Blogging Life

Little Shoes Make Me Crazy

2012-01-27T09:13:00.003-06:00

It’s not just the fact that they cost too much and are outgrown before the soles are worn; it’s because I put them on little feet eleventyninehundred times a day. At least it feels that way.

Luke has the sweetest disposition of anyone in my house. He's just an easy kid; he rarely needs more than a distraction to correct him when he's misbehaving. He is happy, he greets me with a smile in the mornings, and even when he’s naughty (like last night when he needed rescuing from the puddle of toilet water he created after putting half a roll of toilet paper in the potty in MY bathroom where he wouldn’t be disturbed), his enthusiastic baby grin usually diffuses my frustration.

Except when he takes off his shoes.

It’s probably an issue of leftover baggage from Ella’s shoe-shedding phase that only recently ended. But holy mother, it drives me nuts to put on his shoes and the put them on again, then again, and then one more time BEFORE WE GET OUT OF THE HOUSE. Then, as soon as we get into the car, he takes them off again.

Gah!

The only reason I bother to put them on him in the mornings is because he walks to the car by himself. He would gladly go barefoot, but sometimes it's wet and sometimes it's cold. So, I’ve started waiting until the last minute to put them on, right before we walk out the door. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn’t. Today, not so much.

I put the shoes on him (praise the good Lord that Ella finally does this job herself), I gathered up all our crap (because I’m not just a mommy, I’m a Mommy Mule), I opened the door and said “Load up” like I do every morning. On the way to the door, he took off his shoe. And handed it to me with his cute little face, saying, “Shoe-shoe!”

I lost it.

I yelled out a rant that went something like, “WHY must you take your shoes off EVERY.TIME. I put them on you?! We are about to walk out the door! You can’t leave them on for 45 seconds? I am so tired of putting your shoes on you fifteen hundred times a day!”

He just cocked his head and looked at me with his sweet face like, “Is she talking to me?” Then I stomped out to the car, loaded all the crap, got Ella in her side, and came back for him. He always stops on the porch to love the cat and usually he runs from me when I’m ready to put him in the car. I was all loaded and ready for that this morning, but do you know what I found?

The sweet little punk was working so hard to close the door behind himself; and he was so proud.

Diffused again.

I picked him up and thanked him for his helping hands, then I whispered that I was sorry I yelled at him. He loves whispering right now, so he grinned and whispered back to me. All is well; he probably forgave me before I ever yelled the first word because that’s how he rolls.

But I still hate little shoes.

Quotable Ella 2011

2012-01-26T09:08:00.001-06:00

I have not had time to write here lately; and I'll be honest, I haven't felt very inspired either. I guess reading, revising, writing, and re-revising 800 pages of instructional documentation in 9 days time - you know, my real job - was enough to stifle me for a while. I've started a post twice this week, but I haven't written more than 3 sentences. Then I remembered that I went through all of my Facebook statuses at the end of last year and pulled out the ones with quotes from Ella with the intention of posting them here (because this is my documentation of her life, a virtual baby book, if you will). So, that's what this is, a compilation Ella's Facebook quotes for 2011. Enjoy!

"It will improve us." - Ella, in response to my comment that a little Mickey Mouse is in order. Snack and Mickey = quiet time. Amen.

This morning, while searching the fridge for breakfast, Ella told me, "But not brussel sprouts." Indeed. Not for breakfast. (Though she would probably eat them if I put them on her plate. Luke would.)

"I don't like my brother. I'm jealous of him." - Ella, 3 years old. She's also very honest.

"Roll the dough, roll the dough! Put the baby in the oven..." That's where she stopped, realizing something wasn't quite right. Happy Friday, from Katie Ella Grace.

This morning, Ella told me, "Mom, he's eating crayons!" Indeed, Luke toddled into the bathroom where I was brushing my teeth and there was orange crayon foam all over his mouth and shirt. I cleaned him up, but there were still crayon bits stuck in his front teeth.

As Ella climbed into her carseat last night, she put Luke's beaded teething ring on her head and said, "I'm a drama queen." As usual, she speaks the truth.

On the way to Chick-fil-a with the kids again this morning, Ella was telling me how much she loves chicken and that she is going to turn into a chicken because she eats so much of it. Then she said, "But I just leave the bones because I don't want to be a bone." I concur.

Tonight was one of those nights that I had to coerce Ella into brushing her teeth. I said, "Open your mouth and let me brush those shark teeth." She said, "They're realwy big. You might not want to see them." It was a nice try.

Last night, just as we were sitting down at the supper table, Ella "answered" her cell phone. I jumped right in with, "Um, no, we don't talk on the phone at the table. Please hang up now." She said goodbye and set the phone down next to her plate. Then she reached for it again, and Dave immediately said, "No texting either." I thought we were going to have to confiscate her phone. She's 3. Almost.

Every night after bath time, Ella serves me tea and cake while I nurse Luke to sleep. Every night she tells me, "I'm a mattress." She means "waitress".

After missing a day of school because of a virus, Ella made a grand entrance to her classroom yesterday with this announcement: "I'm not sick anymore - I'M BACK!" And she told me last night she does not want to have Spring Break because she will miss her friends.

Ella did not want to give away her Valentines at school today. She told me she thought she was "going to have a bad day about it." I told her to dig down deep inside and find her good day. Her response: "It's taking a nap." Well, then.

Baby Fever

2012-01-17T09:56:00.000-06:00

Not mine. No, oh no. A snotty, sleepless, teething mess of a toddler is a great antidote for baby fever. Three molars in five weeks time is enough to send Luke and I both over the edge. And the fourth one is swollen up and ready to burst, so I know we have at least one more week before we get a reprieve.

I have fully embraced the love-them-and-give-them-back phase of my life, much to my daughter's dismay.

It's Ella who has baby fever.

We have been surrounded by new babies and pregnant women. It seems that as soon as one baby is born, we find out that another one is on the way. It's been very exciting, and all this babyfying is manifesting itself in play. Ella has delivered a hundred babies over the last couple of weeks with a full script that includes a hospital, nurse, and doctor. Thankfully, the last two babies added to her immediate cirlce were vaginal births, so she gets that mamas push the babies out now (as opposed to having them cut out in surgery).

She has been walking around the house with a baby stuffed up her shirt, waddling like a 9 month pregnant woman, then going to the hospital to push her baby out. Then she nurses the baby, but sometimes she pumps and gives it a bottle.

Since Luke was born, she has been requesting a sister. I keep telling her that I don't think there will be any more babies in our house. Over the weekend, as we went through that topic again, she said the one thing that could completely unnerve me about that situation: "I'm going to talk to God about that."

I had to stifle the urge to beg her not to, because she knows things.

Yesterday, she began our day with an announcement that Aunt Becca has a baby in her tummy. She does not, but I'm sure that she found that news unnerving as well.

Not only is she completely focused on new babies, and especially girl ones, she is also becoming unsatisfied with my explanation of how babies get into tummies. Until now, she's accepted a simple "God put it there" and now she wants to know how.

Uhhh.

I think I need to find some books.

Sex and babies aren't the only prevailing topics right now. There's also marriage, divorce, salvation, resurrection, prayer, and, as she was falling asleep last night, a technical discussion of how our new door will be installed in the living room ("Like, how does it get screwed in there?").

She is 3 and a half, and she keeps me on my toes.

The H. Luke Update
Harris Luke is mostly concerned with "Ball!" and "Choochoo!" right now. He got trains for Christmas and has developed a love for them. When his mouth is not hurting, he eats like a starving beast - especially vegetables. I watched the child eat approximately 20 brussel sprouts the other night. It was amazing. He talks all the time; we don't understand him all the time. His vocabulary has definitely expanded, he uses short sentences now and follows simple instructions. He shakes his head "no" to mean "yes" and it's totally cute. He can barely sit still through two pages of a story, but he will sit and "read" a book to himself for a while, and loudly. When he's not playing ball and trains and cars, he clomps around the house in Ella's princess high heels and helps her take care of babies. Occasionally, he finds a ponytail holder lying around and needs his hair done. It's long enough now for a ponytail, and it will get longer because we aren't cutting it any time soon. Like, maybe not until he asks. He gives sweet kisses and tells us "bye" when we leave. When he wakes up in the middle of the night, instead of crying, most of the time he says, "Mama? Mama?" If Dave is already gone when he gets up, he walks around the house calling, "Dada? Dada?" He is trying to figure out the potty and insists on taking his diaper off to sit on it regularly, but that's as far as he's gotten yet. He has told me a few times when he needed a fresh diaper, so I know he is starting to recognize when he needs to go/has gone. He will be 17 months old tomorrow, and he's so much fun right now.

Reaching Out

2012-01-10T09:26:00.001-06:00

A little over a year ago, I wrote about my anger and hypocrisy surrounding my brother's suicide attempt. A lot has happened since then, a lot of good things, so it's time I followed up.

It took a little more time, but Joshua decided to pick himself up and live his life. I said "decided" because I believe that life is about either making decisions actively or letting decisions happen to you. He has made some active decisions and he's doing much better. He enrolled in school, he got a job, he moved out, he got rid of some negative influences and best of all, he is succeeding at all of those things and he can say that he did it himself (and hopefully he also acknowledges his God, because he quite literally wouldn't be here without him).

In seeing him start to live his life again, I'm in a much better place. Maybe my feelings about it shouldn't be conditional on his behavior, but the fact is, they just are. I'm proud of him, I can see a future for him now - that was not true a year ago.

In general, my family is in a much better place, but there are still pieces to put back together and there are scars now that weren't there before. None of us will be the same; I don't think that's possible when a life event happens that has the potential to rip a family to shreds. This one nearly did. Some of us have more baggage to sort through and forgiveness is a hard exercise sometimes.

In the months following his overdose, there was a lot of hurt, a lot of anger, discouragement, heartbreak - there was not a lot of support. We didn't do a good job of supporting each other because we were all trying to survive it. Support outside of the family was hard to find because people just don't know how to handle something so devastating; they don't know what to say and they desparately want you to be normal when that is not possible. There was a lot of blame, a lot of judgement and contempt, a lot of intolerance - inside our family and out. Everyone of us was guilty of saying something hurtful, demoralizing, and completely unsupportive.

We went our separate ways to find the support we needed. I happened to discover that a friend was struggling with a similar situation at the same time so I had someone to talk to, to vent my frustrations and check my perspective. That friend gave me an excellent book to read about living with a loved one who suffers from depression. Those conversations went a long way toward helping me find some peace. At the same time, my mother and Bobby (usually referred to here as Grandmother and Papa) found a support group. They went every week for a year until they reached a point with each other and individually that they felt like they could make it from week to week without it. I know how much those meetings helped them because I could feel the weight of tension lifting from their relationship.

Now, now that they (and my brother) are able to talk more freely about what happened and how it impacted them, they feel like they should give something back. They have decided to start a support group in Montevallo. Because I've been so close to it, it's hard for me to distinguish if suicide and suicide attempts are becoming more common or if I just know more people who have been directly affected by it, but whatever the case may be, our small town has been plagued with it. It seems very appropriate that there be a support group for the survivors, the friends and family who are trying to pick up the pieces. I am very proud of my mom and Bobby because they have decided to do something purposeful with their experience to meet a need in our community.

You can read more about the support group here. If you are interested in attending, this is the information.

What: Reaching Out, a support group for loved ones of those

who have committed suicide or attempted to commit suicide

When: Mondays at 7:00 pm (starting January 16th)

Where: Montevallo First Baptist Church

For more info call 665-2573 or 665-2566.

If you or someone you know is in a crisis situation right now, this is the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-8255.

We Call Him the Dough Roller

2012-01-03T09:53:00.002-06:00

Not dough like Uncle Scrooge diving into piles of gold coins, but dough in the pat-a-cake sense.

Luke rolling the dough.

He rolls and rolls and rolls the dough. All the time. He does it so much that I believe it's become a coping mechanism in times that he feels uncomfortable. If he falls on his face? He rolls the dough. If his feelings are hurt? He rolls the dough.

He does it so much that we have been able to modify the "throw it in the pan" part to look like the touchdown signal and teach him to say "Roll Tide!"

Yes, we shamelessy exploit his cuteness.

And rolling the dough.

Also noteworthy in these pictures - his freshly combed hair. It almost never looks like this, but he was straight from the tub after double-fisting chocolate cake. His usual wild hair fits right in line with another name we call him: Wild Man. Because "off the hook" is his general mode of operation. I might be the only person on the continent to lose weigh over my Christmas vacation because this child never stops.

These next two pictures are not related to dough rolling, but I have to share them. I commandeered Grandmother's camera on Christmas night and took this picture of Luke (in the bath mentioned above).

Luke at 16 months.

It reminded me so much of another picture that I need to put them together to compare.

Ella, around 12 months.

There's really no likeness between them, is there?

Operation Bigger House: We're In!

2012-01-02T11:21:00.001-06:00

Mostly.

The county requires one final inspection and we are waiting to move into the new laundry room until after that, but otherwise, we are living in the new part of the house. We also didn't get to move in before Christmas because the last coat of finish didn't go on the floors until the 23rd, but we made peace and moved on the 26th instead. I spent the entire week after Christmas cleaning out and sorting and moving. I sent bags and bags and bags of clothes and toys out of this house. It felt wonderful.

So, here it is in its mostly finished state.

Master Bedroom

Master Bathroom

Shower

Vanity

Bedroom from the Nook

New Deck

New View from the Fence

New Basement Door

Luke's Room

Ella's Room

Luke's room is also the playroom.

Not Pink Bathroom

Interior entrance to the new basement.

Dave's favorite part.

The kids love their new rooms and Luke was so excited about the Mickey Mouse on his wall that I could barely get him to sleep in there for the first three nights. Ella loved her Tinkerbell and her new bed, but she's accustomed to sleeping on a full sized mattress so we had to bring the bedrail out again after she fell off one morning. That dramatically improved her sleep in there.

We love that our Big Room is not a playroom.

A few small things still need finishing: some missing face plates on electrical outlets, the water restricter in new shower doesn't let it get hot enough to shower in there, the door knobs are backward on the bathroom (so we risk being locked in every time we use it), the old hall bathroom has an electrical problem that's taking some time to solve thanks to the weird 1950's wiring, the cable in the bedroom needs connecting so we can mount the TV, etc. BUT we are living in there and it's wonderful.

Good Things Come in Small Packages

2011-12-26T08:30:00.000-06:00

Dave wrote this post for us. Enjoy!

I have long been desensitized to the comings and goings of items on, under, and around the Christmas tree. The self-induced blindness was a necessary coping mechanism for me as an obsessive compulsive person, borderlining on disorder, sharing the Christmas season with, first animals and now, children.

The process began about eight years ago after Amanda and I put up the tree in our first home and the kittens promptly undecorated the bottom branches, climbed ¾ the way to the top and perched on the inside of a branch for a nap. Two days later, we returned from shopping and did not see the tree in the window of the house. It was in the floor and we picked it up and reset it with the ornaments we could find, a process we repeated two more times before Christmas Day arrived.

During that first Christmas, we adopted a rule that any ornament we found on the floor after it “fell” from the tree would be placed in a box and salvaged for next year. We had a fully decorated tree top by Christmas, with more natural looking lower branches.

The next Christmas I knew what to expect and I had well learned to not see ornaments and scraps of papers from the wrapped presents in the floor. We had also added a new member to the fold who kept some control over, or at least provided interference to, the kitten activities with the Christmas tree. The cats of course did not appreciate having to succumb to the larger physical presence, and hence authority, of Georgia Brown Dog regarding the Christmas decorations. And that is why they tried to kill her.

When Georgia came into the house the year after the cats, we knew she would likely be interested in chewing the Christmas ornaments, as would any other four month old Labrador retriever. For this reason, we decorated the bottom of the tree with plastic, wooden and cloth ornaments, placing just a few glass balls toward the top. The day after the decorating was complete, I heard a crunching in the kitchen and walked in to find Georgia chomping on little pieces of glass, bleeding from the mouth and attempting to understand what had become of the pretty purple ball that had just been in front of her. By extreme fortune, she had a scheduled vet appointment the next day and had no damage from the incident. While I did not see the situation resulting in that ball falling from the tree, I have no doubt that the cats we fully involved and acted with full knowledge of the results of their actions.

With such a history, I was decently prepared for the addition of children to the list of Christmas tree admirers and undecorators in our home. I have become skilled at kicking an ornament, sending it gliding across the hardwood floor, so it comes to rest underneath the tree. I no longer have to pick the decorations up and put them back on the tree and torn wrapping paper doesn’t not bother me as long as the gift underneath is not completely visible. Partial visibility is solved not by re-wrapping, but by turning the other direction. [Note from Amanda: Now that Ella is learning to write, many of the presents weren't just partially unwrapped, they also had her name scrawled across them in Magic Marker. You are a special person if you got one of those presents this Christmas!] If a strand of lights goes out, so be it. Out of necessity, I pay very little attention and we are all much happier for it.

This was my first year with two mobile children at Christmas and I could have easily driven myself crazy had the cats and dog not taught me to cope with the tree situation. By Christmas morning, the presents underneath our tree sat in the midst of several ornaments, shreds of paper and other small pieces of trash, and toys. Luke’s “drop it wherever the urge to move on to something else hits” mentality combined with my “don’t stress about what’s going on under the tree” attitude allowed the underneath of the tree to become somewhat of a toy box for the children.

And then on Christmas morning, I was completely taken aback and stunned to the point of tears by what transpired from underneath and around that tree. We had a living room full of presents and Ella was helping her Mommy hand them out. I don’t know the exact number, but there were presents from four separate households dispersed. The process took about fifteen minutes. After the morning presents were handed out, a few were left under the tree that were for our afternoon guests. When everyone had their presents, I expected Ella would tear into her stack, as would be expected for any three year old. Instead, the following conversation transpired.

Ella (moving to the back corner of the tree where the presents for the afternoon company were): Mommy, you have a few more over here.
Amanda: No baby. Those are for this afternoon.
Ella: No Mommy, these are for you.

And Ella retrieved her own small purses from the underneath the Christmas tree and handed them to Amanda saying, “These are your presents Mommy.” And Amanda opened each one to find that Ella had wrapped a few items inside to give to her for Christmas.

Ella's presents for Mommy

I sat in awe and thanked God that I had not moved any of the “toys” from underneath the tree and for the wonder of children at Christmas.

R.I.P. Jewel E. Cat

2011-12-20T22:12:00.001-06:00

My engagement kitten, Jewel E. Cat, died today. She was apparently asleep up under the truck of one of the sub-contractors and she didn't wake up until he started it. Dave was pulling into the driveway when that happened and saw her run into the backyard. He came into the house and asked me to come out and we walked and whistled for her (that's how we've always called our cats). Gypsy was with me and when we got to the trailer parked at the back fence, Gypsy howled a pitiful cry. I bent down to look under the trailer and found Jewel. She was already dead.

My heart hurts for how scared she must have been. It hurts for Dave who had to bury her; it hurts because I have to explain this to Ella tomorrow. It hurts most of all for Gypsy because she lost her buddy.

She was a good cat. She followed us everywhere; she was always in the middle of whatever we were doing. Just this weekend, she went on a walk with us and played in the playhouse while the kids were swinging. She has supervised every phase of this construction project, including needing to be rescued from high places - twice. She was ridiculously fearless about sticking her foot in every hole she could find. She was a huntress; we haven't had to worry about rodents or snakes since she was allowed to go outside. She was the first reason that all of our Christmas ornaments were plastic and she once knocked the tree to the floor when she jumped into the top of it. She welcomed our babies without so much as a hiss and she especially loved all of their stuff. She used to love all over Georgia, rubbing in and out of her legs and kissing her nose to nose. When she was a kitten, we couldn't eat a bowl of ice cream in the same room with her without being completely harrassed. She loved to play in the plastic grocery sacks when I emptied them and she would jump several feet in the air to pounce on them. She fell into the bathtub with me more than once because she couldn't keep her paws out of the water; and she once fell on my face in the shower because she was walking around the top of it and slipped. She was curious to a fault and I've worried that her incessant need to explore every strange vehicle in our driveway would end tragically. I'm sick that it actually happened.

I don't have any kitten pictures to share because we weren't digital then, but I found a few good ones of her all grown up. She was 8 years old this past August.

She loved hiding in the wrapping paper.

We never did a project without her supervision.

She thought the Boppy was for her.

She couldn't be bothered to move from her princess perch.

She loved her dog and forced her to share her bed.

Even though they fought sometimes, she was Gypsy's buddy.

Godspeed, Jewel. We'll see you at the Rainbow Bridge.

Salute!

2011-12-18T21:29:00.000-06:00

Salute!

Ella had her gymnastics Christmas performance this weekend and she was totally excited to see other little girls wearing the same leotard as hers. They didn't all have pink hands and arms though, because I'm sure their mothers don't let them graffiti themselves with magic markers. We let her get away with it because she learned it from Nana.. and they are washable. Bathtime is more fun if the water turns green when you step into it because you've colored the entire bottom of your foot.

She also had her preschool musical last week and she said her part right into the microphone without missing a beat. She even sang the songs this year. I still can't believe she volunteered for a speaking part. Amazing.

Now, she's teaching us the songs. We've had to sing Away in a Manger too many times to count because that's what the angel on our Nativity scene sings and she uses it for the music. When she got tired of that, she decided to speed it up a bit so she turned on our pole dancing stuffed cat that sings M.C. Hammer's Can't Touch This and belted the words to Hooray for Baby Jesus! over the top of it. It was quite something, but hey, you can't have music practice without music.

Last night we walked through a Night in Bethlehem so, between that and the musical, there has been lots of Nativity play in our house. Right now, she is pretending to be Mary, Dave is Joseph, and a baby doll in the toy pack 'n play is the baby Jesus in the manger. I think she mostly likes bossing Dave around about the baby. My favorite quote from him this weekend: "No body ever carried around a manger." Oh, I should also disclose that Luke is a shepherd ("Shepherds can't hold the baby Jesus!"), Georgia is the angel, and I am the camel. I'm telling myself it's because I make a great camel noise - which Luke imitated as soon as we walked by the camel in Bethlehem last night. He also made such a great sheep noise that the shepherds in the field asked if they could keep him. He would have stayed in the market place all night if we'd let him, especially playing the drum in the music shop.

Here's our Nativity set at play. Joseph and one wise man are missing because they had to take a trip. Mary is just staying with the baby until they get back.

Mary, taking care of the baby.

Joseph and the wise man riding the carousel.

Christmas Magic

2011-12-13T14:26:00.000-06:00

I read something this morning that got me thinking about what makes Christmas magical for me. As I thought through it, I realized how much I've changed in my lifetime, but especially in recent years.

When I was little, of course it was all about the anticipation of presents. I don't remember Santa ever really being a part of the magic because I was 5 when a friend in my kindergarten class told me he wasn't real.

As I got older, but still pre-driving age, it became not only about the presents but also about traditions - seeing all of my cousins on Christmas Adam (the night before Christmas Eve), loading up in a van with them to look at Christmas lights, listening to Christmas music on the drive home from Grandma's house on Christmas Eve and shivering because the windows were rolled down so Jan could cool off because Grandma always kept the house too warm (and oh how I can relate to that now!), yummy breakfast on Christmas morning at Daddy's, and finally the transfer to my mom's house that afternoon for the rest of Christmas break, which usually included reading a stack of new books she gave me even though she hated seeing me "with my nose in a book all the time."

Sometime in highschool, when the family started changing (boyfriends, girlfriends, marriages, divorces), Christmas lost it's magic for a while.

Then God sent me Dave and Christmas got magical again, even during the darkest period of my life, he brought magic to Christmas. It wasn't just magic in the form of romance and renewed anticipation (because Dave Roper loves Christmas more than any person I know); it was because he gave me the first Christmas gift. The baby Jesus.

"But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid. I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is the Messiah, the Lord. This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger.” - Luke 2:10-12

I was 13 when I prayed the prayer of salvation, but I wandered around for a lot of years after that not really knowing what it meant, certainly not understanding what a gift that little baby was. Dave changed all that when he told me point blank, in his very Dave way, "You think that you get to heaven by being a good person and doing good things? You're wrong." He then proceeded to tell me exactly how you get to heaven and he took me to church. Again and again and again until we were both convinced that I understood that it takes more than works to get to heaven. It takes faith. It was only after that that he married me.

Then the magic of Christmas became about candlelight communion and awestruck reverence for a tiny baby who would be my Savior. It became about waking up with my husband on Christmas morning and traveling to see our families.

Then our family started to grow. The year I was pregnant with Ella was also the first year our church did the Night in Bethlehem production. I worked and worked, lived and breathed the city of Bethlehem for a solid month and do you know what happened? I suddenly had a new perpective of God's greatest gift, that of a pregnant woman. How must she have felt with such an unbelievable story of immaculate conception, knowing that she carried the child of God?

"But the angel said to her, “Do not be afraid, Mary; you have found favor with God. You will conceive and give birth to a son, and you are to call him Jesus. He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High. The Lord God will give him the throne of his father David, and he will reign over Jacob’s descendants forever; his kingdom will never end.” Luke 1:30-33

Then we had Luke and I got to sit in the stable and play the part of Mary and see the recreated magic of people on a journey to find a baby. I got to sit quietly and think about what it would be like to know that my tiny baby would the world's savior. Did she know?

"When they had seen him, they spread the word concerning what had been told them about this child, and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds said to them. But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart." Luke 2: 17-19

And now the magic of Christmas is about a 3 year old voice sharing the story of Jesus, from birth to resurrection, with her animals in the shower. It's about my 16 month old son bringing me the baby Jesus from our Nativity playset so I could give him kisses, and entire evenings of acting out the Christmas story with the same playset. (Thank you, friend, for giving us that Nativity set. It might be the best gift my children have ever received.) It's about, "Don't worry, Mommy. I'll just put the ornaments back on the tree if he pulls them off" and knowing every word to the preschool musical before it happens. It's about explaining why we give presents at all and shopping to fill stockings for kids whose parents cannot afford to do it this year. It's about lights and trees and cookies and presents, and most of all, it's about the baby Jesus.

"For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life." - John 3:16"

Operation Bigger House: Happy Birthday to Me

2011-12-11T22:13:00.000-06:00

Don't get too excited; it's not finished yet. But remember this?

Now it looks like this.

The Big Room with a clean floor.

And no beds.

Did you hear me exhale? I did. This was the perfect birthday present.

We spent Saturday afternoon moving stuff into Ella's new room. She's still sharing it with Luke for now, but it freed up enough space that we could clean up the place and finally decorate for Christmas.

Ella's purple bedroom.

We still have to find her a twin bed and we've got no where to put Luke's bed yet, so this set up is temporary. She slept fantastically in there last night.

Also, look at this. This is the old pink bathroom. It's not pink anymore, and it's finished except for the electrical stuff. Notice that kids have already occupied it? That's right, no more sink baths. My back will miss them, the rest of me will not. I stretched an extension cord in there and plugged up a lamp so Luke could swim last night while I restocked the bathroom closet.

Not Pink bathroom.

Today, we cleaned and cleaned and cleaned and cleaned. For nearly 12 hours. The hardwoods are vacuumed and mopped, the furniture is dusted, the kitchen is mopped, the carpet is steam cleaned, the laundry is done, and the house is decorated for Christmas. And Dave cooked supper.

There is not one speck of sheet rock dust in the old part of our house.

Hallelujah.

It looks like humans live here again.

In the new part, all of the hardwood has been laid and the tile is completely finished. Now we need the final plumbing in the master bathroom, final electrical work (light fixtures, plugs, etc.), shelving in the closets and laundry room, a final coat of paint, and finished hardwoods. The floor man is supposed to be here on the 19th to finish the floors and then it will be done.

On the outside of the house, the dirt has been backfilled and they smoothed out a level place for the playground, too. Work on the deck should begin this week.

I'm starting to think that home renovations are like potato chips.. or tattoos - once you start, you can't stop. We are already considering extending this project to add a door from our living room into the backyard. It's something we've been talking about doing for years - since we realized that we don't use our backyard because it's not as convenient to get to as the front porch. We haven't made a final decision on that yet, but it would be nice to just go ahead and have it done. And after that? The kitchen, of course. But not right now; my sanity wouldn't survive a kitchen renovation with two little kids.

Why the People of Mizu Hate Me

2011-12-09T09:30:00.000-06:00

or My Daughter Will Not Eat at a Hibachi Grill Again Until She's 20

Last night I met my family (Dave, Ella, Luke, Grandmother, Papa, Joshua, Rebecca, Nathan, and Jake) for supper at Mizu, a local Japanese steakhouse. It was the first time I'd been to this particular steakhouse and I was excited to see a fish swimming at the entrance because I knew Ella would like it. The kiddos were happy, if hungry.

We got to our table, taking up an entire grill to ourselves, and settled in. Ella sat by Aunt Becca and Jake. Luke climbed out of his highchair immediately and did acrobatics in my lap. Drinks were ordered and delivered to the table. Soup and salad made an appearance in answer to the repeated question: "Where's my food?" Even Luke settled down to eat soup while we all started stuffing our faces. All was well.

Then the chef came to the table with his cart of yumminess. It started out low-key enough with him wiping down the grill and clanging his knives. Luke was cautiously interested; I don't know how Ella was doing since she was at the other end of the table. That question was soon answered when Cooky Man lit the grill on fire.

In less than a second, Ella was hanging on the front of Aunt Becca like a baby monkey and shrieking like she was on fire. And shrieking and shrieking and shrieking. My tunnel of vision was focused on Ella as Dave peeled her off of Rebecca and took her away from the table, but I'm pretty sure the entire restaurant had stopped to watch. That child was terrified. Luke was also scared, but his reaction was amplified because of Ella's. I managed to peel him off of me and hand him to Papa so I could follow Dave and Ella.

We deposited her in a chair at the bar, and I stood with her while she hung onto me and calmed down. Dave and I decided that we should probably just take our food to go because she was truly freaking out and we were both exhausted (Really, truly, exhausted. Dave has been reading the Beranstain Bears with his eyes closed all week.). He went back to the table to tell the waitress to bring us some to-go boxes, but realizing it would be a while before all the food was cooked and in an effort to preserve the evening, he came back to attempt to convince her to go back to the table. There was rice on the plate and Luke was eating. She was very hungry, and she finally agreed that she would return to the table if she could sit in my lap.

We got settled down, Ella in my lap with her face buried in my neck, and Luke sitting with Grandmother and stuffing his face. She did finally turn around to eat, and guess what happened? The chef at the table next to us lit the grill on fire. Oh yes, people, it happened again. And again, and again - 4 more times I think. With each passing blaze the shrieking toned down to loud crying, then eventually whimpering and flinching by the time every table around us was fed and the grills cleaned. Finally, she was able to compose herself enough to eat. Then do you know what happened? They turned on the disco ball and loud music. Ella was pretty much okay with that once the initial surprise passed, but flashing lights on the walls is just the sort of thing (one of the few) that scares Luke so he had a minor freak out before he calmed down and realized it was a "ball!" making those lights.

Then, then, as if we had not attracted enough attention to our table, the wait staff came with cake and gong because did I mention that this was my birthday supper? Oh yes, the man brought me a gong and handed me the stick and asked me to hit it one time. Only one time? Really? I could have gone off on that thing. Had I not had a child in my lap, I think I would have knocked it through the plate glass window. Oh how much pleasure I got from hitting that gong. I think I might buy one to keep at home. For real.

Finally, we ate the cake, pottied and jacketed the kids, and got them loaded into the car for the ride home. As we were leaving the shopping center and after I explained over and over again why they have to have fire, this conversation happened.

Ella: I don't wike fire.
Me: I know you don't.
Ella: I don't wike that place.
Me: I know you don't.
Ella: Mommy, next time for your birthday, can we just go somewhere else?
Me: Yes, you don't have to worry about that.
Ella: Taco Bell, Olive Garden, Chick-fil-a, any of those places, but not this place.

And all I could think through my stifled laughter was, "Right on sista-child, Nachos Bell Grande it is."

The CTC

2011-12-06T15:50:00.000-06:00

Not to be confused with the Center for Disease Control, the CTC is code in my house for Cinnamon Toast Crunch. Here's how it went down.

Dave: Where are you keeping the CTC, woman?
Me: Bottom shelf of the lazy susan.
Dave: (incredulous) You knew what I was talking about?
Me: The Cinnamon Toast Crunch?
Dave: How did you know?
Me: Because it's the time of night that you eat it and you have a little cup in your hand while you dig through the cabinets.

It also goes by another name: Cinnamon Croast Tunch. That's what Ella calls it.

We are a family of Cinnamon Croast Tunch eaters. I've mentioned my love for it before, but it doesn't even touch the addiction that Dave and Luke have for those little squares of goodness. Ella loves it and asks for it on the cereal aisle at the grocery store; I love it and eat a bowl of it occasionally. Dave eats as much of it as we have and Luke will eat it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner if I leave the box on the counter where he can point at it and tell me "Dat!" (If Luke's diet were based on his choice alone, it would consist of Cinnamon Croast Tunch ("dat!"), shredded cheese ("cheechee!") and grape juice ("juju!") .)

I bought a new box at the Lucky's on Saturday night and put it on the bottom shelf of the lazy susan. On Sunday morning, I pulled it out and poured some in a bowl for Luke to snack on for breakfast. It was already open, and Dave said, "As long as Luke eats one bite of it, I can say that Daddy didn't eat the whole box." Done.

Happy Merry Christmas!

2011-12-05T12:11:00.003-06:00

Soak it up world, because at the rate I'm going, this is the closest thing anyone is getting to a Christmas card this year. Despite the fact that Pop the Pop actually got a decent picture of all of us at once, no Photoshopping required. Despite the fact that I picked out the card at Snapfish and it's just waiting there for me to order it. And despite the fact that Dave has offered me the use of his debit card since mine has expired and I've yet to recieve a new one. I'm in the Christmas spirit, but I'm also paralyzed by our remodeling project and finding it hard to make myself actually do any of the Christmas things that need doing.

Regardless of the fact that we've not decorated a single thing and I have no real date in my head for when that will happen, we officially kicked off Christmas with breakfast with Santa over the weekend. You read correctly, we paid Santa a visit. Ella has been very curious about him and our church had a pancake breakfast fundraiser with Santa, so we went.

The kids were not at all excited about Santa. They gobbled pancakes, they made picture frames with Nativity scenes on them, they watched from afar as others sat with Santa, but they were not impressed. Anytime we went near him, they were hanging on us like baby monkeys. Dave really wanted a picture, but after seeing Luke's reaction and Ella standing at the other side of the room, I told him I wasn't having any part of it. At first he tried to encourage them to sit with him and take his candy, and then he realized that we don't really want them to sit on strangers' laps and take their candy, so he backed off and let them have some space.

That led to this.

Proof of Luke's love for suckers.

Upon seeing that Luke didn't spontaneously combust or disappear in midair, Ella reluctantly agreed to be photographed with the weird man as long as her whole family participated. Thus, we have this classic holiday moment preserved in time.

Merry Christmas!

There are so many things I could say about this picture but I really want you to note their faces (click the on the pictures to enlarge). One was climbing me, the other was trying to stand as close to me as possible without being near Santa, and Dave and I, well, we just knew what the result was going to be: hilarious.

So mark it down peeps, we took a Santa picture this year. We have not broached the topic of Santa coming into our house and I dearly hope she doesn't go there. I briefly considered finding a copy of 'Twas the Night Before Christmas to explain him to her, but I decided to leave it be. So far she has only asked two questions: Does Santa live at the North Pole? and Does Mrs. Claus make cookies? She is still not sure what to say if someone asks her what Santa is bringing her for Christmas. For the love of all things merry and bright, people, please stop asking her that before she realizes you mean that a stranger is supposed to come into our house and leave presents! I'm kidding. Sort of. I'm already dreading the sleep disruption when we move her to her new room, and associating that move with a belief that Santa will be coming down our chimney (because those two events are going to happen too close together) is just not an exciting prospect for me.

Without further ado, Merry Christmas from the fam-i-ly!

Is that a baby vampire?

2011-11-28T11:44:00.000-06:00

Crayon Connoisseur

Nah, it's just Luke eating crayons again. He goes through our crayon box like it's a Whitman Sampler- taking a bite and spitting it out, then carefully selecting another, taking a bite, and spitting it out. I don't know if we have any crayons left with tips on them. I've asked him if Crayola started secretly flavoring their crayons, but he just looked at me mischievously and ate another one. He seems to have a preference for orange.

I took another approach and explained to him that stores actually sell watercolor paints and we can get him some if that's the medium he prefers. He responded by picking a new color, biting off the end, swishing it in his mouth, and dripping brightly colored drool on his coloring page. I guess he likes to make his own watercolor paint.

I guess we'll keep using washable crayons and brushing colored bits out of his teeth.

Operation Bigger House: Down to the Details

2011-11-27T21:49:00.002-06:00

We are finally at the point in this project that there is nothing left but the details, but there are a lot of them and some of them are rather large, like flooring. With Daylight Savings Time, I have even less time at home in the daylight to take new pictures, so I took a lot yesterday while we were home.

Ella's Room - less scary, still smelly.

All of the sheetrock has been hung and finished. Yes, everything is covered in white dust, but my sweet husband removed the layer that looked like snow from the kids' bedroom so that we wouldn't track it all through the rest of the house. I will miss seeing the cute, little white footprints on the hardwood after the kids follow me into the bedroom to get their clothes in the mornings. I wish I had taken a picture of those footprints. Maybe I can still stage that with the dust that is left in the new bedroom.

Ella's new room is a lot less scary now, but there is a funny smell in there (from the sheetrock mud?) so she still doesn't want to go in there. I'm hoping that moving her back in there will go smoothly, what with purple walls and Tinker Bell sheets, but I'm preparing myself for a long transition.

Hallway to the master suite.

This is the hallway to our new bedroom. It's finally open to the old part of the house, so Ella can now see how she will come to my room when she needs me. The door in this picture is temporary since the new part isn't climate controlled yet; it will actually be in the entry you see just beyond it. In between the two doorways is the new laundry room.

I am completely excited to have the laundry room right next to the bedrooms. I've been questioned a couple of times about having it right next to the master bedroom, but really, the only better place I could think to put it would be inside my closet. My least favorite part about laundry is the putting away, and it will be so much more convenient to hang the clothes in the closet doorways instead of the kitchen! If I had thought about it before last night, I would have asked for an adjoining door to the laundry room from my closet, but it's too late now!

New laundry room.

I am very pleased with the size of the master bedroom and the amount of natural light that comes in. I was worried that it would be too dark in there, but the double windows in the nook are working out perfectly. Dave is still trying to figure out the logistics of the new TV so that he can watch it from the bed and the nook, but my only requirement is that the wires be hidden (and that he set the sleep timer; I hate waking up to the TV). We don't have a TV in the bedroom now, so this will be new and very exciting for him. I'm not terribly excited about having a TV in the bedroom, but I'm happy that he's excited about it.

Master bedroom from the hallway.

My new bathtub.

My new bathtub has been installed. It's huge and beautiful, and it is not a jacuzzi tub. That's another something I've been questioned about. Apparently I'm a weirdo (that's no secret) for not wanting a jacuzzi tub, but I just really don't. I have no interest soaking with that black gunk that grows inside the jets no matter how often you clean the tub. I tried to convince Ella to pose in the tub for a picture, but she informed me that it is dirty so she cannot get in it.

We will have a double vanity with a custom built cabinet so that we can maximize the bathroom space, and there is a built in linen closet. I know that the cabinet will be stained cherry, and we've negotiated to a compromise on the tile for the shower and floor. I still have to pick the material for the counter top, and the light fixtures and paint colors for all of the rooms.

The shower

The shower is oddly shaped, but at least as big as the one we use now, so I'm happy with it. The first layers of the shower pan and drain are in place, but that's it for now. I'm hoping to see it finished in the next week or so.

As we walked through the addition and I explained what each room was and where the shower, sinks, and potty would be, Ella responded repeatedly with, "Oh, okay." Meanwhile, Luke was looting the pile of tools and sorting through the trashcan in the middle of the bedroom. Thankfully there is no electricity in there yet, because he was turning knobs and flipping switches like he owned the place.

Luke, rifling through tools, from the nook.

New hall bathroom.

The old, pink bathroom already looks better. The new tub is in place and the sheetrock has been finished in there, too. The vanity and mirror are here waiting to be installed, but I still need to pick the lighting and paint color.

From the edge of the patio.

The outside of the house had been completely bricked. The brick color matches very well, but the new bricks are a little smaller than the old ones. We found out early in the project that our house was bricked with street pavers, so the bricks are bigger than normal house bricks and, of course, now they are hard to find.

Back of the addition, from behind where the tree was.

The things we have left are flooring, lighting, finished plumbing, paint, and the deck. Our contractor says he thinks we can be finished in two weeks but I'm trying not to get my hopes up. I'm itching to get started cleaning up the mess and putting this house back together. I want to be able to focus on Christmas, and I can't wait to see the kids' excitement about their new rooms. I have surprises for them and I can't wait to give them.

I'm raising the Dial soap kid.

2011-11-22T10:04:00.001-06:00

It happened last night. My worm/bug/snake worry that I mentioned in a post last week came to fruition. I'm sure I spoke (er, wrote) it into being.

As I sat at the table, finishing the last few bites of my supper, Luke toddled up to me with a clenched fist and a lot of jabber. He held his little fist out to me and opened it to reveal a big, dead roach. Blech.

He was so proud of his find.

I was thankful for my napkin, which I used to grab the roach and toss it into the garbage. Then I was thankful for the antibacterial wipes I keep on the kitchen counter, which I used to scrub is little hands.

After that, I was rinsing plates to load the dishwasher and I had given the dog a plate to ~~lick~~ rinse (Yes, I do this when I'm feeling especially lazy. It's one of the benefits of having a dog with children. I expect her to earn her keep.). Luke was very interested, so he squatted down beside her to get a better view. As I was telling Dave, "Next thing you know, he'll be licking the plate like the dog," he bent down and tried to lick the plate, too.

A poor frog met it's untimely end in our driveway last night - by cat or car, I don't know, but it was squished. Of course, I had forgotten about it this morning until I noticed something slimy on the bottom of the shoe that Luke was chewing after I buckled him into his seat. Apparently he stepped in the frog guts on the way to the car. I snatched the shoe out of his hand and tossed it out of his reach while I finished buckling Ella. Then I grabbed the wipes I keep in the car and scrubbed his hand, his face, and his shoe. I probably would have done his tongue if he'd stuck it out.

Gag.

As I replayed these events in my head this morning, I realized, I'm raising the kid from that old Dial soap commercial.

Being Little is Big Work

2011-11-21T12:48:00.000-06:00

Luke fell asleep in his high chair while eating lunch today. He does this frequently. I think it's a testament to his very busy life that he falls asleep as soon as he sits still long enough. These days he even prefers to eat on the move. Notice that he is tied into the chair in this picture? That's become necessary because he can climb out, no matter how tightly you squish him in there.

Side note: Grown women pay good money for lips and eyelashes like his.

There's Something Happening Here

2011-11-17T13:46:00.000-06:00

... and what it is ain't exactly clear.

Last night at the supper table, Ella asked us, "Why did Jesus die on the cross for us?"

Picture me with my mouth hanging open while my brain zoomed around at a thousand miles per hour while I tried to formulate an age-appropriate response. I think I sat there in silence for about 4 minutes before Dave jumped in and answered her.

He told her, "Jesus is God's son. God sent him here to die on the cross so that, if we love Jesus, we can go to Heaven and be with God."

All I could think was: How do I explain sin and death to a three year old? She doesn't have any personal experience with death yet and she does not grasp the permanance of it. I was completely unprepared to have this conversation with her at this age. I expected it to happen when she is older with a little more experience under her belt.

On the way to school this morning, she asked Grandmother, "Where did the baby Jesus go after he left the manger?"

Even that one gave me pause. I was glad I brought my Bible into work with me today so I could look it up and be certain when I answered her. Mary and Joseph took him to the temple in Jerusalem, then the fled to Egypt to hide, and then they returned to Galilee.

Prior to our supper conversation last night, I had already had a few conversations this week about faith and the Bible. One was a deep discussion about God's plan and our free will and how the two work together. And during another one, I admitted that I do not prioritize the Bible at the top of my reading list and I don't have any good reason for that.

Then Ella started asking these questions, forcing me to spend more time reading it.

I believe God gave me Ella to make me a better person, and now she, one of the most important things in my life that takes up so much time and gives me a legitimate excuse not to do a lot of stuff (like spend time reading the Bible), is pushing me closer to God with her questions. I cannot say that I don't have time to spend with God, because one of the things she needs is for me to do just that.

There's something happening here.

He's Everywhere! He's Everywhere!

2011-11-16T09:02:00.001-06:00

I've said before that I have music in my head and secret theme songs for all kinds of things. At this phase in his life, 2 days away from being 15 months old, Luke's theme song is one line from Ray Steven's Santa Claus is Watching You: "He's everywhere. He's everywhere."

That child is everywhere. I never stop picking up the trail he leaves in his wake and removing him from elevated surfaces. He gets up when I get out of the bed around 5:30 am and spends a quiet 24 minutes with Dave while they watch Mickey Mouse, but when Dave leaves, he's up and running. His latest favorite thing to do in the mornings is brush his teeth while I put on my make up. He climbs up on the toilet and grabs for whichever toothbrush he can reach. I take it away and give him his toothbrush, and he proceeds to brush and spit, brush and spit until I'm finished. He also likes to wash his hands and try to steal things out of my make up bag.

When that's done, he follows me around the house unless he finds something better to do, like this.

Throwing wipes down the stairs.

The fruit of his labor.

He recently started throwing things down the stairs for the fun of watching them go. I let him pull wipes out of the box while I change his diaper so he will be still for 90 seconds, and he loves this activity. Today he combined the two for double the fun, then brought me the empty box. Sometimes he empties the plastic cup cabinet, sometimes he dumps the dog food if I forget to pick up the bowl, sometimes he rakes the magnets off the fridge, sometimes he pulls out all of the books and puzzles. You get the idea.

When he gets bored of whatever mess he's making, he comes to find me and that's usually when I'm making my bed. It is his job every morning to hand me the pillows. He gives them to me one-by-one, saying, "thank you" each time. Then we go wake up The Beast if she isn't already up. He likes to jump in the middle of her and cuddle in her bed for a few minutes before they get dressed.

Last week, after removing him from the toilet 15 times in a row, I took him into the living room and plunked him into the chair to watch Mickey. Ella was already up and watching, and she shocked the morning fuzziness out of me when she climbed into the chair and settled in beside him. I took a picture for proof. It was one of those moments that make the chaos so worth it.

Watching Mickey together.

Luke is a mess. I've had a stupid worry about how I would control my reaction when my children one day bring me a worm or a snake (because those are two things I just cannot handle). How would I control myself so they didn't know it bothered me and thus use it against me? Well, Luke doesn't pick up worms or snakes yet, but he has figured out how to get what must be a positively hilarious reaction from me.

On the drive home from gymnastics last night, instead of the cry fest we usually have because he's tired and hungry, that child figured out that I would freak out if he stuck his fingers down his throat and gagged. He did it over and over again, and every time I screamed out about it, he laughed hysterically. And Ella laughed hysterically. I tried to laugh with them and chill out, but I'm too well conditioned to respond to the gag noise so I found that difficult. Praise the Lord, he doesn't throw up as easily as she does. When she started to do it, too, I had to shut her down. There absolutely would have been vomit if she had continued that fun activity. So, he already knows one good way to completely unnerve me. Great.

He is using more words, and now he combines them with his pointer finger to make his point. Last night he had a plate full of vegetables and a pile of shredded cheese. Twice he ate all the cheese and told me "do-do!" (which is his word for "food" or "more food") and pointed to the empty cheese hole on his plate saying, "dat!" He sings the blessing after Ella finishes saying it, folding his hands and everything. He even pops off to sing the blessing when he nurses at bedtime sometimes. He gives good kisses and hugs.

His cuteness is his saving grace right now.

ETA: At 15 months, he is 31.5 inches long and weighs 21 lbs. 8 oz. Still long and lean.
The EGR Update
Her use of the language continues to amuse and astound me. We had an unpleasant incident over the weekend when she woke up prematurely from nap and wailed at me for have the nerve to watch something besides Mickey Mouse while she slept. That led to more unpleasantness when she screamed from the bathroom that she needed help after I had just gotten Luke to sleep in my lap. I was not happy and made that very clear. She came back to the couch and cuddled up next to me and said, "Mommy, I'm just a little person and sometimes I get scared. Please don't use your mad voice." She's just a little person. I had to laugh. I too often forget that she's just a little person, but I did ask her to please not use her screaming voice and I wouldn't get so frustrated that I have to use my mad voice. We didn't have any other issues after that, and guess what? She actually liked the show I was watching because those dresses on My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding are something to see.

Operation Bigger House: Inside the Original House

2011-11-07T16:11:00.001-06:00

I took some pictures of the inside of our house as it is right now so that this project will be fully documented. Unfortunately, I don't have a good Before picture of the old pink bathroom, but here are a couple of good looks at it's pinkness.

Ella's first interaction with tampons. Oh, and the pink floor.

This hilarious picture shows the original pink tile floor. I didn't necessarily hate this tile, but it had a lot of wear and tear. What you cannot see behind Ella (circa 14ish months) is that the majority of the tiles in the threshhold are cracked or broken. We ended up pulling them up entirely once she was crawling because she kept picking them out of the floor and carrying them around the house. When we put the house on the market earlier this year (because Plan A was to sell it and buy a bigger one), Dave caulked them back down so that it looked all nice and put together, just in time for Luke to start crawling and picking them out of the floor.

The picture also shows the old bathroom doors. Those were upgraded, as part of my perfect Christmas present in 2009 - when all I asked for were doors that opened and shut without the full weight of my body behind the effort.

Ella, circa 9 months, in the very pink bathtub.

This picture is also of Ella (Why don't I have any bathtub pictures of Luke? Oh, that's right, because mangaging two kids in a tub is lot more work than one.), in the pink bathtub. Note the pink tile around the tub as well; it covered the walls up to chest height. The sink was pink to match the tub, the counter was the same tile as the floor. The cabinet was painted white - but the chipped places revealed the secret that it used to be pink, too. Above the tile on the walls was a beige and pink flowered wallpaper with a border.

All of that is gone now. The only thing left in that room is the disgusting light fixture (which will be replaced) and the closet with it's new door. It looks like this now.

Bathroom- unpinked.

This picture is from the doorway, looking into the corner where the tub used to be. Dave's new closet is right behind the wall you see in this picture.

We have picked out the tub, vanity, toilet, and floor tile for this makeover but I still haven't settled on a paint color. There will not be any tile on the wall this go round.

Bathroom from where the tub used to be.

This is the bathroom from where the tub used to be. See the nice new door? I love my new doors. (I know that they aren't really new anymore since Dave gave them to me 2 years ago, but they still feel new to me. They still make me squeal inside sometimes when I admire them.)

Ella is content to shower all by herself now, and I am content to let her. She uses our shower in the current "master bath", and she even bathes, with soap and a rag and everything. A couple of times a week, I reach in there and scrub her head for her, and that's all I have to do to keep her clean. She loves showering so much , she will sit in there and play for 45 minutes. While she had the stomach virus, she asked to shower every time her fever spiked - 4 times in one day.

Luke in the temporary tub.

Given that bit of goodness, I really only have to worry about scrubbing Luke these days. I know he misses the bathtub, especially since he had just gotten to have it to himself. He was really enjoying swimming on his stomach and blowing bubbles with his face in the water, but he is an adaptable child so he's making do with this situation for now. As long as I keep him out of the knives, he's good to go with drowning the entire kitchen and watching Mickey Mouse through the space over the stove.

The kids' bedroom.

This is a picture of the bedroom the kids have shared since I moved Luke out of the Arms-Reach co-sleeper beside my bed. See that terribly scary piece of plywood on the wall? That used to be a window. There was another one beside it as well. Those windows are now in "the nook" in the new master bedroom. The new laundry room is directly on the other side of that wall now. I took this picture from what will be the new doorway to this room. It will be Ella's because she cannot fathom the thought of changing rooms at this stage in her life. She has plans for it to be purple, and she has already picked out her bedding, rug, and lamp.

Frame for the new hallway.

This is the frame for the new hallway, and the plywood that covers what used to be the other window and what will soon be the opening to the new part of the house.

Ella finds the room completely terrifying in it's present state - so terrifying that she cannot go in there alone. Luke, on the other hand, enjoys playing loudly in there to hear his echo in the absence of furniture. Over the weekend he mastered balancing on the 2x4 on the floor.

The Big Room dressed as their temporary bedroom.

This is where they are sleeping for the present - our Big Room. If you look past the bedroom in the middle of it, you might be able to see that it is usually a combination sitting room/dining room. Ella dubbed it The Big Room some time ago because it has a lot of wide open space for playing, especially since we pushed all of the furniture against the walls for just that purpose.

One of the things I'm looking forward to the most is having this room put back together again - sans toys.

From the opposite side of The Big Room.

And this is a view of the play portion of the room. Most of the toys that are in there today will go into Luke's new room (our current bedroom). He loves the little kitchen and Ella rarely plays with it anymore, so I'm putting it in his room.

I'm okay with the current situation for a little while longer, but I'm really hoping to have The Big Room cleaned up in time for Christmas. This is where we put our tree, and I'm trying to rest peacefully in the belief that that will happen this year, too.

As for the addition, the duct work for the heating and air went in last week and that's about all that happened. There was an inspection today, so the hanging of the drywall should commence shortly. I look forward to a lot more progress this week.

Operation Bigger House: It's Starting to Look Like a House

2011-11-01T17:06:00.000-05:00

I'm way overdue for this update since it's been three weeks since the last one. That means we are six weeks into our project, and it's really starting to look like a house.

These are my most recent pictures (and I need to take some newer ones).

From the approximate location of the tree.

You can see that the addition is becoming a part of the house now. Last week they finished the roof and put in the windows and doors, so it actually looks even more like a house than this pictures shows.

The single square window you see will be over the bathtub. There will be a bathtub, that holds water, deep enough for me, and there will be a second hot water heater to fill that sucker up to the rim.

I cannot wait to sit in a bathtub again. The tub in the pink bathroom was dead to me. There wasn't enough hot water to fill it up, and what I did put in there slowly leaked down the drain before I was finished soaking. It worked well enough for the kids, but I gave up on having a bath in there a long time ago.

The double windows are in what we affectionately refer to as "the nook." It will be a sitting area of some sort, though we haven't decided yet which furniture will go in that space. These windows were previously in the back wall of the kids' bedroom.

From the edge of the patio

The doorway you see in this picture (with the gangplank) is a french door that will open onto a deck. The deck will connect to the existing patio, or something. We have a team of designers working on that situation. We do not currently utilize our backyard space to it's full potential, so we are trying to make it more livable. The main issue is that we don't have direct access from the house to the backyard, but that will change with our new french doors.

Looking into the basement

The small window you see in this picture has actually been moved closer to the old part of the house. Due to an oversight on our part, it was originally cut into the wall of what will be my walk-in closet. We discussed and discussed, with each other and our consultant, Pop the Pop, and decided to just go ahead and ask them to move it. It is now located in the new laundry room - which is where I really wanted it to be all along. This window was previously in the pink bathroom.

The basement wall is finished and there is a double-door in place. That means that there is also now a hole in the existing basement wall to connect the old part to the new part!

View of the bedroom from the hallway

This is the view of our bedroom from the new hallway. To the right of "the nook," you can see part of the master bathroom, including the shower.

The hole to connect the new hallway to the old part of the house isn't finished yet. They did cut it and frame the new hall way through the kids' bedroom last week, but it's covered with plywood for now. The kids' bedroom will be Ella's new bedroom when this is all finished, and it sacrificed two windows and about 4 feet of space to the addition. Still, it's a very decent sized bedroom.

View of the bedroom from the "nook"

This is the view from "the nook." You can see the old wall of the house, and those pieces of plywood are where the windows were previously. From this perspective, Dave's closet is on the right, then the hallway, the laundry room, and my closet is on the left. I can see the opening for the door to my closet, but you might not be able to since you are not intimate with this project (as I am).

Watching the framing of this addition has been really cool. I could see it in my head before, just from studying the floor plan, but seeing the walls go up was like watching that floor plan go from one-dimensional to three-dimensional in Auto-CAD. So neat.

View of the yard from the future site of my bed.

And this is the view from our bed - or rather, where our bed will be, eventually.

You can see Jewel E. Cat walking the gangplank in this picture. She is so much trouble. This entire project she has supervised the men all day long and she has conducted a full inspection every evening when they leave. Before the roof was framed, she followed us from room to room, walking on top of the walls while we did our inspection.

Last week, that fun all came to and end when they finished the roof. I assume she picked out a good location, from a high vantage point, like she has done every day - in the rafters. And I assume that the noise from the nail guns above her was just too much because she lost her composure and could not get up the nerve to jump down again. I ended up climbing a ladder, coaxing her close enough so that I could grab her by the scruff of the neck, and dropping her between the 2x4s. Dave was holding the ladder for me, and all I had to say was, "Move!" He knew what was about to happen. I couldn't carry her down with me because she was a veritable buzz saw, all legs and claws, so I just lowered her as far as I could and released. She landed on all four, like a good cat should do, and high-tailed it out of there. I was happy to see her serenely lounging on the porch all the next day.

Since these pictures were taken, there has been plumbing, electrical, and heating and air work done inside the addition. Our old pink bathroom was gutted down to the studs (the day the whole family go the evil stomach virus), and the hall was framed out in the kids' old bedroom. I'll get more pictures this week of all that good stuff. The kids have embraced their temporary home in The Big Room, and I just try not to look in there when I pass by. It's a disaster, but we are so lucky to have a room big enough to hold a full sized mattress, a crib mattress, two chairs with matching ottomans, two end tables, a dining room table, a china cabinet, a sideboard, an old cabinet sewing machine, a play kitchen, a dollhouse, a McDonald's drive-thru, and two Little Tykes coupes, so I'm not complaining too much.

The Octopus and the Pumpkin

2011-10-31T21:51:00.000-05:00

Happy Halloween, ya'll! I'm happy to report that this year went much better than last, up to and including this moment.

She fell asleep with the Anti-Mommy

Whoa.

This year, they were benign creatures, just as I promised myself. Ella chose her own costume - a pumpkin, and just to be safe, I made it myself with a happy face. She generally had her happy face on all evening. (Much credit to the fact that Daddy didn't paint his face this year, I'm sure.)

Luke went as an octopus, and while that could be perceived as begging for trouble, it felt safe enough since he already is an octopus.

Pumpkin Girl and Octopus Boy (and Jewel E. Cat)

We trick-or-treated the town, played at the Fall Festival at church, then passed out candy at Grandma and Pop the Pop's house. I really think Ella might like passing out candy even more than trick-or-treating for it. They both ate more candy than should be allowed in one evening.

There was vomit, but it was contained and we didn't let it ruin the evening. (It seems that the wicked stomach virus of last week wreaked all kinds of havoc on my reflux babies and they are still not back to normal. Ella is puking like she did before we re-medicated her for reflux. She'll be getting Zantac on top of her normal Prevacid for the next two weeks to get her back on track. Hopefully. It tastes so nasty, it's the reason she puked this evening.)

I just love this picture. It makes me think Ella was right, we should have given him some "black water" to squirt like ink while he was running away from us. She really, really wanted to add that element to his costume. I'm sure he would have complied.

The perfect octopus picture.

The Vomit Chronicles: My Washer and Dryer are Asking for a Raise

2011-10-26T08:33:00.000-05:00

We are on day 5 of what might be the nastiest stomach virus I've ever seen. It's certainly the nastiest one I've dealt with as a parent.

Luke started throwing up Saturday night. That continued most of the day Sunday, and I thought he was recovered Monday. I was wrong. As Dave phrased it, he "reversed it" with a diaper so disgusting it necessitated a wardrobe change. Then he threw up again. At the same time this was happening, Dave sent me a message to say that he had it, too. He never catches what we have, so the fact that he got it before I did told me how bad it really was.

I knew, just by the number of times I'd been puked on, that I was destined for it. It started Monday night, and I was sick all night long and most of Tuesday. On top of that, I could barely stand up without feeling faint. After strategizing about how I would survive the day and take care of my children, I decided Grandmother was the best option since she had already been puked on. Thankfully, she was here all day Tuesday, because I couldn't even fix a sippy cup without needing to lay down.

Ella started puking in the wee hours of Tuesday morning, ran fever all day and kept her food down until the sun went down. Then she threw up most of the night last night. Once she needed a full change of bedding and clothing, and I considered putting her in the shower. After I got all of that sorted out and laid back down in bed with her, knowing that the easiest way to deal with all night vomit would be to sleep beside her and catch it in a bowl (yes, that is another great use for Tupperware), I smelled nasty poop.

Soundly sleeping Luke had pooped so big that he needed a change of bedding and clothing as well. I almost got that done with waking him, but not quite. Once I finally got everyone back to sleep, I settled into Ella's bed with a flat pillow and two pillow pets. So I still feel like I've been beaten with a tire iron, only today it's not because of fever, but because of pillow pets.

I'm so ready for this to be over. Ella is still puny; just laying on the couch under a blanket. I'm certain we have another full day to go. Grandmother has it now, and possibly worse than the rest of us.

Did I mention that this is the week when construction starts inside our house? That the kids are sleeping in the dining room and one of our bathrooms is gutted down to the studs?

It's been really fun, and I'm sure that my washer and dryer are just as ready as I am for it to be over. They've barely stopped working since Sunday morning.

At this point, I'm just praying that the dog doesn't catch it.

Luke the Ladykiller

2011-10-24T11:23:00.001-05:00

I worked from home Friday so I had the pleasure of picking the kids up from preschool. As I made my way to Ella's classroom, I passed by a little girl about Luke's age, toddling down the hall. She attracted my attention primarily because she looked to be about his age with her cute toddler swagger. Then I moved on to Ella's room, gathered up her stuff, made sure she pottied, etc. On the way back down the hall, we stopped to get Luke.

And that's when his teacher informed me that he'd been kissing a girl.

The little girl I saw on my way in, to be exact. We'll call her Anna.

Apparently, he kissed her twice - on the cheek and on the head. When I asked him about it, calling her by name, he gave me a sly look out of the corner of his eye.

I also found out over the weekend, from his big sister, that he pushes Anna in the swing in their classroom and the reason he wanted to wear Ella's bow in his hair is because Anna wears hair bows just like it.

So.

Truthfully, he is so freely affectionate that it doesn't surprise me that he loves on his friends at school. And truthfully, he's the only boy in his class, so of course it was a girl he was kissing. But I still think it's funny, and I love that he has a friend.

Co-sleeping Pros and Cons

2011-10-14T10:27:00.000-05:00

We are modified co-sleepers. That's a term I just made up. It means, the kids start the night in their own beds, but I bring Luke to our bed when he wakes up to nurse during the night. We get to wake up together most mornings, and that's when co-sleeping is the most fun (in my opinion). Lots of times, Ella is with us, too, or we are in her bed (as we were this morning because she was having nightmares in the wee hours).

As Luke and I struggled to decide if we were going to be awake or asleep this morning, a few things happened that formulated into a pros and cons list in my head. I am going to present them in the way I learned in college: pro, con, pro.

Pro: Snuggly little bodies.
Con: Leaky diapers.
Pro: Sleep talking and laughing.
Con: Numb hands from cuddling the weight of the baby's head your arm pit all night.
Pro: Baby head smell.
Con: Fighting over the covers. He always kicks them off.
Pro: Baby snores.
Con: Baby fingers exploring every orifice of your head. There's nothing like waking up with a little finger in your nose.
Pro: Lazy baby chatter.
Con: Baby chatter. Sometimes I just need to keep sleeping.
Pro: Being right there when they wake up scared - the whole reason we were in Ella's bed. Poor kid.
Con: Possessive little legs that keep finding their way around you. Ella's legs act independently of the rest of her body while she sleeps.
And finally, my favorite one of all:
Pro: The sleepy grin and the sweet, "Mama. Mama." when Luke realizes that I'm awake, too. It reminds me to soak up every single minute with them.

Operation Bigger House: The Basement

2011-10-11T11:35:00.001-05:00

I'm a little slow with this update because, quite frankly, the movement of a pile of dirt from here to there is not much of an update. And, there's the small issue that I wasn't really home during the daylight hours until Friday of last week to take new pictures. But enough excuses.. here's what's happened since the my last update.

We have an almost-basement!

Basement walls.

Once the hole for the basement was finished, the washing machine drain re-routed, the footers poured, and some of the dirt pile distributed to the low spots in our backyard (making it a vast expanse of red dirt, but whatever), an eighteen-wheeler load of concrete blocks showed up last Monday morning. Two days later the walls were complete.

Waterproofing

Then a load of gravel was delivered and part of it was spread as the beginning of the basement floor. At that point, there was some waiting for a termite pre-treatment and an inspection/survey that was required by the county.

During the waiting, the lower half of the basement walls were waterproofed and a French drain was installed around the perimeter (I forgot to take a picture of that, sorry.). Yesterday was Columbus Day, and apparently that's a county holiday, so we didn't get the official blessing to pour the basement floor and finish the upper portion of the walls yet. However, there was a sheet of plastic and a layer of wire (like you might use to build a goat pen) put down over the gravel. That was yesterday. I also had a visit from the carpentar yesterday (I was working from home); he just came by to check it out.

Looking through the basement door

It is my understanding that both the cement man and the carpentar are just waiting for the go-ahead to swoop in and complete the next phase in this project, and they would have started yesterday (stinking holiday).

On the inside, we (Dave) cleaned out the basement closet that will be the access to the new space. That hole hasn't been cut in the wall yet because we don't fancy the thought of unsecured access to our belongings, but it will be on the other side of that sheet of plywood you see stuck to the wall in this picture (looking through the basement door). This new basement space will remain unfinished so that Dave will have a place for his lawnmower and tools.

Piles of sand and gravel

Finally, here are the piles of sand and gravel, just waiting to be put to good use.

That about covers weeks 2 and 3 of this project.

Candy Bookends

2011-10-10T09:02:00.000-05:00

Does this look like we've been trick-or-treating?

Ella's parade loot

We haven't. October is a month that starts and ends with candy in our little town. Ella collected this bucket full at the Fire Prevention Parade over the weekend. It was her idea to bring her Spiderman Easter basket to hold all the candy, but I have to say that I was amazed at the amount she (we) collected. I don't know what we are going to do with it, but I know that we will not be eating all of it. It will disappear before we fill up two more buckets trick-or-treating in town and at the Fall Festival on Halloween.

Side note - Look how tan she is? Who gets a Fall tan?

We spent a lot of time outside because it was beautiful, and Dave traded cameras with me so I have some pictures to share.

Luke with Ella's new cup

Luke took the first opportunity to steal Ella's new cup, and you can see her in the background, on her way to retrieve it. She is very possessive of her new cup, which she picked out on our "girl time" shopping trip Saturday after the parade. Our main mission was new tennis shoes for her, and after trying on seveal pair of light-up, sequined atrocities, we found some cute pink New Balances. They were comfortable enough to win her over in the first step she took in them.

Swinging on their playground

Both kids love to swing, so we spent quite a bit of time swinging over the weekend. I had to raise Ella's swing up another link because her toes were dragging the ground.

This is the part of our backy-ard that isn't torn up with construction right now. (An update on that project is coming soon.)

Luke on the lawn mower

"What are you doing on my lawnmower?"

Luke cannot stay off of the lawnmower when we are playing oustide. He basically loves anything with a steering wheel, but he especially loves the lawnmower because Dave drives him around the neighborhood on it.

Driving like a mad man

Hangin' out

Finally, I found Luke like this after we'd come inside for a break Saturday afternoon. He was just hanging out on the end table, looking at a picture of Pop the Pop.

He's shirtless because Ella sprayed him with the water hose while she was washing all of the front yard toys.

Pumpkin Patch 2011

2011-10-08T09:09:00.000-05:00

This year's trip to the Pumpkin Patch was a huge success. Ella knew what to expect so she was ready to love it. Luke just loved it.

Ready to go

Luke didn't nap before we left, or on the way, or while we were there. He knew we were going to do somthing fun.

I couldn't get them both to cheese for the camera at the same time. Every time Ella said cheese, Luke turned to laugh at her.

Pumpkin socks for the Pumpkin Patch

Ella picked out her pumpkin socks for the trip. I think this made it a little easier for her to wear her tennis shoes. She's a flip flop kind of girl (so much that I'm probably going to have to hide them when it really gets cold).

Pony Ride

I walked beside her pony, named Pickles, so she would be comfortable and so Luke could get a could look at them. He kept calling them dog-dogs and barking. I tried to get him to say, "Horsey!" but he just moo-ed instead.

We did see a miniature cow at the petting farm. And a llama, goats, sheep, and piglets. The piglets were raising a squealy ruckus, and I think they scared Luke because he sat down hard and cried about it. Otherwise, he loved all the animals and the goats especially loved him. Ella had fun feeding all of them.

We all loved the bounce house this year.

We all jumped in the bounce houses and slid down the big slide. The slide that caused a colossal melt down last year was a blast this year. I slid with Ella four times, Dave did it 2 or 3. She loved it and she was strong enough this year to climb up the big ladder by herself. Dave carried Luke up and slid down with him. We think he liked it, but he really looked stunned when they landed.

On the way to find our pumpkins

By the time we rode out to the pumpkin patch, we were all tired.

Searching, searching for the perfect one.

I love this picture. I love how it shows the progression of our family since last year.

Two prize winning pumpkins.

Here we are with our prize pumpkins. Ella was able to surpass last year's and find one even smaller. It is so small that Dave had to pick it of the vine for her.

As I expected, Luke went with a bigger one. He loves them both and keeps trying to eat them. Ella has already told me that both pumpkins will be staying in her bedroom again this year. We aren't allowed to cut them. I guess Dave and I will have to get our own if we decided we need to carve one.

My Personal War with Roaches

2011-10-06T11:40:00.000-05:00

I'll preface this story by saying that I am not afraid of roaches. They creep me out with their slithery-ness, but I don't feel the need to jump up on the furniture and squeal. I have no trouble stomping on every one I see. I’m just so very tired of the nasty things. With that said, and in fairness to my husband, I must tell this story. It ranks up there with snake killing and bird invasions.

I believe Dave and I have come to a point in our relationship where we have lived together long enough that we are beginning to act like one another. Last night, after the kids were in bed and I’d woken up from my power nap with Ella, we were sitting on the couch together. As is our usual habit, he was lying on one end and I was sitting on the other, legs tangled up in the middle, sharing a quilt. Oddly, last night we were both awake and talking, though I have no idea what about because the events that followed completely erased it from my mind.

As we were chatting, I noticed a big, nasty, flying roach slither through the crack in the front door and make its way up the wall. I considered getting up to kill it right then, but I didn’t want to interrupt Dave, and I’d just gotten comfortable. Dave had no idea it was there because his back was to it. For about fifteen minutes, as we chatted, I tracked its progress all around the crown molding, on top of a picture, and back down the wall.

This is the point where my husband and I swapped personalities.

Suddenly, it launched itself into the air and flew right over Dave’s shoulder and landed on his chest. He exclaimed in surprise, but I was ready. As it was 10:30 and there was nary a flip-flop in sight, I grabbed the rolled up Neighbors magazine from my end table and attempted to smack the life out of it. Again, Dave exclaimed, this time about how hard I hit him. I heard nothing of it; I was singularly focused on killing that blasted roach.

It had disappeared.

I jumped off the couch and ripped the quilt off of Dave, yelling, “It’s in the blanket! Get up! It’s in the blanket!” I have no idea what he said, but he got up.

I kicked the ottoman out of the way and frantically shook the blanket until the roach fell out. Then I took to smacking it with my rolled up magazine. Like a mad woman, I was chasing it around the floor, hitting it for all I was worth, and cursing it with words that aren’t appropriate for writing here. I think it got the message that I believed it to be a piece of something undesirable. All the while, I think Dave was in the kitchen, eating popcorn and watching the show.

Then it disappeared again.

At that point, I lost my composure (if you could say I ever had any). I was squealing and jumping around with hands flailing, screaming for Dave to find it while I ran to the other side of the room. I was terrified that it was going to fly again and land on me.

He calmly moved the chair and grabbed it with a paper towel, while I continued to ask repeatedly if he had found it yet. He held up his fist to show me the balled up paper towel, roach inside. With a sigh of relief, I went back to my spot on the couch.

And this is where we swapped back to our original selves with me watching, and him holding the paper towel roach ball and asking me, “What am I supposed to do with it?”

I said, “Throw it away.”

To which he replied, “It will just crawl out again.”

Uhhh. “What?! It’s not dead? You didn’t kill it?”

He understood his responsibility. He squeezed it in his man fist and said, “I just heard it crunch.”

Again, I breathed a sigh of relief, “Good, as with anything with an exoskeleton, crunching is good.” (I don’t really know if roaches have exoskeletons, but they do crunch when you defeat them.)

He threw it away and left the room, and I started to laugh. He came back and asked me if I was laughing at myself. Yes, yes I was. Then he said, “My favorite part was when you changed from mad killer into our screaming 3 year old.” I could not deny it.

Luke's First Injury

2011-09-30T15:27:00.000-05:00

Luke's first injury

Given his fall down the stairs, his love for climbing, his new affinity for jumping on the furniture, and his fierce independence, I've already started preparing myself for the idea that Luke will be our kid that breaks limbs and needs stitches. There are emergency room trips in his future. I know it in my bones.

This morning, he got his first official injury, meaning, one that left a mark.

Every morning when we leave the house, he walks across the porch and down the stairs by himself. He's like a horse at the starting gate, bursting out of the front door when I open it. He stops along the way to greet all of the statue animals, and by the time I've put the bags in the car, he's coming down the stairs. He is very careful, coming down sideways so he can hang on to the railing with both hands. I'm usually there to grab him at the bottom so I can put him in his carseat.

This morning, just as I turned around to get him from the steps, I saw him fall from the bottom step onto the driveway. On his face. He was wearing pants today, and I think his foot got caught in his pants leg, tripping him up. I knew from the landing that it hurt, and then he started to cry. I scooped him up and got a close enough look to know there was blood, so we headed back into the house to clean it up.

He was crying hard, so I sat on the toilet and nursed him while I wiped his face with a warm rag to clean off the dirt and blood. That calmed him down enough that he tried to get out of my lap as I put Neosporin on the scrapes. By the time we headed back out to the car, he was well enough to slide down my leg and toddle across the porch and down the steps all by himself.

He has a scrape next to his eyebrow, under his eye, and on the corner of his nose. I can't tell yet if it's going to be a nasty bruise, but it already looks pretty pitiful - especially with those sad eyes and that puffed out lip. I'm pretty sure he's going to work this for all it's worth.

Operation Bigger House: It's Begun

2011-09-27T10:27:00.002-05:00

With the big tree gone, work on our home addition officially started last week. The first day, two saw horses showed up in the yard. The second day, a trailer full of scaffolding appeared. The third day, the fence came down and bricks started disappearing. The fourth day, the air conditioner was moved. The fifth day, all of the brick and the basement window was gone, and the outline of the addition was spray painted on the grass.

Disappearing bricks

Pile o' bricks - these will be used for window sills and trim work

Cutie Patootie, and Jewel E. Cat

Yesterday, I happened to be home because I felt like I was swallowing razor blades and I had a back injury (punk kids!), so I got to watch the backhoe dig up the giant stump and start digging out the basement. The stump took all morning, and a couple of times I actually gasped out loud because I thoutght the backhoe man was going to throw himself out of that thing. The whole tractor lifted off the ground, except for the shovel that was stuck in the stump. Here it is. It really does look like five trees all stuck together.

Sweet Ella (modeling new shoes) with the stump for perspective of the size.

The beginning of the new basement.

Side view of the new basement.

They didn't finish digging because of the rain, and because they accidentally found the drain pipe for our washing machine, so right now there is a backhoe parked in our yard, a mountain of red dirt, and a large hole. Georgia already dropped a tennis ball in it, but I forbade her from retrieving it. My carpet is pitiful enough with out red mud being tracked all over it.

That's the progress from the first week.

Closure: Reflections on Jake's Birth

2011-09-26T12:51:00.000-05:00

In almost exactly a year’s time, I can finally say that I’ve made peace – with my births, with my body. Not the scar, it’s just a scar, but with the idea that my body turns against me while I’m pregnant, leading to the scar. The scar itself has never really bothered me so much as the message it sends to my children. But do you know what I’ve realized? It’s not a bad message. Sometimes c-sections are necessary. Sometimes, that’s how a baby is supposed to be born. I still want her (them) to understand normal birth, but it’s okay that I had two c-sections. I am not weak or less because I made those decisions, and given all that I’ve learned in the last three years, I’m pretty sure I would make the same decisions again.

Before and immediately after my nephew, Jake, was born, several people inquired into my mental state regarding being present for his very natural birth. I can honestly say that I made peace with my own deliveries before Rebecca went into labor. I knew that I had to. It wouldn’t be fair or helpful to her if I brought that baggage to his birth, and rather than check it at the door, I opted to just unpack it and a put it away. I have two beautiful children; there’s no reason to carry that luggage around with me any longer. Some of it was unpacked here, in the open, but most of it was through reading and watching other births, from many perspectives, including midwives and OBs. I’ve learned more about Gestational Diabetes, more about breech births, more about how others made the same decisions and why.

I did have a brief, wistful moment of heartache as I watched Jake’s head emerge from his mother’s body, but it was gone as quickly as it came. One bit of my c-section experience was useful to Rebecca. I knew that locally injected lidocaine was available to numb the site of her IV (she had a Hep lock), and after a couple of failed attempts to start the line between contractions, the lidocaine made her a lot more comfortable when they tried again on the other arm.

I also had to answer a few of her questions with, “I don’t know; I had a morphine pump” when she asked things like if the cramping would hurt when Jake latched on to nurse the first time. It did. A lot. But, I was able to reassure her that her reaction to the uterine “massage” they do after the birth to check the bleeding was completely appropriate. That hurt like the devil, even with the morphine pump. So, no, she wasn’t overreacting.

Helping them learn to nurse in the days and weeks after he was born humbled me to my core. It was a lot harder than I expected it to be. Trying to help someone physically position themselves and the baby is a lot harder than doing it yourself – like trying to tie a tie on someone else’s neck. I did my best, but I felt like a bumbling idiot. I tried hard not to, but I’m sure I may have driven them nuts with all of my information. It was just another situation where I struggled for balance between being a know it all and providing helpful support. I have cried and worried with her as they’ve found their way, mostly on their own. I also realize that that’s as it should be since it’s her body and her baby and her accomplishment. I’m happy to help her find answers when she needs them and to reassure her when she’s experiencing “normal.” I understand, now, how/why new mothers often give up breastfeeding so early; that for some women, it’s not only not easy, but it’s really hard work. It has not been an easy road for Rebecca and Jake, and I hope that she will share her experience one day for the sake of helping others and giving hope where, as I learned, it can be so desperately needed.

Breastfeeding veterans, I encourage you – regardless of whether your nursing relationship was easy from the first latch or you shed blood, sweat, and tears for every swallow of milk your baby got – to be gentle with new mothers. They not only need support and good information, they need to know they are doing the best they can and that they are doing it well.

Supper at Our House

2011-09-22T11:59:00.000-05:00

This is what supper time looks like at our house right now. If you've never had the pleasure of dining with a toddler who is learning to self-feed, enjoy! And, if you will have a toddler learning to feed himself in the near future, get a dog. I'm so serious; just ask the server at Olive Garden who wishes Georgia was a service dog, and thus able to patronize restaurants. Just feed him, you say? So he doesn't make a mess, you say? Sure thing, and then everyone is subjected to his screeching wails of offense at being fed. And then he fasts, because, well, if he can't do it, then no one can (enter grouchy, hungry baby).

Luke, belly full and ready for bed.

Me and my wonky eye, concealing a mouth full of food for a picture.

Ella with her dessert.

Dave, the only one without a full mouth.

The aftermath.

Thankfully, Luke only took a power nap so I didn't have to decide between putting him to bed covered in squash casserole or waking him while cleaning him up.

Kiddlet Tidbits

2011-09-19T08:57:00.000-05:00

I’ve been collecting random kid quotes and happenings for a few weeks, but none of them were enough for an entire blog post, so I’ve decided to put them all together in one.

- One night, while Ella was dramatically wailing about getting out of the shower before she was ready, Luke came into the bathroom and laid his head on her leg and patted her to make her feel better. She, of course, didn’t “wike him to touch” her, but I told her to shut it because he was being sweet because she was crying. It does my heart good to see him showing concern and compassion. I know that by virtue of being female, Ella is biologically wired for those behaviors, but I didn’t know what to expect from Luke. My worry about that has been alleviated. He has the sweetest spirit. He loves on the baby dolls, the stuffed animals, Ella, and, have mercy, when Baby Jake cries, he just about can’t handle it. He has even cried with him, when he couldn’t reach to pat him or rock him in his carseat. (He does pat and rock a little too vigorously, but we are working on making his “soft touch” softer. The cats and dogs will thank us. And so will Jake.)

- In the middle of the night a few weeks ago, Luke saw Ella’s water cup beside her bed and he went nutty asking for “Ju-ju” (juice). I took him to the kitchen, poured a cup of juice and took him to my bed. He sat up, drank half of it, and then fell face first into the pillow with a belch. When I laughed, he kicked his feet in response and passed out without nursing. That was the first time he has accepted a cup in the middle of the night.

- Someone taught Ella to say “Roll Tide!” Now, she yells, “Roll Tide!” and throws a crimson colored football at us (which she picked out at Target because it’s Roll Tide-colored). She has a good arm, and sometimes she actually catches it when you throw it back to her. Luke likes to take a handoff and run with the ball so that she’ll chase him.

- September 13, 2011 is a day to be preserved in history because both of my children slept through the night. This was Luke’s first time ever, at 5 days shy of 13 months old. I still woke up at 3 am when Ella was talking in her sleep, but I didn’t have to get up. Luke woke up at 5:20 am, calling out “Mama? Mama?” (I was already awake). He nursed and went back to sleep for an hour. Except for the headache from the stiff neck because I barely moved all night long, it was a glorious night. I’ve probably jinxed myself for a year now, but I needed to share this with other sleep deprived mothers who need some hope.

- Over the weekend Ella asked me these questions: “Mama, when will I have a baby?” and “Will it be a girl?” and “Will you come to my baby shower?” I did tell her that she won’t have a baby until she’s grown, and only God knows if it will be a girl, but I will definitely be at the baby shower. Now she’s planning it.

- My favorite recent quote happened yesterday while we were jumping in the bounce house at a Jump Zone birthday party. She bounced over to me and said, “I love this!” She’s come a long way from last year’s disastrous Pumpkin Patch experience.

- After our latest discussion (yesterday) about which clothes are appropriate for church and which are not, she told me, “I’m going to be a gymnastics teacher when I grow up.” That’s right, so she can wear shorts and tank tops all the time.

- Finally, here’s a shot of Luke that looks remarkably similar to one of my baby pictures. This is just one of his latest feats. He also climbs into the middle of Ella’s little table and stands on it, and he stands on the ottoman and jumps, then scurries down and runs away before I can catch him to get him down.

Luke, helping with the laundry.

Operation Bigger House: The Tree Is Gone

2011-09-14T08:58:00.000-05:00

We are distraught about it. Crazy, I know, considering this is a step in the direction of more space that we desperately need. We are having a hard time shaking the thought of, "Who are we to kill something that God created hundreds of years ago?" But, it's done and there's no undoing it now.

Giant stump

This is what's left of it. The stump is big enough that we could host a photo shoot of a family of five sitting on it.

Ella, standing on the stump.

For perspective, here's my preschooler standing on it. Bonus, you get to see how adorable she is in her leotard. We went straight to the backyard after gymnastics so I could take some pictures before it got completely dark.

Site of the addition, sans tree.

This is a bad picture because I was struggling with my flash and the lighting, but you can see the stump where the tree used to be and the now wide-open space that will house our addition.

Site of the addition, from the tree stump.

This is a better picture, looking directly at the back of the house where the addtion will be built. I'm standing behind the tree stump.

We are supposed to meet with the contractor tonight to find out what happens next. He has told us that once the tree was removed, he'd bring in supplies and our project should take about 90 days once they break ground. I'm hoping he gets started quickly and that it will be finished by Christmas. I just have a feeling we'll need closure on this for the new year.

As for my spirited daughter and her resistance to change, so far she's doing okay. We had some almost-tears last night when we were talking about our new bedroom and she asked me, "Mommy, will I be able to come to your new bedroom?" I don't think she understands yet that it will be connected from the inside of the house, and all she'll have to do is walk down the hall.

Operation Bigger House: Tree Removal Day 1

2011-09-13T10:40:00.000-05:00

These are the pictures from the first day of the tree removal. Basically, they took the top out of half of the tree yesterday - the half that was hanging over the house.

75% of the tree is still standing

Photography is not my calling, but with this picture I was trying to give an idea of how tall the tree is. I was standing pretty close to the base of it - well, as close as I could and still get the top in the picture. See where half has already been cut?

This next picture shows both the relation of the tree to the house and the site of our addition. The piece of the tree that was already cut actually hung over the roof of the house, filling most of the space you see from the chimney back toward the fence. It was huge.

You can kind of see where the base of the tree started as one and then grew apart as two, but it's mostly hidden behind the yellow chipping machine in this picture. I don't think Dave and I together could wrap our arms around the trunk at the bottom.

The addition will extend into the backyard, toward the tree, from the back of the house where you see the two windows at the end. Ironically, we will be building in the only area of our backyard that currently grows grass. Hopefully, with the massive tree gone, grass will start growing in other places, too.

Site of the addition

I love our shady backyard, but it really could be a little less shady. That tree you see on the right side of the picture, right next to the swing set? It might be even bigger than the one we are currently having cut down. Lots of shade there = very little grass = plenty of dirt/mud. And leaves. We didn't even know we had grass back there the first year we lived here until Dave started raking that fall and we realized there must have been years worth of leaves on the ground, smothering the grass.

Just for fun, I included a picture of Georgia. It's been a long time since I posted a dog picture here, and she accompanied me on my trek through the backyard to take these pictures. Don't tell her, but it was really a plot to get her out of the house so Dave could play football with the kids without her big brown self right in the middle of it, knocking them down. She was happy to help.

Sweet Georgia Brown

The back of the house, from the fence.

I took this last picture for posterity. The view of the back of our house from the fence is what sealed the deal for me. I just fell in love with it then, and I know I took a picture of it a long time ago but I couldn't find it. Before we change it, I wanted to capture what it looks like today. It's a bit different now because there used to be a ramshackle little greenhouse building on the far right (where you can see the garbage cans). Dave tore it down with plans to rebuild it again one day, but we haven't gotten there yet. With two small children, adding another bedroom quickly became our top priority.

Now that we are officially started on this project, I am so excited about all the plans we have for our house. I just keep telling myself, "Patience, Grasshopper."

We Did Not Name Our Daughter Katie

2011-09-12T10:16:00.000-05:00

While Katie was on the short list of names while I was pregnant, we went with Ella Grace. I feel the need to state this for the record because she has corrected me so many times that even I am beginning to think her name is Katie Grace.

She told me that she wants to change her name to Katie Grace. In fact, at times, she just won’t answer to Ella at all.

Why? The best I can tell, there are two reasons.

1. Her favorite gymnastics coach is named Katie.
2. Her college-age cousin that she adores is named Katie.

I guess we’ll play along with this game for a while, but despite her most logical arguments, I will not concede to legally changing her name. I suppose, if she keeps this up for another 16 years, that I can’t stop her from changing it herself one day, but I’m hoping she decides to like the name we gave her.

In other news, Operation Bigger House is officially underway. The giant, centuries-old, oak tree in our backy-ard (that’s how Katie Ella Grace pronounces it) is coming down as I type. It will take a couple of days to get the whole thing down. That’s how big it is. We are sort of sad about it. Dave even had to go out there and tell it goodbye this morning. I guess we have a love-hate relationship with that thing. On the one hand, it’s massive, very close to the kids’ bedroom, and frequently drops limbs on the house and fence (though none big enough to cause significant damage yet). It’s also smack in the middle of our future master suite. On the other hand, it’s huge. It’s obviously been there for a very long time and it just feels wrong on some level to remove it for our own convenience. BUT, I just keep reminding myself of my unreasonable fear that it will fall on my sleeping children in the middle of a storm one night, and I don’t feel so sad about it. Plus, we are building a much needed addition in that space. Much needed. Did I mention that we need another bedroom in our house?

I plan to document this operation in pictures, so look for some in the near future. I guess I’ll start with the tree removal, but I didn’t take one this morning because the guys were already in it, cutting it, and I’m careful about posting pictures of people who might not appreciate having their picture on the internet.

Who Let The Dogs Out?

2011-09-01T13:52:00.000-05:00

Every night after bath, my house turns into the set of a music video with Dave as the featured artist singing Who Let The Dogs Out?

To say that the kids (and the dog) love it is a gross understatement.

We have a large, stuffed dog – an artifact from Dave’s childhood – that is big enough for Luke to sit on, and Dave makes it sing, bark and generally create chaos. It usually sits on the shelf above the toy box, and it wears an ugly, blue baseball cap that Dave won for Ella out of the machine at Huddle House.

When Luke gets out of the tub (he’s almost always the first one out because he doesn’t like the “kids sit in the tub” rule), I wrestle him into a diaper and then he goes straight to the toy box. He stands there, looking at that dog, dancing his white-boy dance (stiff upper body, bouncing at the knees, arms by his side, you know what I’m talkin’ ‘bout), and singing, “Who-who!” I get the dog down, and put the hat on Luke’s head. He likes to wear it sideways (see white-boy reference above).

Dave bursts into the room singing, “Who let them dogs out?” with Georgia at his heels, and it’s a full-blown party with loud singing, dancing, dog jumping, baby squealing, wrestling, and what have you. Sometimes it sounds fun enough to roust Ella out of her tub-languishing, sometimes she just ignores them, but when she joins in, the chaos gets ratcheted up another notch. Occasionally there’s bed jumping, but that usually means a quick end to the party so it doesn’t happen often.

Where am I while all of this happens? Far away, lest I trample all over the fun with silly notions of quietly winding down before bed.

And then, somehow, it all comes to an end, hopefully without any crying, and we settle in to read books. Half the time Davey-Dave is so worn out from letting the dogs out that he falls asleep in the middle of the book he’s reading. The kids take a little longer, but I’ve come to appreciate this evening ritual as a last blast of energy-burning fun, so I guess we’ll keep it up as long as Luke keeps saying, “Who-who!”

This, too, shall pass… This, too, shall pass

2011-08-30T12:15:00.000-05:00

Today marks day 4 of Ella’s execution of Operation Sleep Deprivation, Fall 2011 Edition. Seriously, is she observing the 1 year anniversary of her brother’s newborn weeks for us?

If you have a sleepless infant, stop reading now. Seriously. This isn’t going to be encouraging for you.

She’s 3. Except for a few brief weeks when she was 3 months old, she has been a notoriously horrible sleeper. She was 2 before she started sleeping through the night at all. She was 3 before she was doing it with any sort of consistency, and by “consistency” I mean a few nights a week – not all of them.

You know what is consistent? A few things.

Sunday nights. She is going to wake up at least twice on Sunday night. Is it because the weekend has a different routine than the weekdays? Is it because she’s had 2 days with me and she knows we go back to Grandmother’s/work on Monday? Probably both things.
Exhaustion. The more tired she is, the worse she sleeps. It takes longer to get her to sleep and she wakes up over and over, usually with nightmares about things in her bed. It is very hard to break this cycle, and it leads to whining (which feels like it sucks the life force right out of me every time I hear that grating voice).
Milestones. Her milestones, seen and unseen, have always been a source of nightwaking and now it seems that Luke’s milestones are also a source of nightwaking – for her. I can mark on the calendar when she’s going to have a rough couple of weeks of sleep – December and June, her birthday and half-birthday months. Sometimes, we even get some quarterly disturbance in March and October, though, blessedly, these phases have lessened as she’s gotten older.
Change. Vacation, the start of school, new sibling, new cousin, rearranging of furniture – all of these things disrupt her sleep. When we rearranged her bedroom to fit more furniture in there for Luke, her sleep was disturbed for a week.
Illness. This one is obvious and expected, but still, consistent.

Why am I writing this? I don’t know.

Maybe because I’m completely frustrated in my exhausted state because it’s been so much better lately and now we are back to a pattern that resembles that awful period when she was a teething, six-month-old and I swore I would never bring another baby into this world. It’s even harder on me when the disruption happens after a long period of magical, good sleep. It’s a hard expectation to reset, that one about getting 2 consecutive hours of uninterrupted sleep at a time.

Maybe because despite what everyone would have you believe about their perfect little babies sleeping through the night from day one, I know that’s not true for most people and I want you to know that you aren’t alone if you have a bad sleeper.

I’m telling myself again, “This, too, shall pass, this, too, shall pass.” It’s my mantra in times like this, times when I understand why sleep deprivation is a method of torture for prisoners of war. In a day or two, it will start to improve and we’ll get back on track for a while. Maybe I’ll figure out what caused this most recent disruption, you know, if she starts solving algebraic equations with her M&Ms at supper or something.

So, parents of non-sleepers, know that you aren’t alone and it will get better. Eventually.

My Sister is a Rock Star

2011-08-29T09:17:00.000-05:00

This is Jake’s birth story, told from my perspective.

August 14, 2011 at 9:42 pm
6 lbs. 14 oz.
18 inches

Thursday, August 11, 2011
Rebecca called after her weekly appointment to tell me that she was dilated approximately 4 cm and her doctor didn’t think she would make it another week.

Friday, August 12, 2011
We emailed all day and she was having contractions 20 minutes apart.

Saturday, August 13, 2011
I called her at 10 am to check in because we were headed to a birthday party and I didn’t know if I’d be in cell phone range. She told me she wasn’t having any contractions, but she was cutting the bushes in her front yard. (And I thought, “Uh-hmmm, she’s having that baby this weekend.”)

At 9:30-ish that night, she texted to say that she’d been having contractions 8 minutes apart for a while. She didn’t want me to come because they weren’t painful and she wasn’t sure if it was real labor. We decided we would head to bed to get some rest, just in case it was a long night. I packed a bag for myself and readied some things for the kids in case I needed to leave them overnight. As it turns out, it was a rough night, but it wasn’t because of Jake. On top of me not being able to go to sleep because my mind was racing, Ella and Luke both woke up multiple times that night.

Sunday, August 14, 2011
I called her before church to check in and she said she was going to time the contractions for an hour and get back to me. I got a text from her as we arrived at church saying they were 6-7 minutes apart and still pretty much painless. Again, she told me not to come yet. They were going to breakfast, and she’d check in when they got back.

At the end of church, I got a text saying the contractions had stopped once she showered and was up, moving around. We texted back and forth during the day about things she could do to try to start them back up, and then I took a big fat nap with Luke while Ella played at Grandmother’s house.

We went to my dad’s house for his birthday supper (because August 14 is his birthday). Rebecca got up to use the bathroom before she fixed her plate, but she came walking back into the room with a funny look on her face and said, “I think my water just broke. I felt the pop.” Then she walked all the way to the other side of the kitchen and stood there. (She later told me that she was trying not to drip on the hardwoods.) I brought her a towel and she headed to the bathroom. She changed pants and confirmed that the water was clear. It was about 6:15 pm.

In the middle of that happening, Ella was getting very concerned about all the activity, so I explained to her that while babies are growing in their mommies tummies there is a bag of water that they swim in, and that when it’s time for them to be born, that bag breaks and the water comes out, and that is what happened to Aunt Becca. It was time for Jake to be born.

Much to my family’s consternation, Rebecca decided to sit down and eat before she headed to the hospital. The contractions started then, and she timed them. They started at 4 – 5 minutes apart but were very quickly 1-2 minutes apart. Jan packed her cheesecake to-go, and then hurried them out the door. They had to go to their house first to get their things.

I finished my supper, ran home and packed bags for the kids. In anticipation of me being at the hospital all night, they were going to spend the night with Grandmother so that Dave wouldn’t have to wake them up even earlier than normal to take them there the next morning. Then I headed to the hospital.

We all (Nathan and Rebecca, me, and our friend, Kendall) arrived there at 7:30 pm.

Rebecca was changing into a gown and waiting on the nurse when I found her. She told me the ride there was excruciating, and “This is hard. It hurts!” I said that I absolutely believed her. They made her lay in the bed for half an hour to monitor the baby and answer all the questions between contractions. This was also excruciating for her. I could tell, because she was arching her back and curling her toes. The contractions were one on top of another at this point, so she was barely getting a break. The nurses struggled to get an IV line in between them.

When the nurse checked her, which took forever, she said she felt like she was at 6 cm but she had a hard time finding her cervix because the baby’s head was so low. This information made me stop and think, “Hmmmm. I bet she won’t be 6 for long once she gets upright.” Rebecca was a little disappointed that she was only at 6.

Finally, they took her off the monitors and she went to the bathroom while someone hunted down an exercise ball for her to sit on. When she came out, she sat on that ball and groaned, saying, “This thing is heaven.” She sat on that ball and held our hands and breathed in and out, slow and easy for the duration.

The lights were low, her Chinese restaurant music was tinkling in the background, and we were whispering if we talked at all. We just sat there in the quiet, breathing with her. I’m not sure how long we sat like that because I lost track of the time (and the clock in the room showed military time – which I am horrendously bad at translating to real time). I think it couldn’t have been more than about 45 minutes, maybe an hour. At one point, she did say that she was afraid to push and she just didn’t know how he was going to come out; she also started shaking. I think those were classic signs that she was in transition, but otherwise, she appeared very calm and quiet.

Eventually, the on-call doctor came in and checked her. She was complete (10 cm). She didn’t feel pushy and wanted to get back on the ball, so that’s what she did. The doctor left and we commenced sitting with her while she breathed. If she was getting any break between the contractions, I couldn’t tell because she never lifted her head or said anything. The only indication that she was having contractions was the squeezing of our hands and the very controlled breathing.

Then, less than ten minutes later, she suddenly launched herself onto the bed and said she needed to push. I doubt I’ll ever see a 9 1/2-months-pregnant woman move that fast again. She started pushing on hands and knees, but turned around to sit at the end of the bed after a few pushes. They broke the bed down so that she was pretty much sitting in a squat, and that’s how she pushed him out. She did try to lie back to rest a couple of times, but it hurt too much. The pushing contractions spaced out a bit, as I’ve read that they do, and during those breaks she looked as if she was sleeping. Maybe she was. I’ve heard that women do that. Even during pushing, she was very quiet. The doctor commented that she couldn’t even tell when she was contracting because she was so quiet. We did remind her to catch her breath and slow her breathing during contractions, but really, she just looked like she’d done this a few times before. It was amazing.

Jake was born at 9:42 pm. Two hours and 12 minutes after we got to the hospital. I think she pushed for about 40 minutes. It might have gone even faster than that, but he “threw [her] and elbow,” as she put it, on the way out. He came out with his head cocked to the side, like he was trying to bring his shoulder out with it. Once he was on her belly, she said, “I can’t believe I just pushed that out.” (I stupidly remarked that he was tiny. Note – that’s the wrong thing to say to a woman who has just pushed a baby out of her body. Just sayin’.)

She had a couple of abrasions, but she didn’t tear. The doctor was wonderful – she just sat back and let her do what she needed to do.

Jake swallowed a belly full of fluid, so he required a little extra work, but he pinked-up quick and he went with her to the postpartum room.

She said it was the hardest thing she’s ever done in her life. Now she’s considering running a marathon (she’s done a half) because if she can push out a baby, she can do anything. And by the way, Nathan was amazing, too. He stayed calm and composed, putting cold rags on her, holding her hand, and doing whatever she needed.

I’m so proud of her.

Reconciliation: When You Break the Rules

2011-08-24T08:50:00.000-05:00

I posted the other day about our rules for fighting, and then I went home that night and broke rule number 1: Be respectful.

It was bedtime. I could hardly hold my eyes open. Dave had already retired to the couch and crashed, after giving up in the middle of a reading of The Berenstein Bears Go Out to Eat. Ella was still flopping all over the bed. I tried all my usual tricks of getting her to calm down and be still, but she was persistent. I even tried just going to sleep while she wiggled, but she has an annoying habit of waiting just long enough for me to doze off and then asking for water, needing to potty, covering my mouth and nose with her hand so that I snort awake dramatically. You get the idea.

I finally lost it and snapped at her. I can’t tell you my words; I just know the tone was U.G.L.Y. What was even uglier was her reaction. She hunkered down into her pillow with her blanket up to her ears and whimpered.

Now, while quiet, still, and calm was the end I was going for, neither of us liked the means to get there.

I laid there for a few minutes, enjoying the peace, and feeling like the speck on top of chicken poo. I could feel her feeling like that, too, and I knew I had to fix it.

I leaned over and whispered, “I’m sorry I talked to you in my rough voice. I love you.”

She said, “Mommy, next time, at bed time, can you just use your regular voice?”

And, so here I am again, in this place where I publicly wander through parenthood, trying not to screw up my children, with the reminder that even when you break the rules, you can still make it right.

Conflict doesn’t have to be THE END of a relationship; it’s a crossroads where decisions are made and growth happens. Sometimes it sucks deep and wide to admit your shortcomings and apologize for something you did or said (or didn’t do or say), but it’s the next step, the thing you have to do to move forward.

And, you know what else? Following those rules takes practice. Lots of it, especially with those who really know how to push all the right buttons and raise your blood pressure – you know, the people you love most. But they are the most important ones, see? Love for someone isn’t a free pass for behaving like a donkey’s behind and then pretending like it never happened. Just because that person will probably forgive you in their next breath, doesn’t mean you don’t owe them some follow through - an acknowledgement of your bad behavior and an apology.

So, despite the fact that – no, because she’s an adult-in-training, I apologized for my bad behavior. She needs to see me mess up, and she needs to see me make it right. How else will she learn?

Reason # 231 Why Nursing is Convenient for Me

2011-08-22T09:57:00.001-05:00

The Nap ‘n Nurse.

Definition: Me and Luke tucked into bed together, nursing and snuggling through a long, fat nap. (Like, two and half hours long. It’s that good.)

Oh yes, it is one of my favorite things about nursing my babies, the Nap ‘n Nurse. They sleep longer. I sleep longer. They are so cuddly. And, when they are latched on to nurse, even the ringing phone doesn’t wake them (usually). It’s fabulous.

It’s especially fabulous on a Sunday afternoon following a very sketchy Saturday night of “sleep” – you know, one of those nights where there is more waking than sleeping. (If you don’t know, good for you and aren’t you special?)

So ladies, when you decide to nurse your babies, make it a priority to learn how to nurse in the side-lying position. It’s a bit tricky at first, but it’s worth practicing. I promise.

August is Breastfeeding Awareness Month, so I couldn’t let it get by without a post about nursing.

Why else is nursing good for me? I’m glad you asked!

1. It’s readily available whenever I need it. There’s always more, and it doesn’t require any preparation. I don’t have to worry about forgetting the milk, or the bottle, or the bottle liner, or the cup, or the lunch because I’m carrying all that with me all the time.
2. It gives me a perfect reason to sit on my boohonkus. And to nap.
3. It burns 600ish extra calories a day. You know that extra fat you gain around your butt and thighs while you’re pregnant? Yeah, that’s especially designed to store energy for making milk. If you don’t make the milk? I guess you get to keep the butt. (Seriously, this is the smallest my butt has ever been. Ever.)
4. It makes taking care of a sick baby so much easier. Throwing up? Nurse. Stuffy nose? Saline drops, then nurse. It makes the duration of the illness shorter, too.
5. It empowers me.

Why did I choose breastmilk over formula? I’m glad you asked!

1. It’s the best. Hands down, no argument, it’s the thing that was made for feeding human babies. No other milk comes anywhere close. Formula has its place (and it’s place is 4th, after feeding from the breast, pumped milk and donor milk), and I won’t judge you if you choose formula, but I feel so passionately about the healing, perfectness of breastmilk that I will give mine away to other babies that need it. In fact, I feel so passionately about it, that I would probably attempt to relactate if anyone in my immediate family was ever diagnosed with a terminal illness.

That’s it. I was going to make a longer list about all the benefits for me and my babies, but that’s been said better and more officially, so I’ll just leave it at this: Breastmilk is best.

It’s not always easy. In fact, the first few couple of weeks can be very hard, but it’s worth the work to get to the other side.

Here are some resources, in case you are looking for information.

The Many Benefits of Breastfeeding

Getting Started

About Formula

And, as I’ve said before, my go-to resource for questions and troubleshooting: Kellymom.

And, finally, I leave with you with a moment in time. I’m so happy to have this picture. It shows so much: one pair at the beginning of the journey, and working hard to find their way; the other nearing the end of theirs. Nothing makes a baby seem to grow up as fast as another new baby.

Rebecca and Jake (5 days), Me and Luke (12 months), nursing our babies

It's Official: Luke is 1.

2011-08-18T11:09:00.001-05:00

Somehow an entire year has passed since this happened.

Luke, in utero on his birth day

Dang, how did I ever fit him in there?! Dave took a picture of me in the waiting area outside the OR right before we went in for all the pre-op stuff, and I am not kidding when I say it looks like I’m holding a beach ball under my shirt. And, I was wearing one of Dave’s XXL shirts!

Here he is, minutes after we met face to face.

Luke, minutes old

He was such a quiet, cuddly baby. He’s still a quiet, cuddly toddler – except when he’s yelling at his sister, but sometimes a man just has to stand up for himself.

Here he is now. He’s finally doubled his chin, but he’s still a skinny little thing.

Luke, 1 year

At 12 months old he is a walking, talking, eating machine. The child loves to eat; what he does not love is being fed snack when he knows that real food (read: supper) is cooking. I have to banish him from the kitchen until it’s time to eat because he drives me nuts, climbing my leg, lunging into the pots/pans/oven when I pick him up. He doesn’t care if the broccoli is raw, he’s ready to eat!

He says a bunch of things:

Mmmmnak (snack)
Up we go
Soft touch
All done
Hey
Dada
Papa
Pop
Mama
Ella
Georgia
Dog dog
Kitty
Thank you
Mickey
I love you

And he sings – the ABCs, M-I-C-K-E-Y, God of Wonders, and other sing along songs. (Obviously he sings them in Jibberish, but you can pick out the tune.) He loves music. When we play in The Big Room, he goes to the radio and stares at it so that we know we need to turn it on. Sometimes he dances, if he really likes the song.

He reads; he loves books. I put all the board books on the shelf that he can reach, and I often find him sitting in the floor with books all around, studying. He demands that we read a stack at bedtime, and then I have to hide them to get him to go to sleep.

He walks and climbs. He already knows how to go up and down stairs. He knows how to back off of the couch or bed feet-first. He thinks he can step into the bathtub by himself, and he would if there were a step stool in the bathroom.

He sneaks and opens the potty, plays in it, and closes it back so we won’t know he’s been there – all in silence. He pulls off pieces of toilet paper and tears them into tiny bits, strewing them through the house in his wake, like a flower girl.

He loves the play kitchen and the McDonald’s drive-thru. He makes a cell phone out of anything, including his hand, and walks around talking on it all the time (“Hey!” “Hey!”), sometimes he gives it to us to talk, too.

He plays peek-a-boo, especially when we are waking Ella up in the mornings and he’s finding her under the covers. He also plays patty-cake, and he rolls the dough. He folds his hands for the blessing, and then he claps for Ella after she sings it.

He started “school” Tuesday (he’s going to Mother’s Day Out twice a week), and he loves it. When we went to Meet the Teacher night, we had to drag him out of his classroom.

He’s already cut his nursing sessions down to sleep times (most days), and he usually wakes up twice over night to nurse and cuddle.

He has four teeth and another one about to pop through any day.

Edited to add: He weighs 20 lbs. and 14 oz and he's 30.5 inches long.

He’s a happy, affectionate, active toddler who is, quite literally at times, running head first into his second year. One year ago today, God blessed me with another amazing child, so different from his sister, yet a perfect fit in our family.

Green Eggs and Ham

2011-08-17T11:36:00.001-05:00

We had our first literary - science experiment over the weekend. Dave and Ella have been reading Green Eggs and Ham lately, so she requested green eggs and ham for lunch after church. We made a stop at the grocery store for ham and food coloring, then we got to it. Here they are. Interestingly, I had to add a few drops of yellow food coloring to the green to get this color. The green coloring alone made them look teal.

Green eggs and ham

I was going to mix the ham in the eggs so it would be green, too, but she just wanted regular ham. Dave couldn't believe I could eat green eggs because I have issues with food not being the color it's suppsed to be, but he didn't know that this wasn't my first round with green eggs and ham. I did this experiment myself as a kid, so I'd already dealt with most of my problem about eggs needing to be yellow. I did have a brief moment of squeamishness as I put the first forkful in my mouth but I got over it because green eggs are just as yummy as yellow ones. Given the fact that Ella ate three plates full, I think she enjoyed them, too. We also had to read the book while we ate.

Ella - She will eat them with a book.

Friday, Bloody Friday

2011-08-12T11:18:00.000-05:00

If Ella is a test of my patience, Luke is a test of my nerves. And, at this rate, I’m going to have nerves of steel (or maybe none at all?).

Less than an hour after my arrival at work this morning, I got this phone call.

Ring-Ring..
Me: Hello?
Grandmother: (baby screaming in the background) We’ve had an accident. There’s blood.
Me: What happened?
Grandmother: (over screaming baby) I don’t know. Can I take him to Dr. Downthestreet?
Me: Yes! What happened?!
Grandmother: I’ll call you back from the car. I can’t hear!
Me: (Waiting, waiting, waiting. Debating driving home right now. Waiting some more.)

Five-ish minutes later
Ring-Ring..
Me: Hello?
Grandmother: He fell and hit his mouth on his push toy. He’s bleeding a lot and I can’t get him to open his mouth. I’m going to take him in and see if they’ll look at him and see if I need to take him to the other doctor (the pediatrician) for stitches. I’ll call you back.
Me: Do I need to leave and meet you there?
Grandmother: No, I’ll call you back when I know if we have to go to the other doctor.
Me: (Waiting, waiting, waiting).

Another ten-ish minutes later.
Ring-Ring…
Me: Hello?
Grandmother: Okay, once we finally got his mouth open, we could see two perfect tooth marks in the top of his tongue. He didn’t bite it all the way through.

She took him home to give him Tylenol and put him to nap. Poor kid. He tripped over some other toys he was playing with and fell on the push toy.

Mouth wounds bleed a lot. Like, ridiculous amounts of blood that make it look much worse than it is. I learned this from Georgia’s puppyhood. Knowing this tidbit might be the only reason I kept my head while I sat here waiting.

So yeah, nerves of steel. And gray hair.

Ropers' Rules of the Row

2011-08-09T15:09:00.001-05:00

A friend asked me the other day if Dave and I ever fight.

Ha!

He is a lawyer; I am a know-it-all. It’s our nature.

We debate often and heatedly about non-personal topics (like the legality of surrogacy, the acceptability of homosexual clergy, and the financial impact of breastfeeding on the nation – to name a few recent topics of discussion) for the purpose of entertainment.

We fight, over personal stuff, occasionally. The last real fight I can think of happened about 8 months ago, and like most of our fights, it was over something ridiculous. Namely, the garbage can he gave me for my birthday. (Yes. Yes, he did, and it wasn’t a nice $100 one, either. But that's another story.)

We have a short list of, until now, unwritten rules we follow when arguing. Really, when generally interacting with each other. These rules apply to us and the children (though, obviously, they are still learning how to incorporate the rules into their lives).

1. Be respectful. This is pretty much the number one rule in our house in every situation, and it absolutely applies to arguing. “Be respectful” encompasses tone of voice, words, touch, etc. We do not tolerate rude, condescending voices or name calling. We do not tolerate angry or unwanted touching.

2. Listen. Really listen, not just sit quietly, formulating your next point in your head, while the other person is talking.

3. Explain your perspective. Essentially, this means tell your side of the story using “I” and “me” instead of accusing the other person. This makes number 1 easier.

4. Problem solve. Work together to find an acceptable solution for both parties; look for compromise.

5. Time out. If it all goes south (like it did in The Great Garbage Can Fight of 2010), take a break and come back when you are in a better frame of mind to apply rules 1 through 4 above.

These rules have gradually come into effect over the course of our marriage, to protect me from cross-examination and to protect him from my tendency to control everything. It gives us both a voice and a safe place to use that voice.

The rules also work in discussions with others (outside of my household, I mean), though often number 5 gets invoked a bit sooner if the other person isn’t following the same rules.

I won’t tolerate being disrespected by anyone.

I won’t argue with someone who will not listen.

I won’t argue with someone who refuses to move toward solving the problem.

In those three scenarios, number five is invoked and I walk away. Whether I come back to resolve the discussion depends on my level of investment.

And thoughts about my level of investment are what prompted me to write this today. I stupidly entered into a debate about c-section and birth trauma, and very quickly remembered why I operate within these five rules. Then I walked away.

Luke's First Birthday Party

2011-08-08T09:27:00.001-05:00

He doesn't actually turn 1 until the 18th, but we had Luke's first birthday party over the weekend. It was a splashing good time.

Luke, floatin'

We opted for partying early because his soon-to-be born cousin, Jake, is due the 25th, just 4 days before he was due, and well, Luke was born the week before that, so we didn't want to take any chances with making any hard decisions about attending a party or a birth. I would have hated to call all his guests to tell them his party was postponed indefinitely because, well, a birth is a bit more inflexible than a party date.

He had a blast. He floated for a while, then decided he needed to jump in like the big kids. He would stand on the side and lift his foot like he was trying to take a step up, and that was my cue to "jump" him into the pool. The he laughed and turned back toward the side to do it again. I had to drag him away from this game so we could eat cake.

He just looked at us all like we were crazy while we stood there looking at him, waiting for him to dig into his cupcake. I know he must have been thinking, "This isn't the first time I've eaten cake, people. What is the big deal?"

Then he ate cake and passed out. He power napped through the end of his party, so we took the presents home and opened them later. Ella very generously offered to open them for him while he slept, but I declined.

Sportin' his Mickey ears during a power nap

He got lots of fun things. A stuffed Mickey, a backpack, a couple of little car playsets, including Batman and Joker - which he promptly grabbed, put to his ear, and said "Hey" when I was trying to show him how to roll them on their track. Like his sister, he apparently knows how to make a cell phone out of anything - even his hand. He got clothes, a new book, "flashing" cards, and a bouncy horse that sings and gallops. He hasn't quite figured out how to get on and off of it by himself yet, but it's only a matter of time until that thing gets a run for it's money.

And now he has a car of his own. He jealously guarded it when Ella tried to take a turn, and I can't say I blamed him. The receipt of his car marked the end of her car's time out. It's been in time out for about two weeks because there was a tussle over it, resulting in a bitten baby finger. It was an ugly scene that I feel certain he will make up for by running her down just as soon as he figures out how to make his car go forward.

Since he already knows how to drive it in reverse, I know it won't be long before we are hosting a full-fledged demolition derby in our Big Room.

Driving his car

Ahhhh...Balance.

2011-08-03T10:52:00.002-05:00

Lately I've been feeling like if I have to brush one more little mouth full of teeth, I might lose it.

Like, if I have to say:

"Sit down in the tub."
"Take your vitamin."
"Go potty."
"No you can't have a snack, it's almost time for supper."
"Be still."
"Chairs are for sitting."
"What are you eating?"

...one more time, I might lose it.

Like if I hear one more screaming protest about "I want Diet Dr. Pepper!" I might just lock myself in my bathroom.

Then I started thinking and I realized it's been 6 weeks since I had a break. A real one, I mean. More than the 20 minutes I finally get to myself right before bed when I shower in peace. More than a hard won nap with my children. More than staying up way too late to finish a book (The Help - oh so good!). More, even, than my regular lunch hour that I often share with friends.

I mean a break where I get to do something I want to do while my children are having their needs met by someone else. A break where I come home and the things that need to be done are already done.

So when the opportunity arose to have dinner with a friend after work, I jumped at the chance. I set up the crock pot so supper would be ready. I laid out the Prevacid and a syringe for Luke's antibiotics, so the medicine would be ready. I prepared Ella for the fact that Daddy would be picking them up after work, feeding them supper, and putting them in the tub (Luke doesn't care).

And I went to dinner, where I spent 2 hours eating a meal that I didn't cook (or clean up or portion out into kid sizes) and having an uninterrupted adult conversation.

I feel like a new person.

After just 2 hours, out of the last one thousand and eight.

When I got home, I was greeted at the door by a sweet dog and a freshly bathed toddler. The kitchen was almost completely clean (Dave was finishing up when I came in), and Ella was playing in the tub. I still had to brush her teeth, but in my new frame of mind, it wasn't irritating at all.

At bedtime, Ella peppered me with questions about my "grown-up time":
"What did you eat? What did you drink? What did Ms. Kathy eat? What did she drink? What was your waitress's name? What did you talk about? What else did you talk about?" I felt like I was reporting after a first date.

This morning, Dave filled me in on the details of their evening, and it made me feel even better to hear how well it went.

And, now that my sanity is restored and my nerves are calmed, it's time to schedule a date with my husband. A real one. Without kids.

So, balance. It's really important.

Snack Time!

2011-08-01T15:39:00.000-05:00

Luke, loving yogurt melts.

The Poop Whine

2011-07-28T11:08:00.000-05:00

It goes like this:

“Mo-oommmmyyyyy. I don’t feeeeeeeel gooooooood.” And “My tummy huuuurrrrrtssss.” Over and over again while following me around in such close proximity that, by all rights, she should just be in my body with me.

Then, we have the same conversation over and over again about if she needs to use the potty, interspersed with a few “attempts” to poop. Then she whines some more, and clings some more, until I finally go into the bathroom with her, bodily put her on the toilet, and stand there, and make her sit there, until she poops. Sometimes I have to coach her to breathe and relax. Sometimes I have to hold her hands so she can squeeze mine. Sometimes I have to talk her through pushing the poop out.

I feel like a midwife.

This is not because she’s constipated. It’s been a long time since we’ve dealt with constipation because I am anal about her fruit/vegetable/juice/probiotic intake. I honestly don’t know what triggers The Poop Whine because it doesn’t happen all the time. Most of the time, she just goes into the bathroom, poops, then yells for me to come help her wipe. But sometimes, sometimes she carries on about it for hours.

And it drives me freaking nuts.

Why? Why don’t they want to poop? Pee? Sleep? Eat? Why do little kids fight so hard against basic bodily functions that will make them feel better when they are done?

My intellectual self is whispering in the back of my mind that there are lots of fear/control issues at play in these situations, but the self that just received the phone call at work to tell me: “Mo-oommmmyyyyy. I don’t feeeeeeeel gooooooood. I want to go hooooome,” because she needed to poop, is just irritated.

The exhausted self that would give anything for a nap in the middle of the day, just doesn’t understand the refusal to be still for the 20 seconds it takes to fall asleep. The self that catches the sharp edge of her wake up attitude nearly every day because she has a full bladder, cannot comprehend the Big Dramatic Deal that peeing is first thing in the morning.

What is the big freaking deal?

(And now, I’m going to the lactation room to pump milk and lay my little head down on the table to sleep for 15 minutes, because I obviously need a nap.)

From the Weekend

2011-07-25T11:24:00.000-05:00

We had a boringly, uneventful weekend and it was glorious. It's true, Ella and I both got a little antsy for somewhere to go by Sunday afternoon, but we settled in for a nap and got over it. She even asked me not to turn Mickey Mouse Clubhouse back on when the first episode went off, so I didn't even have to listen to the incessant TV chatter while I napped in a pile on the couch with my children. Then I woke up an hour before they did and read! It was almost as good having the house to myself for an hour.

We did our grocery shopping, I cleaned, the laundry is finished, we had two good meals and we ate all the left overs out of the fridge so I didn't have to throw them away. I've really been trying to cook what I buy and eat what I cook so that we aren't so wasteful.

Ella played gymnastics with her babies - finally playing through her fear of the uneven bars, I think. This did my heart good. We've been in that weird place where I know that she loves it, but there are a couple of skills that make her really nervous. She has told me multiple times that she doesn't like gymnastics because "it makes [her] body hurt." When I press her to tell me which part of her body, she says her tummy. (I can relate to that awful, flippy, vomitous feeling just before I do something new or uncomfortable.) When I press her to tell me which parts make her tummy hurt she says the uneven bars and the balance beam. But, when we were running late a couple of weeks ago and she was faced with the option of skipping class or going in late, she chose to go in late - practically bouncing through the gym door to meet her class while yelling, "Good morning!" to her teacher. Obviously, she loves it.

As I was getting ready for church Sunday morning, I kept hearing her yelling, "1- 2- 3- 4-5-6-7-9- 10-11-13-14!" (she always skips 8 and 12) at the top of her lungs. After the 6th or so time, I peeked my head into The Big Room to see what she was up to. She had her nap mat folded and placed below the end table, and she was coaching Ellaroo (the Elephant-Kangaroo Wuzzle - remember those?), who was holding onto the low bar (the edge of the end table) - just like her gymnastics coaches help her. She coached all the babies on the uneven bars before church, and then she did it again after nap. This seems to be the go-to game right now. I'm glad, and I'm waiting to hear if her anxiety level was lower as she went into class this morning.

She also hit me with a new one, as she woke up from her nap yesterday.
EGR: Mom, does God wear a yellow shirt?
Me: Umm. Well. I guess he might. I don't know what color shirt God wears.
EGR: I sink it's yellow with black spots.
Me: What makes you think that?
EGR: I don't know. I just do.

Okay then. I never got any other explanation. Was she dreaming about God? Was there a picture of someone at church that she thought was God in a yellow shirt? I have no idea.

She still pronounces the "th-" sound as an "s-", as in "Sank you Lord for feeding me" or "I sink...." It's cute. Most of her speech is perfectly clear now, but she still has a few letter combinations that come out sounding like she's 3 instead of 10. The funny letter sounds are another of those baby/toddler things that I grieve the passing of because it's just so final when they are gone. It's still amusing every day when she says a new word and uses it in the correct context (she's taken a liking to "apparently" lately), but it's a different kind amusing than hearing her call her new baby brother "'uke" because she can't say the "L" sound, and then "Wuke" because she still couldn't say it, and now she does. She calls him "Luke" or "Luker" or "Nooooooo!" He answers to all three.

Speaking of things I grieve the passage of, the crawling phase is over. Officially. Luke now enters rooms on foot. And he runs. If he knows he can make the distance, he runs. He also waves and says, "Dada." He previously said, "Bye bye" while waving, but I guess since we wave to Daddy every morning, he now says "Dada." He calls the kitties "dog-dog" and he struggles with his soft touch. They lay there and take it, though, when he grabs their ears or handfuls of their fur. Georgia runs if he comes near her. It makes him so mad.

It was a good weekend at home. Now, we'll gear up again for more birthday parties, the first day of school, and a birth!

Beasties, of the Monkey Variety

2011-07-18T10:32:00.000-05:00

I've decided I'm raising a pack of howler monkeys, given the amount of communal screeching that goes on in my life right now. My monkeys like nothing better than to screech back and forth at each other until my nerves are frayed and my hair is standing on end - but, at least when they are screeching together they aren't touching each other, like they did last night in what was quickly evolving into a full contact scramble in the bathtub.

Ella had Pooh, Piglet, and Tigger all lined up nicely on the side of the tub, waiting on something, probably a good scrubbing. Luke swooped right in and grabbed all three of them while her back was turned. She turned back around with a startled look when they weren't where she left them. Luke, not fully understanding the rules of the game yet, was just gleefully waving them around in front of her, so she snatched them out of his hands and turned her back to him. Instead of letting out the customary howl, he proceeded to try to climb over the back of her to reach them. At that point, Dave and I intervened and removed him from the tub before one drowned the other. He protested the unfairness of it all, and was still trying to launch himself out of my arms and back into the tub until I got him out of the room. She might outweigh him by a solid 20 lbs, but she has no idea what's coming in her near future.

He is strong and mobile in a way that she never was as a baby. I feel like I've had a full body workout when I finally get him to bed at night. Saturday morning, he was playing in the bedroom by himself when I heard his distress cry. I found him stuck inside the toy box. He couldn't figure out how to get out again without falling on his head. Sunday morning, he was playing in The Big Room when I heard the "Come see what I did!" cry. He was sitting, correctly, and rocking in the little rocking chair. A few minutes later, he came crawling back into the living room, having gotten himself out of the chair without help. He tries to climb into the bathtub by himself, and we've had to remove the step stool from the bathroom because on more than one occasion we've found him leaning head first into the tub. He's not afraid of the dark - at least not when the toilet lid is open and he wants to play in the water.

We rearranged our living room last week (to keep him from sticking his head through the one banister space that is open), and now the furniture is spaced just far enough apart that he's walking all around instead of crawling. The walking started with a few steps here or there about three weeks ago, but just in the last week it's become his primary mode of transportation. It makes me so sad to see the crawling phase going away so quickly, but it's cute when he gets so excited about walking. He wants to run, tries to run, so it won't be long before I add sprinting to my parenting toolbox.

He finally cut is top two teeth, so now he has four. I think he'll have a few more coming in right behind these, since his gums are still swollen and his nose is still runny. He tries to sing the ABC song, but I can only make out A and E. I know he's singing the song because the first note is perfect and because he sings it as he's reaching for the Fridge Fonics to push the button to play the song.

He is 11 months old today.

Beasties, at Aunt Becca's baby shower over the weekend

No Kids Allowed!

2011-07-13T16:19:00.001-05:00

There's an artcle floating around the web right now about a restaurant that has banned children under the age of 6.

As you can imagine, it's caused quite a stir - some are rabidly opposed, some are rabidly supportive.

I've read the article and given it some thought, and I've decided I fall on the side of support for the business owner who made this decision.

Why? Because I know that while I love my wonderful, amazing children, everyone else does not. And, being kids, they are often loud and rowdy - especially when you try to contain them in a loud, public place, and especially because the littlest one contributes to the dinner table conversation with ear piercing screeches.

We do take them out to eat with us - often - but knowing what we know about them, we eat at places that are set up to accomodate them. Places that have kids' menus, high chairs/boosters, minimal wait times (both for a table and for the food as Ella always asks as soon as we sit down, "Where's my food?"), and a generally loud atmosphere. We choose places that present themselves as family restaurants because we know that kids are going to act like kids - they will squirm and talk and squeal and make a mess. I would not dream of taking them anywhere fancy because it would be absolute torture for all of us.

Even when we are in a family restaurant, we remove them from the dining area if they become inconsolable or out-of-control. The general noisiness of such a restaurant might make me feel better about their noise, but it also has a tendency to overstimulate them to the point that they need a break. So we take one. I'm okay with my kid making happy noises, even if they are loud, happy noises, but angry/sad/hurting noise is quickly addressed and if they can't calm down at the table, we take them out. I also cannot tolerate them standing in their chairs or looking over the back of the booth behind us. And, we keep them contained at our table - even the uncontainable Luke gets held if he climbs out of his chair (and he always does, chanting "alldonealldonealldone").

For the most part, they are well behaved when we eat in public, but we have had two negative experiences recently that really influenced my opinion on this "no kids allowed" rule.

The first happened about a month ago when we met Aunt Becca and Uncle Nate at Buffalo Wild Wings for supper one night. The kids were happy and sitting in their chairs, but this was the night that Luke really debuted his new screech. He was squealing and screeching like a mad man - but happy. As it is always very loud in BWW, I wasn't concerned about the screeching because it really didn't register above the general noise level in the dining room. I was trying to quiet and distract him, but he still occasionally let out a screech. Unfortunately, the lady at the table beside us was apparently bothered by it - just judging from the number of times she turned around and gave me a dirty look. I decided that I didn't give a rat's tiny behind what she thought about it because she made the decision to come to a very loud sports bar/family restaurant for dinner, a place where the 115 televisions on the walls were much louder than my happy child. I was prepared to tell her so if she complained, but luckily for her, she did not. For patrons like her, I'll gladly support a restaurant owner who posts a no kids allowed policy. Maybe if she knows she won't have to chance dining with little beasties, I won't have to deal with her insufferable, snooty attitude.

The second negative experience happened last week, but I heard the story second-hand from Grandmother. She took the kids to different family restaurant after gymnastics and shopping last Tuesday. It was 11:30, and they were one of the first groups in the place for lunch that day. Luke woke up prematurely from his nap while they were all in the bathroom so Ella could potty, and he was fussy. Just fussy, not exceedingly loud or inconsolable. Grandmother was tending to him, but she said at the first sound he made there was a member of the wait staff standing at the table asking what they could do to help. That would have been fine, except that a parade of wait staff then continued to the table - even bringing a high chair she did not ask for - to the point that they were attracting more attention to them than the fussing baby. It culminated in one of them asking her if they could bring her a to-go box - when she'd barely gotten Ella's plate set up for her and had only taken 2 bites of her own meal. They brought her the check less than thirty minutes after they sat down at the table. She was embarrassed; I was angry. For situations like this one, I'll gladly support a restaurant owner stating directly that children aren't allowed. I'd much rather know it before I take them in a place than be humiliated by the wait staff once I'm there. (I did log a complaint on this company's website, and the manager called the next day to apologize for the incident, stating that children are always welcome there and they obviously need to do some training with their wait staff.)

So, I'm okay with a restaurant telling me right up front that my children are not welcome there. I'm okay with not taking them to a fancy/quiet/expensive restaurant. I'm perfectly okay with eating in one of those restaurants in peace without my children (and without going to the potty five times, trying to eat my food while hanging onto a baby monkey, picking up the sippy cup 22 times, cutting up tiny bites of food, asking for three more cups of ranch, and pre-cleaning our area so that it's cleanable when we leave). I'm really okay with that.

I do hope that this does not become a trend for all restaurants because I don't know how else kids will learn to dine in public if they can't actually dine in public.

Spilled Milk

2011-07-06T09:16:00.000-05:00

I'm trying not to cry over it.

I came home yesterday to find the door of my upright freezer standing open. It had been open at least 12 hours. We had to trash nearly everything in it, including 3/4 of my frozen milk stash. I had an entire shelf full of 3-4 ounce bags of milk, and I had to throw most of it away because it was completely thawed. I never kept track of the exact number of ounces I had stored, but I'm sure we trashed hundreds. The bags in the middle of the shelf were still slushy, so I felt like I could safely refreeze those.

I didn't cry over it, but I did immediately feel the stress headache creep up the back of my neck and settle, throbbing, behind my right eye as soon as I realized that freezer door was open.

I had plans for that milk. I was already using some it to fill the gap on days that Luke drinks more milk than I pump. I decreased my pumping sessions from three to two times a day about a month ago because Luke had cut back on his daytime nursing sessions, and at 10 months postpartum, the milk just doesn't flow as fast as it did, making the pumping sessions longer. I intended to pump until he's about 15 months, gradually weaning myself down to once a day between now and then, and use the frozen milk to supplement the fresh milk I bring home until it was gone. Now, it looks like I will introduce some other kind of milk (probably almond) sooner than I had planned because the frozen milk I saved isn't going to last more than a couple of weeks.

Anyway, as is my policy, I did find some things to be grateful for in this experience.
1. I'm glad I didn't know how many ounces I had, because I would have been even more heartbroken to know exactly how much I lost.
2. I'm glad I had it packed in the freezer the way it was so that at least some of it was still partially frozen.
3. I'm glad I hadn't already dropped another pumping session.

I'll get over it.

And, for those that need the information, here are the breastmilk storage and handling guidelines (from http://www.kellymom.com/).

If you can't read the table, you can go directly to the site: Human Milk Storage and Handling.

Quotable Ella

2011-07-02T14:06:00.000-05:00

At the breakfast table this morning, I was telling Dave that I ran the dishwasher last night, but it didn't clean the dishes, didn't even use the soap. I told him I didn't know what was wrong with it, but I was going to try again this morning.

Ella chimed in with her theory: "It probly got too full with stuff and it just wouldn't work, like the potty at Grandmother's house."

Alright then.

I clarified that the potty at Grandmother's house did get too full and wouldn't flush.

She might be right about the dishwasher; it was packed to the gills.

Look at This

2011-06-28T11:19:00.000-05:00

Photographic evidence of Ella's shoe addiction.

The only reason she isn't wearing that pair of black Nike flip-flops you see in the picture with her is because Aunt Becca brought her four pairs of plastic, dress-up ~~deathtraps~~ shoes. Otherwise, she basically greets Aunt Becca with, "Aunt Becca! Take off your flip-flops!" And then wears them until Becca wrestles them back from her. She especially loves the gold ones from Old Navy.

I've lost count of the number of times she has busted her boohonkus in these new shoes, but suffice it to say that somewhere around number 5, I stopped being concerned and just started laughing. She tells me that one pair is less slippery than the others, but I'll just have to let her believe that because it isn't true. The only safe place for her to walk in them is the carpet, but any girl knows that carpet doesn't make a good clomping noise.

Now that she has four pairs of her own high-heels, she makes me put mine on and clomp around the house with her (she usually just wears mine when she feels like clomping).

Luckily, these are classified as toys, thus they live in the toy box rather than in the already too-large jumble of shoes in the floor of her closet. Yes, she keeps her shoes just like her mother, probably because I'm the keeper of the closet.

Incidentally, my system of shoe organization is the number one reason Dave and I cannot share a closet ever again. He likes to keep his all neat and orderly, in matching pairs, lined up in rows, front to back. (What's wrong with him?) Me? I enjoy foraging on hands and knees, deep in the bottom of my dark closet for a matching shoe. It helps me remember the other shoes I haven't worn in a while.

And so, as it stands, EGR now has four pairs of high-heels, 10 pairs of flip-flops, 5 pairs of sandals, a pair of tennis shoes, a pair of boots, and a pair of Crocs. She might really have more shoes than me - but not more than Aunt Becca, whom I think she is striving to be like.

I'm All Princessed Out

2011-06-27T12:35:00.000-05:00

Ella's 3rd Birthday Cake

And, thankfully, I think Ella is, too. She's been doing a lot of un-princessy stuff since her party Saturday morning. Things like working at the McDonald's drive-thru and taking her new baby, Aurora (she just calls her Rory) to use the potty. Rory really does use the potty, so I usually have to assit her while Ella uses the potty by herself.

Here are some pictures from the party, and a few from our vacation 2 weeks ago.

Luke was happy to be a pool ornament as the party got started. I plunked him into his float and let him go, and he happily drifted all over the pool for quite a while.

Luke, as a pool ornament

We have a giant, inflatable seal that we pull out for occasions such as this. Aunt Becca asked me, as she watched the inflation of said seal, "Which one of your children is big enough to use that float?" Neither. It's for their father.

Dave, wrestling the seal

I think Luke had a good chat with Pop the Pop while he was in pool. You can note his love for sunglasses here. He also grabbed Aunt Becca's off of her face the minute he woke up from napping on her.

Luke, chatting with Pop the Pop

Eatin' pizza

Pizza is one of Ella's favorite foods. There was a moment that I came back to my chair beside her to find Luke, snacking on a whole piece all by himself. As the story goes, he tried to steal some cheese off of Ella's, so Dave gave him a piece of his own. He worked hard on it; the evidence was all over the deck.

This picture was taken at Waterville. I mistakenly believed that the kids were too young for Waterville. I was wrong. There was even a slide that was Luke-sized.

At Waterville, climbing the duck slide

They both had a blast, and I think this helped Ella get over her issue with water in her face since there was no escaping water in the face.

Ella, loving Waterville

Who is the 3 year old EGR?

2011-06-25T08:19:00.000-05:00

Who is the 3 year old Ella?
She’s not this person.

Ella Grace, minutes old

She’s not this person.

EGR, at her first birthday party

She’s not this person.

Ella, 2 years old, meeting her new baby brother

She looks like this…

Ella, a few weeks ago, much too big for the baby swing

…but, she’s more than just a pretty face.

At three years old, she is now fully potty trained. Even for poop. It’s been a week since she’s asked for “a diaper to poop in.” It’s been 3 weeks since she actually had a diaper to poop in. I’m ecstatic about this.

She recently started gymnastics as her first organized extracurricular activity. She goes twice a week and she loves it. It’s a good way to break up the summer monotony, and we’ll see if she wants to continue in the fall when school starts back.

She loves school. She asks weekly when she is going back to school, and in the interim, she teaches her babies and does crafts at Grandmother’s house several times a week.

She’s quite the artist – painting and gluing all sorts of things. She’s decently good at it; she has a good eye for color. I was amazed when I saw the chicken and the turtle she painted for our collection of yard animals. (She also has a duck, a bulldog, and a frog that live in our flower bed, all named and cared for regularly when we are outside.)

Speaking of color, she has become very particular about her clothing choices. Everything must match (to her standards). I pulled out a pair of hot pink shorts and white t-shirt with pink on it. She insisted it did not match and she needed a hot pink shirt. That’s what she got, with a pink, beaded ponytail holder and pink jelly shoes. Then she observed the rainbow on her shorts and informed me that it did not match her shirt because her shirt had other things on it, not a rainbow. (I can remember acting exactly like this when I was little.)

She’s definitely dramatic – able to create real tears and puddles of drool when the occasion calls for it.

She’s an excellent waitress. She waits an entire room full of tables every night before bed; she never forgets an order or a customer’s name and her manners are impeccable (Which we get to hear other times, too!). It’s funny and hilarious, and Dave and I laugh every night while we listen. She also styles hair and doctors babies and animals in her spare time.

She is the Seatbelt Police. Dave is notorious for taking off his seatbelt before we turn into our driveway, or failing to put it on until we are down the street. She calls him out every time, and does frequent checks to make sure we are wearing our seatbelts.

She’s an amazing big sister. She knows the boundaries we’ve set for Luke, and she’s right there sounding the alarm when he crosses them (“NO, Luker! We don’t play with the plugs!”). She feeds him bites of Cheerios or Goldfish in the car because he can’t quite work the snack trap himself yet. She loves to cuddle him when she’s feeling cuddly. Oh, they already fight, but she’s doing a good job of handling those situations the way we’re coaching her. (i.e. She doesn’t always run over him with her car when he tries to climb in, sometimes she just gets out and goes to another room to play by herself. She doesn’t always snatch the toy she wants out of his hand, sometimes she distracts him with something else first or just waits for him to move along on his own. We’ve only caught her picking him up by the neck once, but really, he was in her way.) Seriously, though, she loves him so much and he loves her right back. I hope we can continue to nurture that relationship as they get older so that it’s more cooperation than bickering.

She talks a lot. A lot-a lot. Sometimes my poor, introverted soul can’t handle the amount of talking she needs to do and I long for the peace of bedtime or my drive to work. The rest of the time, I love talking with her and listening to her talk with others and in play. She uses logical reasoning, she’s funny, and she’s asking the hard questions (about God, and death, and divorce, etc.). She is generally empathetic if someone is hurt or sad, and she worries about others (and herself, too, of course!).

She drives me batty with her 3 year old attitude and her flair for dramatic wailing, and then she turns over in bed to snuggle me and murmurs, “Mommy, I love you so much” just as she’s falling asleep. And, I fall in love with her all over again.

She changed me for the better three years ago today.

A Letter to Fisher-Price

2011-06-20T12:02:00.001-05:00

Dear Fisher-Price,
I greatly appreciate your Biblical Little People playsets; they provide a wonderful way for my children to play through what they are learning about in the Bible. My daughter loves her Little People Nativity set, and I love that she can play with it all over the house without worrying about breakage or choking. Even the Baby Jesus deserves a ride on the Christmas carousel occasionally, right? It always makes us sad when we pack them up and store them under the house until next Christmas, but we can relax knowing that Mary will take good care of the Baby Jesus during the long hot summer, stuffed in a cardboard box.

Last week, on our family vacation, we acquired the Little People Noah’s Ark set. We love it, too. The animals come in pairs, even the ladybugs painted on the zebras’ behinds and the birds roosting on the elephants’ heads. The ark is large enough to hold all of the animals and Noah inside, or a few of them can snap onto the deck so that they don’t fall off and drown in the First Flood. However, there is one flaw in your design. It was brought to my attention by my (almost) three-year-old daughter in the following conversation.

Ella: Mo-o-om, Noah needs a wife.
Me: (thinking she was on another cleaning spree) A wipe? Okay, I’ll get you a baby wipe in just a minute. Will a wet paper towel work?
Ella: No. A wife.
Me: A what?
Ella: Noah needs a wife.
Me: Oh. A wife! Hmm. Well, there wasn’t a wife in the box.
Ella: Why?
Me: I don’t know.
Ella: He needs a wife.

And so it went as I tried to find something to fill the wife’s place in the ark, but alas, I had not packed even one Polly Pocket or miniature princess in our four bags of toys that we brought on vacation with us. I even offered up the new Weeble to stand in as the wife, but that was unacceptable.

Then she brought to my attention the real flaw in the ark. There was a picture stuck inside it – of Noah and his wife. Now, I’m willing to overlook the technological inaccuracy of the suggestion that a photograph of Noah and his wife actually existed and hung inside the ark at the time that the Lord told Noah there was going to be a floody-floody, but did you really have to include a picture of the wife you failed to include in the playset? I can’t even substitute another toy for her because we don’t have a princess with gray, curly hair and head band.

So, Fisher-Price Toy-making People, I appeal to you: Please, please create a wife for Noah. If you’ll do that, I promise to donate my set to the local church nursery and buy a new one, wife included. Better yet, could you just mold one extra while you are re-engineering the set and send her to me? I don’t think I can continue to have the “where is Noah’s wife?” conversation for the next five years.

Sincerely,

Amanda

Greetings from the Gulf!

2011-06-14T08:28:00.001-05:00

Vacationizing

2011-06-10T09:31:00.001-05:00

We are loading up our train and heading to the beach in the morning. As far as my mind is concerned, this day is already over (which probably doesn't bode well for work productivity, and I really need to be productive today).

This has been one crazy week. Let me lay it out for you.

Monday - Ella had her first gymnastics class. She LOVED it. We didn't have any of the usual nervous, "I don't want to go" conversation. She woke up ready, giving me instructions about which shorts and t-shirt she would wear. She had so much fun in class, so we went ahead and signed her up to go twice a week for the summer.

Monday evening, I checked the mail and found a collection letter for a Children's hospital bill. It should not have been in collections because I was waiting on them to charge my insurance for it.

Monday night, Dave found two fleas on himself that had jumped off the dog. Since she's been scratcing like mad and we are sending her to a friend's house for vacation, I decided to go ahead and bathe her (not a small event in our house) and put her Frontline on her. The poor dog was covered in fleas. I had no idea. She always scratches a lot when the weather gets hot, and she'd had her Frontline, so I wasn't expecting so many fleas. I decided we needed to flea bomb the house and wash all her bedding.

Tuesday - I called Children's and found out that they had indeed charged the insurance company and this was the remaining amount that wasn't covered. It would certainly have been nice to have known that a month ago when I made the first phone call about said bill, you know, before they threatened to collect. Anywho, I paid an unexpected, multi-hundred dollar bill over the phone and transferred some money from savings.

Dave forgot to get flea bombs, so we decided to wait and do it when we leave for vacation Saturday morning.

Wednesday - There was no hot water. Tuesday night, I scalded my hands doing dishes, Wednesday morning, nothing. I packed my things and went to Grandmother's early to shower because starting the day with a cold shower is just the best way to piss me off.

The dog was still scratching like mad, so I decided to call the vet's office and get the flea pill (Comfortis). I told Dave to go ahead and buy the flea bombs while he was at Lowe's getting new heating elements for the hot water heater. I spent 20 minutes and $220 in the vet's office on the one flea pill for Georgia to take that day, and a six month supply of flea prevention for her and the cats because obviously the Frontline wasn't doing it's job anymore (and thankfully, I had used the last one on Georgia so there wasn't any left to waste).

Dave and my dad fixed the hot water heater, the kids got their baths, and as I was heading to bed, I got a text message from my boss: "Dress for clients tomorrow, you'll need to attend a meeting to answer some technical questions." What a lovely, unexpected surprise.

Thursday - I attended the meeting, and thankfully, the head of development was also there so he spent an hour fielding questions that I would have been answering. I didn't have to say a word. Finally, a break.

Thursday afternoon, I went to the dentist to get my permanent crown on my baby tooth. Yes, I still have a baby tooth, and in an effort to save it for a few more years, it now has a crown (because it's falling apart "but the roots look good"). It wasn't the most traumatic dental experience I've had, but it wasn't fun either. This is the same tooth that started my dental anxiety years ago when it broke in half, wouldn't go numb, and the dentist (not the dentist I use now) blew cold air onto it. Regardless of the fact that it's twenty some-odd years old and "most baby teeth lose some sensitivity after that long", this one has not.

Georgia went to Grandmother's with the kids Thursday because I set the flea bombs off in the house, and while she was there, she was involved in a multi-dog/kid collision, resulting in an injured foot. I don't think it's serious, and I think if she stays off of it, she'll be fine. She's in the kennel today, so hopefully it will be much better this evening and I won't have to worry about leaving her with a hurt foot.

Thursday night, Ella did not fall asleep until 10, thanks to the pre- beach excitement, I think. I still needed to pack for myself after bedtime, and it was so hard not to just go to sleep in her bed. She was so cuddly last night.

Friday - So far, I sent a bottle to Grandmother's with no liner (we use Platex Drop-ins) and Luke needed it for the morning nap because the cup still isn't good enough for naptime some days. She had to go to my house to get some liners. I've just been sending an empty bottle in case they need it because he drinks the majority of his milk from a cup now. Hopefully, the rest of the day will pass quickly and smoothly. I have to finish the packing and we'll load the car tonight after bedtime so we can leave first thing in the morning.

So, the bills are paid, my house is flea (and other bug) free, the dog is recovering, the cats are deflead for the month, the hot water is working, and I have a "new"old tooth that feels much better.

Who knew vacation was so much work? (I think I said that last year.)

What else do I read?

2011-06-08T11:31:00.001-05:00

I read a lot. It's my favorite pastime. I don't have a lot of time to read, so I squeeze it in whenever possible - in 3 fifteen minute pumping sessions while I'm at work, sitting in endless lines of traffic at redlights, after the kids are in bed, you get the idea. I read non-fiction and fiction, but I tend to only write about the non-fiction I'm reading. That's because I'm usually learning something I can apply to my life immediately, and I feel like I should share some of what I'm learning with others who might be in similar situations with their children, pregnancies, or whatever. And, I'll admit, it's also because I have an English degree and I feel like I should only write about fiction if it's A Great Work of Literature. I confess, I don't read too many of those these days - not the classical ones, anyway. I've read several novels lately that I loved and do think they are great works of literature, but their authors aren't dead yet so I don't know if they count.

Also, I just read a lot more non-fiction these days. There are a couple of reasons for that.
1. When I was pregnant with Ella, it quickly became apparent that my psyche was very sensitive (Doesn't that sound all gypsy/hippy/crunchy/feel-good?). Seriously, there wasn't much fiction I could read that didn't disturb my gestating mind. I had the saddest, most disturbing dream I've ever had while I was pregnant with her, and it was directly related to the novel I was reading at the time. I put the book down, right in the middle of it, and never picked it up again. In fact, I think she was several months old, maybe even nearing a year, before I picked up another novel. I just couldn't do it. After that experience, I've been very careful to protect my mind when picking a book to read. Non-fiction is the safest.

2. When I'm reading fiction, I am a fool. When the story grabs me, I cannot put it down. Case in point, I just finished Water for Elephants, by Sara Gruen, last night. At midnight. I get up at 5:15 every morning. I have a baby who still wakes up to eat at night. That's not enough sleep. Especially when I do it two nighs in a row - as I did, the last two nights. For that reason, I limit myself to when I read what.

So, what fiction have I read lately?
Water for Elephants, by Sara Gruen - I loved it. It's about a 90 year old man reliving his days working with a circus during the Depression (in case you are one of the rare people who haven't heard about it, like me). Jan gave me this one last weekend, and I'd only heard of it a couple of days before that.

The Confession, by John Grisham - It's about the death penalty. It was a very thought provoking read, though I thought he dragged the ending out a little too long. Dave and I generally read whatever Grisham writes, so he passed this on to me when he finished it (after he placed his own book order on Amazon!). Actually, we made a deal, I would read The Confession if he would read The Hunger Games.

The Hunger Games, by Suzanne Collins - I sped through these books; they were very entertaining and thought-provoking. Also, in case you live under a rock, like me, it's a trilogy set in the future after the fall of the United States. It reminded me a lot of that short story, The Lottery, we read in school. A fellow reading friend sent these to me just as I was getting ready to find them for myself.

The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society, by Annie Barrows - Set in post-WWII England and the Channel Islands, it's a collection of letters that tell the story of the German occupation of Guernsey. I loved this book. Rebecca gave me this one to read in the postpartum days after Luke was born. I put it on hold (see reason #1 above) until recently.

Shoot the Moon, by Billie Letts - This is author of Where the Heart Is, so when I saw the book lying in the freebie box at work, I took it. Dave read it in a weekend, and since he's usually a page-counter (He reports his progress in a story by page number.), I knew it was good. It didn't let me down. It's a fast read about a cold case murder, told from the perspective of the long-lost child.

Dead Reckoning, Charlaine Harris - I love Sookie Stackhouse and her world full of supernatural creatures. This is the latest in that series. It was entertaining but seemed a bit slower that the previous books. Dave gave me this one for Mother's Day (courtesy of reading friend mentioned above).

Those are the novels I've read since January-ish, I think, but there are several authors and books that I read over and over again.
- The Harry Potter series - This is a modern Great Work of Literature; J. K. Rowling is a genius. I've never seen the movies and don't intend to because I'm afraid they will ruin the books for me.

- Pat Conroy - My favorites are The Prince of Tides, Lords of Discipline, and Beach Music. He is deep, dark, and funny all at once and he makes me feel like I'm in the story with him.

- Nicholas Sparks - Who doesn't love a good love story occasionally?

- The Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood, by Rebecca Wells - I don't know how many times I've read this and it's way better than the movie.

- Toni Morrison - I love her; I think my favorites are Sula and Song of Solomon.

- Nora Roberts and Sandra Brown for sheer entertainment - but not the ones that are straight romance novels, I like the mystery/thriller/suspense they write.

There you have it. Happy reading!

There's More To It Than a Round-Headed Baby

2011-06-06T16:35:00.000-05:00

Disclaimer: This post includes nitty-gritty details about things that happen to the female body after childbirth - specifically, mine. It’s TMI and it uses technical terms for female private parts.

It’s no secret that I had my heart set on a natural birth, the first time and again for the second time. It’s no secret that I was extremely disappointed when both of my “births” ended up being surgical procedures rather than births. I don’t even think of them as births. Because they weren’t. They were surgeries. It wasn’t the power of my wonderfully made body that brought my children into this world; it was a scalpel and a room full of doctors discussing the latest beach weekend at the condo. I’m still struggling with my disappointment and my grief that I have no idea what it feels like to give birth. I’m struggling with my anger that there are so few birthing options for pregnant women in this state. I’m struggling with my doubt that I made the right decision to have Ella via c-section, which ultimately led to my repeat c-section with Luke.

I have struggled with hearing that it was the safest way; that a healthy mom and healthy baby are what matter most; that at least they had beautifully round heads.

I think I’m struggling most with the attitude that a c-section is no big deal. That it’s a routine procedure. That women have them every day and it’s normal.

It might happen every day, it might be routine, but there is nothing normal about it. And it is a big deal.

C-sections have their place in the world of childbirth. They are sometimes medically necessary, even life-saving. I don’t know that mine were medically necessary, but I made the decision to have both of mine myself so I can’t fault anyone but me for my misgivings. That didn’t stop the suck.

What I am doing now, as a matter of therapy for me and education for those who are looking for it, is writing about my experience with my second c-section. The first one was “easy”, compared to other people’s experiences (and there were many around the time of Ella’s delivery that I could compare to). The second one was awful.

These are the parts I left out of Luke’s birth story.

Regardless of the morphine pump, I was in pain from the minute the epidural started wearing off. It was enough pain that I was so fixated on when I could push the pump button again that I couldn’t keep track on the clock in the room. I had to ask someone to get my cell phone out of my bag so I would have a digital clock to look at. If I could have found a way to set a recurring alarm to go off every 6 minutes, I would have. It was bad enough that I was also keeping track of when I could have the next dose of Toradol (an anti-inflammatory) – on top of the morphine pump.

While I sat there hurting and pushing my little button (God forbid it get out of my reach, and it did occasionally what with trying to care for a newborn), I would sporadically, suddenly, unexpectedly be hit with waves of nausea so extreme that I wanted to cry with the effort of controlling it. I was terrified of throwing up. TERRIFIED. I had just had my mid-section sliced and diced and the mere thought of heaving up what little “food” (read: broth and Jello) I’d eaten was enough to make me break out in a cold sweat. On top of that fear was the fear that I would throw up all over my newborn son after I had finally gotten him to latch on and nurse (because he wouldn’t for the first 5 or 6 hours because he had a chest and belly full of amniotic fluid that didn’t get squeezed out in the birth canal). The first wave hit me after the initial crowd had left and I was alone in the room except for my sister-in-law. Thank goodness she was there because I couldn’t get up to get a cold rag or a bucket to puke in and waiting for a nurse would have taken too long. This went on with the same sense of urgency all night long. On top of keeping track of pushing the button and Toradol doses, I was also keeping track of the next time I could have Zofran (to control the nausea).

Thankfully, the nausea only last until the IV and morphine pump were removed, but the pain takes a lot, lot longer to go away. This time I was seriously wondering if I would have to get my doctor to write me a second prescription for Loritab after I’d taken the first 10 days worth at home, but it gradually subsided enough that OTC Advil handled the worst of it. (If you are wondering how much Advil a mom needs after a c-section, my experience is that two bottles is the minimum, and you might want to throw in a bottle of extra strength Tylenol so she can do the Tylenol/Advil cocktail when the Loritab and 600 mg Motrin runs out. That wasn’t necessary after my first surgery, but it was after the second.)

I was lucky in that I had stitches (at my own insistence) instead of staples and I didn’t have to worry about my incision opening or oozing or any of the other nightmares I’ve heard friends tell about. I had a brief scare of infection while I was staying at Children’s Hospital with Luke when he was 2 weeks old (trying to be comfortable on the little cot with my fresh incision and very sick baby), but a little extra vigilant wound care (soap and water wash, peroxide rinse, and Neosporin) headed that off before it necessitated antibiotics. This second time around, the top layer of my incision was closed with steri-tapes. Do you have any idea how scary it is to remove steri-tapes from a fresh (read: week-old) wound? I did it slowly, carefully, in the shower while trying not to touch the actual incision. (I still try not to touch the scar.) Again, I’m so thankful I didn’t have to have any staples removed.

After stretching your ab muscles for 10 months, having a giant needle insert a catheter into your spinal column, a 6 inch incision in your middle, and your insides rearranged, it’s hard to move around for a while. It’s hard to get into and out of bed. Lifting is impossible. I couldn’t pick up Ella for about 8 weeks. Sitting is exhausting. I quickly dismissed the thought of going to church the first Sunday after Luke was born because there was no way I could sit in a chair or pew that long.

Pooping is downright scary. Narcotic pain medicine and surgery create extreme constipation, and that combined with the lack of ab muscles and 6 inch incision making going to the bathroom a very traumatic experience. Even with stool softeners. Traumatic.

After the immediate pain subsides, it gradually fades to burning, then tingling, then numbness, and maybe, eventually, normal again. Ten months later, my incision site still doesn’t feel normal. My epidural site still aches when my back is tired, and I expect it always will since it never stopped aching after Ella’s delivery. I still occasionally get the sharp, stretching, weird pain up the side of my abdomen that I felt right after the surgery. My doctor tells me it might due to my body gearing up to ovulate again. Maybe. Maybe something’s just wrong in there.

Just a few other things that you might mistakenly believe you get to pass on if you aren’t having a vaginal birth: bleeding for 6 to 8 weeks and swelling and achiness of the vulva. I think that was what surprised me the most after my c-section with Ella. The swelling. After all, I had not pushed the baby out, but I still swelled and I still had to care for those parts with a Peri- rinse to prevent vaginal/uterine infection.

My entire mid-section from belly button to thighs was one hot mess.

A c-section might not seem like such a big deal, especially at this point in time and in this country, but it is and it sucks. A repeat c-section sucks even more.

And, what sucks even more than all of the above is that my daughter, observant, sponge that she is, believes that it’s normal for babies to be cut out of mommy’s tummies when it’s time for them to be born. We recently had a conversation about Aunt Becca’s baby being born. Ella was confused when Rebecca attended a childbirth class over the weekend to “learn how to have a baby.” Ella asked me about it the next day, and I explained that it was just a class and Becca was at home now. Then she said, “Where is the baby?” I told her that the baby was still in Becca’s tummy because it’s not finished growing yet. Then she asked me if she would go to the hospital for the doctor to get it out of her tummy. At that point, with the context of her understanding that she and Luke both came out of the big scar on my tummy, and with my wish for her to understand normal life-giving/life-sustaining functions, I took the plunge. I told her, “You know, sometimes mommies push their babies out of their bottoms so they don’t have to have surgery to get the baby out.” Exhale. She didn’t say anything then, but this morning she said, “I’m not going to push my baby out because my bottom’s just been hurtin’.” It made me sad. So sad.

I am committed to educating her about the power of a woman’s body to birth and feed her baby, but I can’t help feeling like a hypocrite. How do I present to her what is normal when she had a front row seat for the abnormal? I have a haunting scar as proof that I have no idea what I’m talking about.

But they do have beautiful heads.

Kumbaya? I doubt it.

2011-06-03T08:28:00.000-05:00

Frequently, in my morning rush to get out the door, I reach a point where my nerves and my hands become too full to hold anything else, so I strap the kids into the car and run back inside to grab the last few things and lock the door. Luke has a squeaky monkey that stays in his carseat to ease his transistion from freedom to tied-down-dom. He plays with it every day, squeaking it from our house to Grandmother's and back again in the evenings. I strap him in, hand him the monkey, then strap Ella into her seat. This morning, she was walking to the car at the pace of an arthritic, 115 year old, so I left her door open and told her to just climb in there and I'd be right back to do her buckles.

I raced around the house, locking up the dog, grabbing The Magic Blanket, turning out the lights, locking the door, etc. and when I returned to the car three minutes later I noticed the squeaky monkey was not in Luke's hand. He appeared to be patting all around his seat, trying to find it, so I did the same - and came up empty. The following conversation ensued as I strapped Ella into her seat.

Me: Did you take it from him?
Ella: No.
Me: (noticing it was stuck in the cup holder in her door, well out of his reach, grabbed it and gave it back to him)
Ella: He just gave it to me.
Me: Oh, did he?
Ella: We were sharing.
Me: Well, I'm glad he was sharing nicely.
Ella: (really getting into the mood of it) Yeah, we shared and singed songs....
Me: What songs did you sing?
Ella: (thinking hard and fast) All the songs.

Right. Luke does frequently share his car toys with her, handing them into her space for her to hold the reaching for her to give them back to him. He certainly may have given her the monkey, but I seriously doubt they went all scouts and campfires in the backseat first thing in the morning. It's just not her style.

Suppertime is Rife with Material

2011-06-01T10:22:00.001-05:00

As a general rule, we eat supper at the table together every night (that we are home). While I sometimes miss the days of vegging with a plate of food on the couch in front of the TV, supper at the table, as a family, without the TV is important to me. It hasn’t let me down. Every one of us seems to be full of things to share with each other at the end of the day. It’s enlightening and entertaining, and I can only imagine it will get better with time.

Last night, Luke was fuss-potting all over the place, letting me know he was too tired and too hurting to be content with supper for more than a few minutes (he still managed to shovel in a whole chicken finger). As Dave tried to stuff an ice sock in his mouth to help with the teething pain (and, er, shut him up), I had to explain to him that Luke no longer tolerates help with things he thinks he can do himself so he needed to offer the sock into his hands, not his mouth. He won’t let me feed him anything with a spoon or my fingers anymore. This started Sunday morning, with oatmeal. (See exhibit A, below.) So, I was explaining about Luke’s new quest for independence and how he’s learning how to do all kinds of things by himself, and Ella was sitting in her chair at the table, contemplating. Then she asked a question that gave me a glimpse into the workings of her mind.

“Can he nurse himself?”

Hmm. Thoughts were bouncing all around my own head like a little super ball as I formulated a response. I stifled my laughter at the mental image of him nursing himself, and told her no, but he can latch himself on.

Exhibit A - Fiercely Independent

Later, as she ate a plate of seven layer salad and potatoes left over from Memorial Day, she asked, “Mama, is this like church salad?” I said, “Yes, it is like church salad.” Then she asked – guess what she asked? “Why?” Thrilled at being asked a “why” question that had a new answer, as opposed to the standard “because that’s what her mommy named her” or “because that’s how God made it/her/him”, I said, “You want to know why? Because, I know the answer to this one.” She grinned and nodded, so I whispered, dramatically, “Because I make the church salad that we eat at church.”

Supper leads immediately to bath time, during which she scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed her little body last night. (I put out a new bottle of baby wash.) As I was prodding her to finish up so we would have time to read books, she stuck her foot up in the air, five pretty little piggies wiggling at me, and said, “Mama. Smell my feet.” And so I did.

And, because I cleared of f the camera, here are a few more pictures.

Dying Eggs, before he tried to climb out of the Bumbo (which is not supposed to be used on elevated surfaces)

Swimming in the front yard

Napping on the front porch

Bedtime is exhausting

She's giving out her phone number.

2011-05-31T16:59:00.001-05:00

My sweet, beautiful, almost-3-year-old daughter is already giving out her phone number. And, to older men.

True, it's not a real phone. And true, it's not a real number, but still.

She and Luke went to the vet's office this morning because Lucy, the Golden Retriever, won't quit scratching her hair all over the house. While they were there, EGR told Dr. Parker all about her "new" cell phone that she got for Christmas. (Short aside: The fact that she even talks to a man, whom she sees only every few months, is enough to make me raise my eyebrows. But, Dr. Parker is a cutie, and he's very good with the kiddos.) She put her phone away in Grandmother's purse, and then Dr. Parker asked her if he could have her number. She went digging in Grandmother's purse, saying she had to find her number. Later, as they were leaving, Dr. Parker told Grandmother to give him a call in reference to something with Lucy, and Ella responded with, "Okay, I will."

Fast forward a few hours to my midday chat with Ella over the phone. She was asking me the normal barrage of questions, and in a brief pause I said, "I heard you gave Dr. Parker your cell phone number." Silence. She never said another word to me. Grandmother said she hid her face. I think she might have a crush on the good doctor. (So do I, but don't tell my husband.)

A New Stack of Books

2011-05-27T13:51:00.002-05:00

The Amazon Fairy (deliverer of Amazon.com orders, not an oversized fairy) left a new stack of books on my front porch this week, and I’m itchin’ to tear into them. BUT, I’m already in the middle of two books so I really need to finish one of them first.

I’m nearing the end of Playful Parenting, by Lawrence J. Cohen, which discusses how children learn and process their world through play. After watching Ella, and now Luke, play through their worlds since birth, this isn’t news to me, but it is very insightful and it offers a lot of good ideas for using play to connect with children and overcome troubling behaviors, power struggles, etc. It also explains a lot of psychology behind how children think and why they behave in certain ways. I read one of the most enlightening passages just this morning. It made me say, “Yes! This!” (And, then I marked it in pen with an exclamation point and folded the page a la 12th grade English class.)

“Oddly, even though children demand so much attention from us, they often tune us out when we finally put everything else aside and get on the floor to play with them. This can be confusing and even annoying, but it actually makes perfect sense. They are feeling locked away in the tower of isolation. And they are a bit mad at us for that. When we give them our full attention, they show us what’s going on in their hearts. They don’t say it in words, they say it in play, by pretending we don’t exist or don’t matter. When we were busy, they felt as if they didn’t matter to us. So don’t give up or walk away; be persistent. Our job is to take the initiative and push (gently) for a connection.”

This particular passage is in the context of taking the lead in play with children, and it was an epiphany for me because it’s one of the most frustrating things about my daughter during times when we are clashing – or disconnected, as the case may be. “Tower of isolation” is a term he uses throughout the book to describe the emotional place a child gets into when he is disconnected from parents/caregivers. It’s an easy read, and I’d like to finish it before I switch topics all together with my new stack. I also have one other parenting book that I haven’t started (Raising Our Children, Raising Ourselves, by Naomi Aldort), but I’m putting it on hold for the present.

The new stack is the beginning of a library of resources that includes the following titles.

The Doula Book: How a Trained Labor Companion Can Help You Have A Shorter, Easier, And Healthier Birth, by Marshall H. Klaus, et al

The Ultimate Breastfeeding Book of Answers: The Most Comprehensive Problem-Solving Guide to Breastfeeding from the Foremost Expert in North America, by Jack Newman M.D. and Teresa Pitman

Gentle Birth Choices, by Barbara Harper and Suzanne Arms

Pregnancy, Childbirth, and the Newborn (4th Edition): The Complete Guide, by Penny Simkin, et al

I’ll start with The Doula Book, reading with pen in hand, and decide where to go from there. My sister and brother-in-law, Nathan, are giving me the honor of attending the birth of my nephew as a support person, so I’m doing what I always do – reading everything I can get my hands on about the topic.

I didn’t hire a doula for either of my deliveries but as I read more about the role of a doula, I realize that I was surrounded with them. Both of my mothers and my sister were around me in the days and weeks following my children’s births, helping me and Dave with whatever things needed doing. Even my sister-in-law, Jessica, unexpectedly stepped into the role when she ended up alone with me in my hospital room the night Luke was born. And thank God for her, because I don’t know what I would have done if I’d been completely alone in the room, holding my baby skin-to-skin, unable to bend at the middle, when that first horrible wave of nausea hit me. Her presence alone helped me breathe through it so as not to vomit on my newborn or rip out my fresh stitching, but she was standing ready with a cold rag and a bowl for me to puke in – not blinking an eye. Bless her. I love that woman.

I’m so excited to step into the same role for my sister. In addition to plain old help with whatever needs doing, I want to be educated enough to help her and Nathan make decisions regarding their care during the birth and weeks following. I also want to be able to help her troubleshoot any issues that might come up in her nursing relationship with Jake because I know that is really important to her.

I am passionate about birth and breastfeeding, mothers and babies, and I’m so excited about the opportunity to put my passion and my knowledge to work.

More Heartstopping Parenting

2011-05-24T11:30:00.002-05:00

Thankfully, we didn't have to go to the ER, but there were a few very long minutes when I didn't know.

Luke, Master of the Universe, attempted to crawl down the stairs last night. It didn't go well. Dave had just brought him in from outside and left him standing at the front door, banging to get out. I was in the kitchen doing the usual bag packing, bottle making, supper, and general organization of just-home-from-work chaos. I had my eyes on Luke, standing at the door, trying to get out when Dave ran down the stairs to get something. Ella wanted to go with him, so he ran back up and opened the gate for her. Luke was still standing at the front door...until he wasn't.

I glanced down at whatever I was doing, and then I heard BUMP. BUMP. My brain caught up with the situation at hand just as he started crying. I was already running accross the room, saying "The gate! The gate! It's open!" Dave was running up the stairs as I was running down them, and we met on the landing where Luke was lying on his back, screaming. He scooped him up and handed him to me, and I ran back up the stairs to the couch. I tried to look for bumps or scrapes or broken limbs, but he was crying too hard, so I nursed him for a couple of minutes to help him calm down. When he popped off and sat up, he was ready to go again, reaching for Dave to take him somewhere. There were no lumps or bumps or bruises. He did not even have a carpet burn.

He apparently watched Ella go down the stairs and decided to follow her. The gate was open because Dave always goes first in case Ella falls going down, so he didn't close it behind her. And, we just aren't in the habit of closing it every time we run up and down since Ella navigates them so proficiently now. On top of those things, Luke crawls faster than the speed of light, and he's very quiet when he's on a mission. We are chalking this up to a lesson learned. He's been to the chiropractor this morning to put him back to rights.

I think we need to baby proof to the point of tying the furniture to the walls. This is a whole new ballgame. The only things we did for Ella were cover the outlets, put latches on the medicine/chemical cabinets, and make sure all baby-windpipe-sized objects were out of her reach. She required very little babyproofing. She was content to sit in one spot and intensely study the things around her, then put them in her mouth. Luke's style is more drive-by, mouth it, bang it, move on to the next thing - in stealth mode.

We already know he can climb, and I've already caught him standing in Ella's rocking chair. He's started taking a couple of unassisted steps, and he's been practicing standing up without holding on to things. He's also taken to carrying his cup around with him, though he's not drinking milk from it all the time yet. I'll be so glad when I can get rid of the bottles!

He has a few words: Ella, Mama, Dada, all done, hey, bye. He signs "milk," and he understands the signs for "all done", "diaper change", "eat", "more", "cup", "please." He understands a lot of what we say to him, and between signs, words, and body language, he communicates very effectively for a 9 month old. Unlike Ella, he said "mama" before he said "dada." Dave has been prompting him to say Dada, but he's been resistant until this past week. The first time he said it, Dave wasn't in the room, so had the absolute joy of relating the story to him. Luke was crawling around the living room, and he made his way to the ottoman and stood up to play with the remote controls, like he always does. He found something new there - a can of Skoal. Immediately, he picked it up and waved it around in his little, baby fist and said, "Dada!" "Dada!"

UPDATED: At his 9-month check up, Luke measured 29 inches long and weighed 18 lbs and 1 ounce. That puts him in the 75-90% for height and the 10-25% for weight - long and lean!

The EGR Update
She's struggling right now with some yucky drainage and a cough, thanks to her weed/tree allergy. I'm being a bad mother and refusing to take her to the doctor for another round of antibiotics until it just becomes unavoidable because that just sets off a whole other cycle of illness to deal with . Thus, she woke up coughing, with snot in her throat this morning and she told me in her sweet voice, in between coughs, "I think I just choked on something." Poor kid. She's also been to the chiropractor this morning for some work on her sinuses.

Yesterday, she was having an imaginary phone conversation about a tree limb that fell and she kept using the word "stupid." I asked her if she knew what that meant. She said yes. I asked her to tell me, and she told me to say it. I said, "I know what it means, I want you to use your words to tell me what it means." She thought hard and said, "Mama, give me a favor and tell me what it means." (I frequently ask her to do me a favor.) I told her it meant that something wasn't smart and it's not a nice thing to say about someone or something.

She continues to amaze and confound me. She'll be three soon. Some days I wonder where the time has gone and others I feel like she's turning 13 instead of 3.

Tornado Relief: "An Elephant Never Forgets"

2011-05-18T14:07:00.003-05:00

Here it is: the post I’ve been stewing over since the day tornados wreaked unholy havoc on Central Alabama. Thankfully, our area was spared, but we spent several hours in our basement that night, and many, many hours in the following days, watching footage of the devastation.
The following morning, I learned that a pod of my extended family that lived in Pleasant Grove had not been heard from, so I spent several hours trying to track them down via their neighbors over The Mighty Facebook. We found the 80-something year old great-aunt, who finally made contact with her sister. She had managed to climb out of the wreckage of her house, and find out that her immediate family down the street was all alive, though some were hospitalized with injuries.

In the following days, Dave and I debated and debated over how we could best help the relief efforts, feeling that we should absolutely do something. Volunteering our time and bodies was not really an option with two young children, so we opted for making a donation. Knowing that one of my favorite places would be doing something disaster-relief related, we waited until we did our regular Saturday shopping to make a final decision of how/what to donate. While at the checkout counter at Publix, debit card in hand, the cashier asked if we’d like to make a donation to the Red Cross. We looked at each other, knowing the pre-determined amount we’d decided on, nodded, and told the cashier to ring it up. It showed up on the receipt as “Southern Storms.” It was that easy.

In the following weeks, I learned of a newborn baby (a cousin of my brother’s girlfriend’s sorority sister – did you follow that?) who was in need. The baby was two weeks old when the storm completely leveled the area where he lived and killed his mother. He is in the care of his grandmother, and he needs things. I happily loaded up a bag of newborn – 3 month sized clothes, an infant tub, baby soap, washcloths, and towels to send his way. I offered a portion of my ever-growing stash of frozen Mommy milk, but by that time he was already taking formula. He was a nursling for the first two weeks of his life (that made my heart hurt just a little bit more).

All of these were ways I felt like I could do something to help someone who’d lost everything.

This tragedy is a long way from over for these families, and there are still things you can do to help. I am once again appealing to your benevolent hearts to make a donation (as you feel led, of course) to help someone. This time there’s something (tangible) in it for you!

Once I returned to the office and life there got back to some sort of normal, one of my co-workers called me to her desk one morning to show me something. Never knowing how that scenario is going to go down, I was shocked and moved when she showed me this.

It’s a charcoal sketch (Much better in person, I’ve seen the original!) done by another of our co-workers, Holly. She’s an artist. A real one. I’m not sure why she works where I do. She says she just started sketching in the time following the tornado, and this is what came out of her. She decided she wanted to do something with it to raise money for tornado relief in Tuscaloosa. She considered donating it to the University to auction, but decided she could raise more money if she sold prints. I told her to let me know when she had all the details worked out because I know all kinds of Bama fans that will need one of these for their man caves, Alabama rooms, spouses, brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers, etc. All proceeds from the sale of the prints will go to Hands on Birmingham, Disaster Relief of West Alabama, and T-Town Paws.

UPDATED: If you want a print of “An Elephant Never Forgets”, email Tornadoreliefinalabama@gmail.com.
11 x 14 print - $25

18 x 24 print - $50

T-shirts are also a possibility, but the details of that are still in the works. Prices include shipping.

If you Facebook, check out her page: Tornado Relief in Alabama.

UPDATED: Also, check out the website: An Elephant Never Forgets.
UPDATED AGAIN: To say that Holly's website now has a PayPal link so you can truly order online!

0 for 2 in the 'Protect the Children from Harm' Category

2011-05-16T09:26:00.000-05:00

Within a matter of minutes yesterday, I managed to physically hurt both of my children while we played in the yard. I let the little one roll off of my lap and bang his head on a hard toy. His heart was broken. Luckily, his head was not.

Then I threw the ball for Georgia and hit Ella square in the forehead with it. I still cannot fathom how I misjudged the angle so badly. She didn't walk in front of it; I just have really bad aim. It hit her so hard, I was shocked that it didn't knock her down. Her neck snapped back, and of course there were instant tears, but she recovered fairly quickly since she had a legitimate reason to use the Frosty Bear. At bedtime last night, I apologized again for hitting her with it, and she said, "It's okay now, Mommy."

It ranked right up there with pinching her chunky, baby thighs in the carseat buckle, and it made me feel just like a horse's behind.

A Lesson in Human Indecisiveness

2011-05-11T09:44:00.001-05:00

The lesson? Humans are indecisive from birth.

The proof? A highly scientific, impromptu experiment conducted last night at bedtime.

Let me set the scene.

Ella and Luke were both very tired after bath. Generally, I nurse Luke and put him to bed before I settle into Ella's bed to read to her. Last night, she was ready for books as soon as she got her nightgown on, so I just brought Luke (and his pillow pet and The Magic Blanket) to her bed to nurse while I read. She was lying on her pillow with Panda and Court Dog and their assorted blankets tucked in beside her. I was sitting next to her with Luke lying on the pillow pet, wrapped in his blanket, nursing.

I opened the first book, which happened to be Llama Llama Red Pajama, and started to read. He popped off and looked at the pictures while I read. As I paused before turning the page, he latched back on. When I turned the page, he popped off again and looked/listened while I read. As I paused before turning the next page, he latched back on. He was doing it so consistently that I made Dave stay to watch a full cycle of latch on, turn page, pop off, read, latch on, turn page, pop off. We read the entire book that way. Thankfully, he was too tired to continue like that through the next two books because he was driving me nuts.

As I write this, I wonder, was he really indecisive? Perhaps he just decided to multi-task. One thing's for sure, he is a fan of Llama Llama.

Need to Write

2011-05-03T19:33:00.000-05:00

So much has happened in the last week that I feel like I should write something really profound, but I can't find it in me. Yet, I'm still drawn here to write. About something. Anything. Because it's what I do.

Both kids are still sick - Luke with a persistent double ear infection (I feel I've walked this road before..) and Ella with a persistent UTI. Both are on their second rounds of antibiotics. Why do my kids need two round of antibiotics for everything? I also think Luke is cutting some new teeth. Between the drool and the exploding poop, he's creating as much laundry as the entire rest of the family combined.

As seen in my previous post, he can now climb stairs and he's officially crawling, the real way. He also learned to clap over the weekend, and he praises himself and everyone around him often and grandly with his clapping. It's also the thing that gives him away when he sneaks and eats something he's not supposed to have. (Ella always turned her back to us and kicked her feet with excitement.) The clapping is so stinking cute. He also officially says "Mama" now.

I went to a Mother's Day Tea at Ella's school today. She drew a picture of me and wrote some things about me. Some things I knew (my favorite ice cream is chocolate), but others surprised me (I'm 7 years old, my favorite color is pink, and I'm as pretty as her). The picture also looks like I have a cigarette hanging out of my mouth. As I've never smoked anything in my life, I can only assume it's her depiction of me with the oral syringe stuck between my teeth, which she sees all too often with all the medication I adminster to the two of them.

Ella has learned how to use fingernail clippers correctly. I learned this tidbit over the weekend when she was using them to cut my hair. And she really did cut a few chunks of hair before I realized she was using them correctly.

A recent quote that describes our life right now:
"How do you dress this child?" - The pediatrician, when trying to snap Luke's onesie. I sympathized with him because on more than one occasion I've found myself holding him up by the ankles, trying to wipe poop and diaper him. I've even had to call for back up.

Luke's Newest Skill

2011-04-27T16:50:00.000-05:00

He had a spotter, but he pretty much did it on his own, in a matter of three minutes. Lunch was the motivation. For the record, he still doesn't really hands-and-knees crawl yet, but that hasn't stopped him. He generally makes a good start on hands and knees, then resorts to the army crawl because it's just faster. He has also already fallen on his face several times after pulling up and then letting go with both hands and taking a step. I keep telling him he should practice balancing first, but apparently he doesn't have time for that. He is one busy little person.

The Easter Bunny: Just Another Load of Hooey

2011-04-21T09:26:00.000-05:00

It turns out that when I had misgivings about Ella perceiving Santa as a strange old guy coming into our house, I was spot on. This is the conversation that occurred in our house last night, starting at supper and finally ending at bedtime.

Dave: Ella, do you know what we are going to do Saturday night?
Ella: What?
Dave: We are going to leave a little salad on the table when we go to bed and the Easter Bunny is going to come and eat it.
Me: (in my head) What in the world is he thinking?!
Ella: (thinking hard) Daddy, you're just tricking me!
Laughter, followed by:
Ella: I don't wike Easter Bunnies.
Dave: (laughing) I know you don't.
Then there was more worrying and repeating of salad and Easter Bunny, etc. Fast-forward to bath time.

Ella: I'm going to eat all of the salad so the Easter Bunny can't have any!
Me: You don't have to worry about the Easter Bunny; he's not coming in this house.
Ella: Mommy, I want you to sleep with me all night long so the Easter Bunny doesn't come in.
Me: Dave! Get in here and fix this!
Dave: Ella, do you know what I'm going to do if the Easter Bunny comes in? I'm going to kick him in the bootie.
Me: (in an undertone to Dave) I was thinking more like telling her you made it up and it's not real, not telling her that we will kick animals.

A few minutes later.
Ella: Mommy, I want you to shut the door really tight so the Easter Bunny doesn't come in.
Me: The Easter Bunny isn't real. Daddy was just pretending, just like he was pretending that he had a Wocket in his pocket (also at bedtime; also not appreciated). If you see an Easter Bunny at the store, it's just someone dressed in a costume. There are real bunnies, and people like to look at and talk about bunnies at Easter, but there is no Easter Bunny and no one is coming into our house.

It continued until I finally reminded her that I would come to her or she could come to my bed if she woke up scared during the night. She did. Four times between 9:30 and 1:30, when she finally got in bed with me. She didn't wake up again after that, but she did sleep velcroed to my body. For once, I did not feel bad that there might not be room in the bed for Dave.

Dave did redeem himself at bedtime when I heard him talking to her about Jesus and Heaven. This morning, Ella told me that her memory verse for this week is "Jesus is risen!" I told her that was exactly right, and that's what Easter is all about.

She will get an Easter basket Sunday morning, but she picked it out herself at Target (of all things, she picked the Spiderman basket). She picked out her own chocolate bunny, though she doesn't know that I bought it. We also picked out a basket and some plastic eggs for Luke, and she knows I plan to fill them with Puffs since he can't have chocolate yet. We will dye eggs Saturday morning. She's having a party and an Easter egg hunt at school today. We will go to church Sunday morning - but we do that every week.

While I haven't put as much emphasis on the death and resurrection (yet, becuase she's not even 3) as I did about the birth at Christmas, she does understand that this holiday is about Jesus. So, the Easter Bunny myth has been dispelled, but I expect to spend many more nights reassuring her that no one will be coming into our house.

My Birth Wish List

2011-04-20T10:00:00.002-05:00

Eight months removed from Luke’s delivery (!) and with my sister’s pregnancy, I’ve been thinking a lot about birth. I’ve been reading birth stories and research and ACOG statements. It’s a huge interest of mine, and I think I’m on some sort of therapeutic path to heal my hurting soul about the birth that I missed. I’ve been grieving what I missed.

Yes, I am healthy and I have healthy children and I am forever grateful for that. But, yes, I am one of those women to whom the process matters. It matters a lot.

Last night, I was talking to Dave about my frustration with the medical community’s attitude toward birth in this state and the serious lack of options a birthing woman has here. We got on the subject of birth plans, and he asked me about mine. I didn’t even know where it was anymore since it never mattered anyway. He told me I should post it on the blog. I’m still not sure if he was making fun of me, but it got me thinking that it might be good for me to write it out again.

I don’t really like the term “plan” so much because that just seems to beg for something to go awry, so I’m calling mine a wish list. Truly, that’s what it is now, because I’ll likely never have another “birth”.

So, this is my wish list for the fictitious birth I’ll never have.

Labor
I would like to labor in quiet with the lights low and with the freedom to move as I please. Please enter the room quietly and please address me in a quiet voice before touching me.

I would like minimal interruption, so please address as many questions as possible to my support person.

Birth
I would like to push my baby out of my body in the position of my choosing, at my own pace.

I would like to catch the baby myself, so please do not touch me or the baby without asking.

I would like to deliver the placenta without assistance.

After Birth
I would like to hold my baby skin-to-skin and nurse immediately, so please postpone the newborn procedures until I am ready.

I would like to wait until the umbilical cord has stopped pulsing before cutting it.

That’s it. It seems so simple when I write it out.

Randomness

2011-04-13T14:31:00.000-05:00

It's been a busy few days with a sick one and a zoo field trip, but the extra time at home let me get some new pictures.

I've been wearing Luke a lot because he hasn't been feeling well, so Ella has been wearing her baby on her back while she works, too. In this picture she's sporting a backpack carrier because it's the most similiar to my Babyhawk, but she also has a sling and a wrap. I don't use a sling because the one-shoulder carry isn't comfortable for me, but she likes hers because it's easy for her to put it on herself.

Here she is resting on her new blanket and pillow after our trip to the zoo. She very nearly put herself to sleep listening to Floyd Cramer while the babies (her students) napped on their nap mats. They nap face down, completely covered so that she has to lift the corner of the blanket to tell them to stop "squirming and wigglwing". Sometimes she has to straighten the blankets if they squirm too much.

This is what we found last night when it was her turn to get pajamas. I always take Luke out of the tub first, dry and diaper him, and leave him in the crib to play. Ella laughed and lauged at him (which he thought was hilarious) and then she asked me, "Do ducks do that?" She meant, do ducks baby-gnaw crib rails, and I told her I didn't know but this one does.

Caught! Playing in Ella's tea things. She still doesn't know, but he loves to sort through her basket of dishes. I'm pretty sure these would be off limits, but she did let him play in the baskets of food from her kitchen yesterday.

I just realized in looking at these pictures that Luke has Dave's eyes; they scrunch up and turn downward at the corners when he smiles.

Fundraising Success!

2011-04-08T14:22:00.000-05:00

In my post about the Trike-A-Thon, I said that I would consider it a success if Ella asked one person for money and if she rode her tricycle at the Trike-A-Thon. She did both! I had to help her ask for money, but she did it. Her teacher said she sat on the trike and watched the other kids for a few minutes, but then she rode for about half an hour. She was really excited about it, and even traded trikes with one of her friends for a few minutes! That really surprised me.

Thanks to a very generous anonymous donation, Ella met the fundraising goal I set for her the first day and she ended up raising a total of $240 (excluding what Dave and I donated). The grand total for the school was $3180. It was a huge success for St. Jude's!

The H. Luke Update
Ella, Luke, and I were in their room after the bath the other night and I was dressing Ella while Luke played in the crib. Ella and Luke were laughing at each other through the bars, and he just pulled himself up to his feet like he's been doing it for years. He was so proud! The next morning when Dave went in there to get him, he was standing at the rail waiting for him. He has also realized that he can move from his stomach into a sitting position by himself, and while he isn't crawling in the traditional hands and knees way - he is going all over the place using the army crawl, pulling himself along with fists and elbows. And, with all this new mobility, he's finally sleeping again and a lot more content.

He isn't really making any recognizable sounds, except the occasional "Heeey", but he does engage in back and forth interaction and he mimics us. This morning, Ella was coughing and he looked up at her and coughed back, then smiled, waiting. She coughed at him. He coughed back. This went on for several minutes. Then I was telling Grandmother about it when we got to her house, and he started coughing again and looked expectantly at Ella.

Watching kids learn really amazes me.