kara

Sophie: La la da ba la la da da da.

Me: Sophie!

“My mother had a great deal of trouble with me, but I think she enjoyed it.” —Mark Twain

Typical weekday scene in the Uhl household, around 5:30pm.

“There’s nothing half so pleasant as coming home again.” —Margaret Elizabeth Sangster

On February 19th, I turned 30!

Andy, Sophie and I, along with my parents and Andy’s mom, had dinner at Dewey’s. Here Andy’s trying to calm Sophie by blowing on her hair (she still loves any form of wind).

30 candles =

fair amount of candle smoke.

Sophie hanging out with Grandma. (Grandpa flew in Friday.)

Last year, on my 29th birthday, Andy and I ate a quick dinner and he gave me the most beautiful pair of earrings, handmade by an artist in Greece. We then spent a couple hours at our natural childbirth class and came home, just the two of us, to enjoy cake. I think about that and I think about how much has changed in the last year of my life. I worry I don’t have everything figured out. I worry that I’m diminishing in my role as writer—no matter how much freelance writing and editing I do at home. I worry, with every rejection I receive, about never publishing beyond a glossy. And I worry about my abilities in my new role—mom.

When I was a little girl, my parents were in their 30s. They seemed so grownup—they were grownup. And they seemed like they had everything figured out. I still have so many questions. Why, for example, is it now popular to wear really short shorts with Uggs? And what really happens to us when we die? (There’s a range.)

My aunt Ellen recently e-mailed me, asking about my party (pictures to come soon). She said, “Don’t worry about trying to figure out your life by this age; I don’t think anyone has her life totally figured out by ANY age!” Good advice. (She, by the way, celebrates a big birthday this year, too!)

“Thirty was so strange for me. I’ve really had to come to terms with the fact that I am now a walking and talking adult.” —C.S. Lewis

Sophie hadn’t seen my parents for awhile so a couple Fridays ago we drove to their house for some pizza-eating and Sophie-playing time.

“When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie, that’s amore.” —Jack Brooks

“The only thing worth stealing is a kiss from a sleeping child.” —Joe Houldsworth

My mom sent us this beautiful Valentine, which she made.

Andy’s parents sent Sophie her very own Valentine, socks and bath toys—she’s very loved.

Valentine’s Day we made heart-shaped sugar cookies. Sophie helped.

That evening, after Sophie fell asleep, Andy and I cooked (salmon, green beans, rice and sourdough bread), opened a nice bottle of wine we had been saving, set out our fine China and ate in—perfectly romantic.

“When love is not madness, it is not love.” —Pedro Calderon de la Barca

Now that Dad attached my bookcase to the wall, I’m allowed to choose the books I want to read all by myself.

This requires taking several off the shelves …

… and dropping them on the floor.

Sometimes I have trouble making up my mind.

Wiggle Your Toes it is.

“What do we, as a nation, care about books? How much do you think we spend altogether on our libraries, public or private, as compared with what we spend on our horses?” —John Ruskin

Last week Tari and I met at Arthur’s, with our girls. We had planned to walk around Hyde Park after our lunch, and we did, for awhile, despite the rain. But eventually it began to rain too hard and we worried about the girls getting too cold—no matter how cozy they looked in their strollers.

“The best thing one can do when it’s raining is to let it rain.” —Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

On our way home from Timberline we stopped at OU, my alma mater. We had lunch at one of my favorite places, Bagel Street Deli.

We walked around the College Green.

And I showed Sophie the E.W. Scripps School of Journalism, where I took many of my classes.

It was a strange feeling, walking my daughter around the campus I loved so much. I was in a very different place then—I miss it, not enough to want to be back, but enough to entice a strong feeling of nostalgia when there.

“Fathers send their sons to college either because they went to college or they didn’t.” —L.L. Hendren

This year there were two houses on ski trip—a quieter one, for pregnant couples/those with children …

… and a stay-up-until-6am-playing-mafia-and-beer-pong one. The arrangement worked perfectly.

This was the first year I didn’t ski. I missed it more than I thought I would. I’m a terrible skier. But several years ago I decided there was no sense terrifying myself on black diamonds so when I do ski, I stick to the long, easy slopes, like Timberline‘s Salamander. It’s quiet, slow, pretty—you can even ski off the slope and into the woods, which is beautiful when the branches are covered with snow. But it was OK, not skiing this year. I did, however, play lots of Quiddler.

Poor Sophie battled a terrible cold while on the trip (and, unfortunately, so did I).

Despite her cold, she still managed to eat a lot of one of her favorite foods—cheese.

Evan loved Amy.

Sophie hung out with lots of friends.

Here we are trying to tough it out in the other house Friday night. (Saturday night Sophie and I nursed our colds in the quiet house—we missed hanging out with everyone, but we needed the rest!)

Playing mafia is always a highlight of the trip.

Saturday we bundled up …

… and took a long walk.

Sunday morning Sophie woke up and discovered Evan was wearing the same pjs!

On the way home we stopped for a picnic lunch.

“The sport of skiing consists of wearing three thousand dollars’ worth of clothes and equipment and driving two hundred miles in the snow in order to stand around at a bar and get drunk.” —P.J. O’Rourke