Operation Bigger House: It's Begun

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

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

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

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

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

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

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?

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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.

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!

Luke, loving yogurt melts.

The Poop Whine

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

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

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!

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

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

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.