car spills and weird smells and more than a few tears. But lots of laughs too. I'll skip to the end and say it was a great trip and I'm glad we did it. 

Brian and I brushed up on our American history and marveled at all of the old time-y stuff. 

The kids? Well, for a group who routinely asks at adult birthday parties whether or not the person was alive when the dinosaurs were around, I should have known that the colonial era would be a bit out of their grasp.

Instead, here's their list of memorable moments...

1. The pull-out couch in the hotel room. Fascinating! How DID they get a whole bed in there?!
2. The tram taking us from the parking lot to front gates of Busch Gardens. Amazing! A bus with no doors or windows?! We could have just ridden this around the parking lot all day and saved some $$$.
3. Ketchup-dunked calamari. This rare delicacy isn't offered in any of their otherwise favorite Falls Church restaurants. It's simply delicious-- and incredibly similar to everything else they eat.
4. Horse poop, horse poop everywhere! Great for acting grossed out and then making a game out of jumping over the piles.
5. And, what was the BEST part of the trip? Playing in the street, of course! (The main road down the center of Williamsburg is closed to traffic.) Apparently, all our kids ever wanted to do in life was run in the road. Heartening.

Here are a couple of my pictures...

...and a couple of theirs.

Some aren't half bad. That one of my flipflop is fantastic- definitely a keeper.

All in all a worthwhile trip.

Bye for now!

Planting our garden

We're in year 3 (or maybe 4?) of having a backyard garden. At first, I thought this little project was sure to fail. My parents are both incredible gardeners and I've always benefited from their tremendously productive plots. However, I kill plants out of complete neglect on a regular basis. Apparently, they don't appreciate my suggestion that they fend for themselves.

Anyway, this was my husband's idea and he really does all of the heavy lifting in terms of getting it planned and planted. When it is producing, I wander out around 4pm each day, pick something for dinner, and feel at one with the earth-- without really expending any effort at all. It's a pretty good arrangement.

In addition to fresh veggies in the season, we feel like it creates a good learning experience for our kids. This year, Marin started seeds in her kindergarten class and was proud to add them to mix of plants. 

We're still figuring out the exact right mix of what we like and what does well. We're also figuring out how to better balance starting plants from seeds (way cheaper) or starting plants we buy at a premium from our local nursery. The latter is obviously easier-- and in our house easy often wins out. At the moment, we have a combination of early season "crops" including lettuce, kale, and spinach. Brian has peppers and tomatoes (sprouting in every muffin tin I own) that are still hanging out inside.

I'm looking forward to seeing what we get this year. I love when our tomatoes and peppers are going crazy and will have lots of herbs to add to salads and sauces. I also like being able to pick greens and add them directly to a salad or smoothie.  Clearly, my interest is on the consumption side versus the production side.

Do you have a garden? What do you most enjoy about it?

Small Changes, Big Impacts

Me and Anjali! She's such an inspiration!

This morning, I had the opportunity to talk with superstar entrepreneur, Anjali Varma's Modern Mompreneur Meet-up group about one of the beliefs I hold most dear.

Small changes make big impacts.

I find this to be true in both business and life in general. Dreaming big while keeping your planned actions small helps fight overwhelm, keeps you focused, allows you to switch things up when something isn't working, and makes your day easier instead of more stressful.

As just one example, I heard that a tiny change like eliminating sugar in your coffee could add up to 10 pounds lost in a single year. After trying this myself and feeling better just a week in, I had to ask myself- what other small changes could I make that might pay off big?

Since then, I've applied this to networking, community building, and writing. The result? I'm spending less time battling my tendency to over complicate things and my days are a bit easier.  All of this makes me want to continue towards my goals and resolutions- instead of throwing in the towel a month into the new year as I might have in the past.

So, here's a brief video followed by a recap of what I shared today with Anjali and the rest of the AWESOME mompreneurs there.

Things I believe to be true about goals

• Goals should be specific and measurable
• Small actions have a big impact
• Right for right now
• Stretchy, but with some built-in flexibility in what success ultimately looks like
• Integrated into the rest of your life
• Aligned with your strengths
• Within your direct control
• Yours, not someone else’s goals for you

Things I believe to be true about planning

1. You don’t have to be able to see all of the exact steps to infinity in order to start
2. Shorter planning windows are WAY more effective
3. Plans can have flexibility and opportunity built in

So, how might you put this in practice for yourself?

Consider adopting a 21-day cycle to build a series of good habits that move your towards your goals.  Here's a worksheet to get you started.

A big thank you to the ever-lovely Jessica McFadden for the photos and video!  So great to see you!

Up In the Air. Again.

It’s only been six months since this happened. And like childbirth itself, memories of the pain have faded and I’m ready to do it again. I’m taking my kids on a plane. This is something only slightly less frightening than...you know.

We’re off to visit family in Alabama and to celebrate my cousin’s wedding.

Unfortunately, there are no direct flights to where we’re going. This means connecting. I’d rather do just about anything else. I know you would too. It’s just terrible, terrible, terrible. Let’s take a quick moment and pray that I don’t lose it in front of thousands at the Atlanta airport. Ommmm.

Flashback to our June trip. Linc, the lap child, getting comfy in MY seat.

Unlike last time, there’s no worry about tickets. I won’t have to sneak my 2-year-old onto the plane in a Baby Bjorn while pretending to nurse his hefty, walking, talking body. Thankfully, everyone has a seat.

This time, my worries are more of the garden-variety. What am I going to wear?

Black floral pants?

I've never pined so hard for something so hideous. Normally, this is just not my style. However, I now see the flaw in my thinking. And, it's a little too late- even for Amazon Prime. These pants offer a distracting pattern with enough splotches of color to conceal any smears, spills, or potty accidents that might- scratch that- will happen. Bring on the gummies and goldfish!

Isn't the coupling of floral pants and floral shoes still illegal in most states?

Big sunglasses?

Yes, yes, yes! And yes, I plan to look exactly this miserable the whole trip. I firmly believe that the key to traveling with small children is avoiding eye-contact with others. I wanted to write "with strangers" but, really, I don’t plan to look at my husband either. We need to focus- and my focus will be on my feet. What other people think of my traveling circus is none of my business.

Strappy heels?

Yes again. Most people dress for comfort when travelling. Flats and leggings are the norm. Not me. I figure if I’m going to feel cranky and put-out I might as well go all the way. These look perfect- super high, super complicated. And the zippers convey that "don't mess with me little people" attitude I'll be carrying-on.

Accessories?

Well, anything metallic will stay behind. I don’t need anything extra to remove when going through security. Dealing with my complicated shoes will be enough. Anything shiny will be left at home, as well. Kids are like raccoons. When bored, they become fascinated with any sparkling objects- especially those hanging around your neck. If you’re not vigilant, they will strangle you. Of course depending on how much time you have left on your flight, you might not care. I often reach a point mid-air when I wonder if lying unconscious on the floor might be a better way to pass the time.

Wish me luck. I’m sure it’s going to be a great trip… once we get there.

Passive Directives

I belong to a gym. It’s a nice place. There’s not much to complain about. They have a zillion treadmills, offer lots of classes that I never take (but am glad are available), and keep it squeaky clean. There's just one thing. They’re obsessed with signs. It drives me crazy.

To give you an idea, I broke a rule and I snapped a couple of pictures from around the ladies locker room. Don't worry. No one was in there changing at the time.

Here are a few examples...

Now, I don’t disagree with a single thing written on these signs. In fact, I'm so eager to comply that I might be the only member who has read them. I’m a rule follower. I enjoy guidelines that make life better for all of us. For example, I love right on red, no phone calls on planes, and wash your hands before returning to work. All good.

The random, wallpapering effect is my issue. In the locker room alone, there are eight or so unique signs. Some are posted twice or three times. 

The content itself violates a couple of basic rules of, I don’t know, eyesight, adult attention spans, and reading comprehension. The font is tiny and the bulleted lists are long. They’re excessively wordy- not unlike many of my blog posts.

And my biggest issue is that they're 50 shades of the same two rules: Don’t be gross. And, don't overdo it. 

Most of these rules are followed by everyone anyway. The rest aren't followed by anyone, ever. Actual locker room behavior is nearly 100 percent consistent. It's effectively governed by social pressure and basic standards of hygiene. No rules are, in fact, needed.  We could do away with all of this visual clutter.

Here's are some examples.

General locker room rules

These are the overarching rules. If ever there was a set embodying "arbitrary and capricious," this is it. Actually, I need to take a minute to look up capricious but I'm pretty sure it applies. This gym is located within an office complex. There are rarely children on-site let alone within a two-mile radius of the building. The two top rules about kids just don't apply. Even if there were kids around, the age of four seems a bit random and impossible to enforce.

Regarding towels and trash, there are 35 bins around the room. You can't miss them. Like, you literally cannot miss them. If you happen to drop your towel or trash accidentally it will actually fall into a bin. Gravity is on our side here.

The thing about the health code's age restriction for the sauna seems important. Instead of making this item #4, they could just share this rule with teens when they sign up. The gym manager could then invite them to swing by for a good sweat after going to the DMV to get their license. Win, win.

Everyone ignores the thing about cell phones. Give up.

Feel like swimming or soaking? Just shiver there in your "regular swim wear" for a moment while you read these 19 rules.

Pool and hot tub rules

Don't they know that people stop reading lists when they see more than three items? All of those other bullets are wasted.

It's actually fine that you stopped reading because they all say the same thing. In completely random order, there are a few with time and temperature ranges (hope you brought your pocket thermometer!), what to wear, what not to wear, and a burried threat to suspend your membership if you don't comply.

Oh, don't miss the attention-grabbing reference to diarrhea. I have't had my breakfast yet. Thanks.

Bottom-line? Don't be gross and don't be a hero and overdo it. You'll melt or fry or dehydrate into something resembling a dried apricot. Heat exhaustion isn't sexy no matter how "regular" your swimwear might be.

And, oh and this one.  I never see anyone shower before entering the pool. Is management seriously concerned about BO and dry skin cells? Isn't that what chemicals and filters are for?

If this is really a problem, let the lifeguard hose everyone down with his tears of boredom. He's sure not likely to have a big rescue today and is busying himself sorting the lost and found goggles

This one just makes me angry at my fellow members.  If you're paying the monthly dues for this gym, spend the money and have someone else put dye in your hair. Seriously.

And to the gym manager...this obviously happened once and got all over the place- the sink, shower, whirlpool, and sauna!? How awful. It was clearly so scarring that you had to right to work and make another sign.  I get it. Surely it was an inconvenient mess but why punish the rest of us with this nonsense?

I'll stop my little rant here. With all of these signs, the message I'm getting is that gym management wants order without confrontation. These are passive directives and totally not necessary. Sure, it could be awkward to tell someone in a towel with an gaping, open wound to skip the whirlpool that day. But, you gotta do it. Leave the rest of us alone to sweat in peace.

Creating a Vision Board with Kids

We created our 2017 family vision board this weekend. This is our third and biggest board yet. The kids- Marin (5), Baya (4), and Linc (2)- are starting to get the concept and enjoy putting it together.

Vision boarding is a perfect activity for kids. It blends danger (use of scissors), mess (use of glue), and a focus completely on themselves.

It's a not so perfect an activity for me. I'm a control freak and over-complicator. Putting this collage together is an annual exercise in restraint and important reminder to myself that it doesn't always have to be my way.

Here's what we did:

I try to keep it simple and use whatever we have on hand. My inclination is to make a special run out to Staples for all new supplies but we had plenty of poster board already. I also let them stop when they're feeling done and not push them to finish it to my standards of completion (all white space covered up.) What works for us is to blend the sources of pictures. Some come from magazines, some I search and print from Google images, and some come from the photo library on my phone.  

I should have stated upfront that my husband has nothing to do with this. He'll politely ooh and ahh once they're done but doesn't do crafts or anything he thinks is too "woo woo."

So, what's on tap for the Camarotes in 2017?

• As far as Marin's concerned, the only important thing on here is a trip to Notre Dame for a football game. We'll have to see about that.
• They came up with a bunch of small, random goals- mostly around stuff they wanted to eat. I'm feeling pretty confident about my ability to manifest some Goldfish and juice boxes for them.
• A couple of recurring items are our garden and dinners on the patio. We plan to log some time at the pool, heading down the slopes, and running on the trail. 

I'm feeling good about 2017 and love having this visual reminder of the stuff we want to and plan to do in the new year.