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.)
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Monday, July 25, 2011
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!
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!
Monday, July 18, 2011
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.
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.
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| Beasties, at Aunt Becca's baby shower over the weekend |
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
No Kids Allowed!
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.
Wednesday, July 06, 2011
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/).
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If you can't read the table, you can go directly to the site: Human Milk Storage and Handling.
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/).
Saturday, July 02, 2011
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.
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.
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Look at This
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
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.
Monday, June 27, 2011
I'm All Princessed Out
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| Ella's 3rd Birthday Cake |
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.
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| 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.
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| 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.
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| Luke, chatting with Pop the Pop |
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| Eatin' pizza |
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.
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| 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.
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| Ella, loving Waterville |
Saturday, June 25, 2011
Who is the 3 year old EGR?
Who is the 3 year old Ella?
She’s not this person.
She’s not this person.
She’s not this person.
She looks like this…
…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.
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.
Monday, June 20, 2011
A Letter to Fisher-Price
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
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
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Friday, June 10, 2011
Vacationizing
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.)
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.)
Wednesday, June 08, 2011
What else do I read?
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!
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!
Monday, June 06, 2011
There's More To It Than a Round-Headed Baby
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.
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.
Friday, June 03, 2011
Kumbaya? I doubt it.
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.
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.
Wednesday, June 01, 2011
Suppertime is Rife with Material
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)
Napping on the front porch
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
Bedtime is exhausting
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
She's giving out her phone number.
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.)
Friday, May 27, 2011
A New Stack of Books
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.)
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.
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.
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
More Heartstopping Parenting
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.
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.
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Tornado Relief: "An Elephant Never Forgets"
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!
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.
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!
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