Tuesday, August 6, 2013

Little House in the Pines

Welcome to my Little House in the Pines!

I'm Jana, and this is my cozy retreat where I write about the meaningful (or, okay, the sometimes random and bizarre) moments as a stay-at-home-first-time-mama.

My husband Michael and I live in the piney hills of the deep south, where the winters are mild, the summers are scorching, and the barometer always reads 100% humidity. We like it here. Well, except for the fact that my hair falls flat and his shirt sticks to his skin the moment we open the door. Also, I really only get to wear a scarf and boots about 3 months out of the year. As a girl who dreamed of sipping hot chocolate in flannel by a roaring fire while it snows outside, this is a bad thing. We don't get snow. Ever.

Our little girl was born in late March of this past year. We named her Maylin, pronounced MAY-lin, emphasis on the May part. We don't intend for her name to be pronounced in stereotypical Southern double-hyphenated name sort of style (ex: May-Lynne; I cringe). And no, we didn't get the name from Steel Magnolias. She is the light and joy of our little home. She's also the cause of many late (and sleepless) nights, but we don't hold that against her. People told us our lives would be forever changed when she was born, but there was no preparing us for the force of love and tenderness that we feel for her.

Our town is small, not in a back-woods, "green grass grows" a la Tim McGraw kind of small, but rather in a way that you're going to run into someone you know when you eat at Chili's. We, like most people around here, live in a quiet, quaint neighborhood surrounded by tall pine trees. Our back yard alone boasts nine pine trees (yes, nine).

I've blogged sporadically since college, but with the recent resignation of my teaching position to stay home with our four month old daughter, I've found myself wanting needing to write with more regularity and with more purpose. Believe it or not, changing (another) diaper and speaking in a high, squeaky baby voice all day can become a bit monotonous. Not that I don't love speaking in baby coos to my daughter (after all, I chose to stay home with her), but it's a little embarrassing when my husband comes home and I speak to him that way too...

So, welcome to our little neck of the neighborhood! Expect to find recipes for wholesome dishes, stories about our daily happenings, and a lot of thoughts about adapting to mom life.

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