And now!  For photos of my new office (not studio!): My very DIY office, which I LOVE.  I love it so much I even took a wee nap on my couch this afternoon before a shoot. Every stick of furniture, apart from the couch- has been painted, sewed, glued, wrapped, velcroed, etc.  I did it all, folks.  And even though everything isn’t perfect, it’s awesome.  I really, really love it.  I love the vibe. Cozy, approachable, homey, comfortable- all the things I want to be as a human being embodied in a little blue office. My “I’m at the office” slippers: My desk: My kitchenette (sidenote about the kitchenette.  At first, I hated the look of it so much, I thought about building a giant barn door to cover it.  But then I thought, “You know what’s easier than building a barn door?  NOT building a barn door.”  And so I just painted it blue and called it a day.  I might, at some point, hang some DIY art- I already have the fabric, but I kind of ran out of steam): A part of my window sign and an attempt at keeping flowers alive (I think I’ve already killed the rose plant (not pictured)): One wall gallery- mounted prints velcroed to the wall.  I’ll add prints as I go until the walls are really, really covered: My coffee table

One of my Mom’s first jobs (maybe even her very first- I’m not totally sure about the details) was at a bank.  And at this bank, she met a lovely, lovely woman named Rita.  Rita and her husband would become my Mom and Dad’s lifelong friends.  Good friends.  The sort of good friends that send Mom and Dad’s children birthday cards EVERY. YEAR. without fail.  The sort that go Mom and Dad’s family members’ funerals.  The sort that ask Mom and Dad to help celebrate their 50th (FIFTIETH!) wedding anniversary. Sadly, very sadly, Rita died last year. But as with all fantastic people, she left behind a legacy.  Her legacy was loving her son, loving her husband, loving her friends.  And.  Making a fantastic Farina Cake. In my Mom’s last care package (the one that included the book that inspired Olli to pick up his harmonica), she included the recipe for this fantastic cake as well as the ingredients in the event that Finland didn’t have them (ps.  Just looked it up, Mom, and they at least have the word.  The likelihood they sell it is high). As a rule, I love recipe trading.  Anyone who has a signature food item, be it cake, chicken, muffin, cookie, pasta- whatever- and is willing to share the recipe gets a gold star in my book. I’d never had Rita’s Farina Cake before,

So, he’s still a bit cross-eyed. But we’ll take him anyway

You might remember from a couple months back, that I have read and internalized the book The Happiness Project.  You might also remember that one of my goals has been to look good naked- vain as that might be. Well, I’ve gone to the gym pretty regularly (apart from the three weeks I was putting together my office).  I’ve switched to skim milk.  I’ve pretty much given up juice.  And I’ve been more vigilant about staying away from sugared sodas. But after some deep soul searching and reflection, I’ve decided that life is only as good as the chocolate one eats.  A life without chocolate isn’t a life worth living.  No Happiness Project goal is going to come between me and my chocolate.  Etc., etc. Especially if said chocolate is the product of  professional cupcake chef the Cupcake Goddess. Yesterday, I attended a birthday party catered by the Cupcake Goddess, and my heart sang with joy as my belly overflowith with cupcake upon delicious cupcake. I’m telling you, folks.  The Cupcake Goddess does NOT mess around. Naked shmaked- I looked AWESOME scarfing those puppies down. A special thanks to Tracy, the birthday boy’s mama, for sending the leftovers home with me.  You will forever hold a special place in my heart

I’ve always thought I had a pretty good relationship with my in-laws.  They’ve always taken good care of me in the absence of my own parents.  They feed me, watch my kids, fold my laundry (only occasionally), and give me movie tickets for special occasions. But they clearly secretly hate me. And clearly are conspiring for my early demise.  A slow, painful death by harmonica. Because that’s what they gave my kids.  A harmonica.  To bring home with them.  And “play” incessantly. My dear mother is also in on the conspiracy (what did I ever do to you, Mom?), for in her latest care package she sent a “How to teach yourself the harmonica” book, which has inspired OLLI to pick up HIS harmonica and give it a go as well!  (He’s playing Auld Lang Syne in this photos.  Afterwards, he said to me, “This part [of the harmonica] isn’t working properly.  I wonder if I should get it fixed.”  Oi!) Okay, but truth be told the harmonica isn’t the worst noisy toy to have.  It’s at least 20 times better than a recorder.  If my in-laws ever send one of those home with the kids, it might get “lost” pretty quickly. Ps.  This is clearly a joke.  Clearly my in-laws don’t hate me.  Clearly I’m kidding

I shared a pic on Facebook the other day (not my own pic) of the insane state of Helsinki’s streets at the moment.  Apparently, we’ve received as much snow in one month as we did the entire winter last year.  And that’s saying something, because last year was a record year for snow. Since a lot of my friends and family live in Arizona, you can imagine their genuine shock.  Shock and disbelief that I would choose to live somewhere so stinkin’ cold. First, let me say that I’m not here for the weather.  I’m here, because Finland happened to produce the most fantastic man on the planet and then the universe dictated I marry him.  And then we had kids and the awesome social benefits kept me here.  And now I have a business and friends and a life in the city. So, while I’ve got a lot of reasons to stay here- the weather is not one of them. That being said. There are some winter mornings which are impossibly sunny and warm (relatively speaking) and the park beckons to you and your kids.  And their skates.  And hockey sticks.  And your camera.  And it doesn’t matter that the basket broke on your winter stroller and you have to carry all the stuff while pushing the stroller and two kids with one hand up a hill of ice

I’m sure I’ve told you before, but in Finland, Valentine’s Day is really Ystävän Päivä- Friends’ Day.  This really sits well with me and how I view the whole holiday.  Because for the past 11 years, I’ve ignored the holiday completely.  Like, completely.  No card, no flowers, no poetry, nothing.  I don’t spout incessantly about the evils of the Hallmark holiday or glare at happy couples as they walk the streets- I just don’t care. But today, I decided to celebrate FRIENDS’ Day a la third grade with some homemade cupcakes delivered to my dear neighbors. I searched for recipes that would help me use up the buttermilk I’ve got in the fridge, and came across some nice Texas Sheet Cake and Coffee Cake recipes. But then Henry woke up from his nap, and Benjy- who has been sick for four days with the Man Cold to end all Man Colds- started to melt down, and so I abandoned all hopes of baking from scratch and reached for the box of mix and can of frosting I keep in my pantry for emergencies. I know that I’ve also mentioned how rarely I bake from a box anymore.  There was a time, back before I’d moved to this cold, distant country, where I actually preferred boxed cakes.  It wasn’t just that they were cheap (although that helped) and super easy (that helped, too)-

Sometimes the only thing- and I mean the ONLY THING that will calm Henry out of a tantrum is if I give him my sunglasses. He’s been known to wear these sunglasses in combination with some Mardi Gras beads my mom gave him when she was here, but I haven’t been able to get those on camera, yet. So, you’ll have to take my word when I say he gives Elton John a run for his money

When Henry was a wee little lad, we set about gathering all the necessary documents to register him as an American (Yes, because I am an American citizen, he is automatically an American.  However, if he doesn’t live in America for x amount of years after he’s 12, his children will not have the right to be citizens).  There were many documents that needed to be gathered for such a wee lad, all of which were delivered to the US Embassy in plenty of time for him to receive his passport for our trip Stateside last spring. However. The embassy was in the middle of an insane renovation. The entire foreign service was changing the way it processed foreign birth registrations. Henry’s name was too long for their new system and everything went pear shaped. So, although we submitted our paperwork to the Embassy three months before traveling, we were issued only an emergency passport the day before we were due to travel.  And THAT was only good for a year. Yipee!  I get to do this all over again! thought I, as I received the news. Well, it’s already one year on, and thus time for his second round of passport applications. I was going to suck it up and take him to get his passport photo taken at the shop where they would have ROBBED ME BLIND (

I know that different children have different personalities.  I know that a lot of that is genetic.  But I also am convinced that birth order has something to do with it. People who are the oldest children in the family tend to be quieter, more cautious, more reserved, more responsible.  I’m not saying EVERY eldest child is like this, but that is the trend. The youngest is usually louder, more demanding, and more independent. And this is because they MUST be.  If they want to be heard, they’ve got to scream.  If they want something, they’ve got to take it before it’s gone.  And since Mom is too stinkin’ busy taking care of everyone else, well they’ve just got to entertain themselves. Henry is all of these things.  Loud, demanding, and independent. Oh, so independent. He will sit quietly and play all by himself long enough for me to vacuum the whole house, clean the bathroom, and get lunch ready. And I feel TERRIBLE about it.  Of course I want him to be independent.  I want him to be able to think for himself.  I want him to have his own imagination and own ideas.  But I feel HORRIBLE that he’s so independent at such a young age, because I’m too busy/bored/whatever to play with him. I think it’s safe to say I’ve not much improved with my Happiness Project