At Wit's End

Happy Birthday Josiah

2008-12-27T17:17:00.000-08:00

This morning, when we arrived at Cracker Barrel for breakfast (you insisted on going there because they have toys), you proudly announced to the waitress that it was your birthday.

"I'm three!" you exclaimed. "See how big and strong I am?"

And you are. Big and strong and absolutely fabulous.

You amaze me every day.

I got all teary eyed when you noticed a man standing on the side of the road after a fender bender and you asked me if we could stop and pray for him. Or when you told me after you noticed your cousin misbehaving that it's not nice to talk about other people when they're in trouble but only to talk about ourselves. Your compassion and empathy goes beyond your years.

You also amaze me with your incredible energy and zeal. Sometimes that's a good thing (like when you excitedly play soccer at the gym or race around the playground) and sometimes that's a bad thing (don't even get me started on that time in the bookstore when you climbed to the top of the bookshelf and dove off while screaming that you were superman). I admit, sometimes it's hard for me to keep up with you, but I wouldn't have it any other way. I love the fact that you're always moving, exploring, questioning, wondering and playing.

You're in a "why" phase now. Everything is a why. Why is the sky blue? Why is broccoli healthy? Why did Jesus get born in a stable? Why did the boy want a girl to go sleighing with him in Jingle Bells? You have a question-- and an answer-- for everything. Why? I'm not sure. But sometimes I have to remind myself that I need to enjoy the moment and not get irritated with the constant why why whying.

Anyway, I'm getting misty-eyed now. I can't believe how fast you've grown up-- and I can't beleive that God has entrusted me with such a tender yet energetic, feisty yet sweet soul. I pray every day that I am up for the job-- and that you channel that feisty energy in a way that glorifies Him.

I love you, Joey. Don't grow up too fast.

Happy Birthday Kate!

2008-09-24T10:00:00.000-07:00

Happy Birthday Kate!

My baby turns one today. My baby. My teeny, tiny little "Kitter Kat" (or "Titter Tat" as Joey says) is one year old.

I'm feeling all sorts of things. I'm thrilled that she's turning one. Thrilled to be done with sleepless nights (she started sleeping through the night three whole days ago after a huge and nearly successful effort to be the oldest baby EVER not to sleep through the night). I'm thrilled to be done with baby food purees and pacifiers that fall on the floor and spit-up soaked clothes (mine, not hers). I'm also sad. Sad that we're done with rocking a sleeping baby on my chest (she's too busy to put up with that holding still stuff) and sad that before long, she'll be a walking, talking "big girl" with the attitude to show for it.

One thing I'm NOT feeling is the baby bug (I'm hearing a collective sigh of relief from everyone who has spent any time with me while I'm pregnant). When Joey turned one, I got the baby bug bad. My baby wasn't a baby and I needed another one....and four days later I was pregnant. This time, no way. I'd love another baby, but I know better. I know what it's like to be pregnant with a one-year-old underfoot. I have not forgotten this time.

So, I'm ready. I'm ready to make the transition to a baby-less house. A house where there aren't any sing-songy baby toys or breast pump parts drying on the dish rack. I'm ready to say that I have two kids... not two babies. I'm ready. Even if I wasn't, I don't really have a choice, do I?

Happy Birthday, Katers. I thank God for my precious baby girl every single day... and I fall more in love with you every moment I spend with you. I can't wait to see what this year will bring.

101 Things You Can Do With A Knee Sock

2008-06-11T17:26:00.000-07:00

1. Wear it with a plaid mini skirt.
2. Use it as a makeshift exercise band.
3. Cut the toes off for leg-warmer emergencies
4. Fill it with.... OK, who am I kidding. There's not much you can do with a knee sock other than hike it up to your knee and wear it.

My boss (Abby) at Parents Connect just wrote a book called Crafty Mama: Makes 49 Fast, Fabulous, Foolproof (Baby & Toddler) Projects. I ordered it in an attempt to expand my crafty horizons (because my last attempt at crafty-ness ended in $40 wasted dollars and a closet full of half-used craft supplies).

But not this time.... Ta Da! Check out the cool headbands Kate is wearing in the pics. I made them (all by myself!) using knee socks and a silk flower. That's right...a knee sock! Who knew that something so seemingly useless could be so useful. Abby's book is full of fun projects like this one-- easy crafts that you'll actually use (not that a cross-stiched kleenex box cover isn't useful). Cool, huh?

What's next on my crafting agenda? Who knows. Check back... I might just make a sweater out of rubber bands or a pair of shoes out of old matchsticks and bees wax (or maybe not).

Unpotty Training

2008-06-08T19:57:00.000-07:00

Do you think it's possible to unpotty train a kid?

I know, I know. Potty training is a milestone... a rite of passage. I should be proud that my son is now a big-boy and has tiny blue boxer briefs to show for it.

But being a mom of a potty trained kid isn't all it's cracked up to be.

Take yesterday for example. I was kindof on a roll. I had both kids out the door and in the car at a reasonable hour. Both kids had clothes on (so what if Joey's shorts were a bit dirty) and both kids had eaten breakfast. I think I even combed Kate's hair.

Before you start patting me on the back, let me just tell you how the cookie crumbled (or the Lighning McQueen underpants unraveled if you will...)

About five miles down the road, Joey said those six dreaded words: "Mommy! I have to go potty!". Gulp. I squeeled into the nearest gas station and ran into the mini-mart with a kid under both arm. I grabbed the key and raced to the bathroom.

My pride in making it that far without an accident was short-lived because when I stepped inside the tiny bathroom and saw the dingy, brown toilet and the filthy, wet paper towels on the floor, I wanted to turn and run. Of course, by now, Joey was doing the dreaded "potty dance" and I had no choice.

As I piled fourteen layers of one-ply onto the seat, Joey grabbed the roll of toilet paper and spun it around, pulling a long string out before I grabbed him and held him haphazardly over the toilet, begging him to pee quickly without so much as touching a single thing. Not a single thing.

We stood there for nearly an eternity, with me balancing a pantless two-year-old on one knee with a baby in my arms and a grimy bathroom key between my chin and my shoulder. I oh-so-calmly cheered my son on as he squeezed out the teeniest, tiniest dribble of pee. I swear. Had he peed his pants, I doubt I would've noticed.

When he finished, he asked for a sticker.

I scrubbed him down with anti-bacterial gel and left before we all caught some deadly infection or worse, he decided he had to pee again.

I'm seriously considering weaning him off the big-boy draws and putting him back into pull-ups. Maybe the under-draw fairy can come get them and trade them for a fancy, new box of diapers. I figure that after a few weeks, he'll forget all about the potty and I can switch out the pull-ups for regular old diapers and go back to my safe (and easy) diaper-changing world. I'll even give him a sticker every time he goes in his diaper without telling me about it.

Picture Perfect

2008-04-20T14:19:00.000-07:00

When Joey was little, we took hundreds (OK, thousands) of pictures of him. He cooed. He smiled. He waved. He adored the camera. The camera adored him. You get the picture.

Lately, well, he still adores the camera but it doesn't like him so much.

Late last fall, I tried to find some good shots for our Christmas card photo and realized that Joey hadn't taken a single good shot in months. We had tons of shots of his back, his sprawled legs, his eyelids-- but nothing with him looking at the camera or smiling. Nope, my little boy couldn't hold still for the 2 seconds it took for the aperture to close and the flash to go off.

Never fear... like all good parents, Cam and I had a solution. We ordered a NikonD40X, a fancy-schmancy camera that took 10 shots per second. We figured that even Joey could hold still for 1/10 of a second. We were wrong.

Last weekend, like good Texans, we headed out to the blue bonnets to take pictures. Kate (being young and immobile) smiled and cooed and took about 600 fabulous shots (I swear). Joey, well, that whole 1/10 of a second thing didn't work so well. Not a one. We got a few that were decent, but not a single eyes-at-the-camera, white-toothy-grin shot.

We're still trying. The day my quest for the perfect shot ends, you'll be the first to find out cause I'll blow it up and post it all over my blog and flickr page for all to see. One of these days.

Potty Time

2008-03-20T11:33:00.000-07:00

I have a friend (I won't name names) who bought a potty for her two-year-old son, he sat down, tried it, liked it and never wore a diaper again. No offense to those of you who have potty-trained geniuses, but I hate people like that. Those are the type of people whose morning sickness is cured by eating a cracker-- or whose kids stay in time-out just because Mommy said so.

I, on the other hand, have been "potty training" Joey since November. We started out by buying a potty. He didn't like it. Then we bought a firetruck that he got to use only after he went potty. He liked the firetruck but not enough to sacrifice his diapers for it. We bought stickers. He didn't care. We bought jelly beans. I ate them before he had the chance (hey, I was stressed-- this potty training this is hard!).

So, now it's March. Potty time is part of our morning routine. We get up, have a glass (or two) of juice, have breakfast, then head upstairs for potty time. Joey sits (and sits and sits) on the potty while watching a DVD and I nurse Kate. Most days, he sits there for thirty (or even forty) minutes. He never pees. Without fail, he pees the instant I put his diaper on after he gets up.

This morning, the routine was going forward without a hitch (Joey sitting and not peeing, Kate and I watching while she nursed). About thirty minutes in, I saw a look of sheer panic cross his face: He couldn't hold it anymore. Before I could get up (ready to applaud), he whipped his little thing out of the potty, stood up and peed all over the floor. I didn't know whether to cheer (he went ouside of his diaper) or cry (he went on the floor). Either way, I'm looking at this as progress.

When you've been potty traning for five months, anything is progress. Baby steps, right? Baby steps.

Fix it and Forget It

2008-03-01T12:50:00.000-08:00

Recently, we've had a lot going on in the evening time. Cam's had games, Joey's had playgroups and we've been trying to go to the gym and go swimming as a family at least once a week. That means that I'm having to find dinners that I can throw in the oven on time-bake that will be all ready when I get home. Sometimes I make things on the weekend and freeze it until I'm ready to use it. Other times I make dinner while the kids are napping and then all I have to do during dinner hour is throw it in the oven. I have lots of favorites, but here's my latest:

Chipotle Stacked Enchiladas:

Sauce:

1 onion (coarsely chopped)
3 anaheim peppers (coarsely chopped)
3 cloves of garlic (whole is ok)
2 cans tomato paste
2 tsp. salt
1-2 chipotle peppers in adobo sauce (2 is pretty spicy so start with one.. or if you're cooking for kids, omit the chipotles)
1-2 tbsp. adobo sauce (once again, it can get pretty spicy to be careful).

Put onion, peppers and garlic in large skillet. Brown over medium heat about 10 minutes. Put warm peppers and onions and remaining ingredients in food processor or blender and process until smooth. You may have to add water to get sauce to the right consistency.

Enchiladas

1 recipe chipotle sauce (above)
2 cups cooked shredded chicken, beef or pork (I use leftovers!)
20 corn tortillas
1 can black beans
4 cups shredded cheddar cheese
1 fresh tomato (diced)
1 bunch fresh cilantro (chopped)
1 bunch green onions (chopped)

1. Pour a thin layer of sauce on bottom of 9 X 13 pan.
2. Cover sauce with tortillas.
3. Cover tortillas with 1/3 of the chicken, 1/3 of the black beans and more sauce.
4. Repeat three times.
5. Cover entire dish with cheese.
6. Cover cheese with tomatos, cilantro and green onions.
7. Bake at 350 for 45-50 minutes until warm and cheese is brown.

Dictionary 101

2008-01-31T12:52:00.000-08:00

I'm starting to realize that the dictionary left out some very handy mom terms...

1. Booty Call: When you are paged over the loudspeaker when you are at an event (and your kid is in the nursery) to come change your kid's diaper.

ie. Yesterday at the gym, I got a booty call while I was taking a shower. Joey had done his, ahem, business and his business was large enough that his diaper didn't contain it. He was covered. His socks. His armpits.

2. Nudey Tunes: An incident that involves significant amounts of pee, poop or spit-up, enough to drench an outfit, leaving your child naked. Naturally, Nudey Tunes incidents only happen when mom is unprepared and failed to pack extra clothing and/or an extra diaper.

ie. Immediately after the aforementioned (see "Booty Call") indicent at the gym, I realized that we had a Nudey Tunes incident on our hands. I ended up carrying Joey out of the gym (in 40 degree weather) wearing nothing but a stolen gym towel. Don't worry... I fully intend to return the towel on my next visit. Really, I do.

3. Unhappy Hour: The hour between 4:30 and 5:30 pm when some people are happily carefree as they are about to get off work and head to a bar where they can indulge in dollar cocktails while us mommies sit at home with exhausted and starving kids and count the minutes until Daddy gets home.

ie. Yesterday, during unhappy hour, I literally called my husband twelve times to see when he was going to get home. While I was otherwise occupied staring at the clock counting the seconds going by, Joey found the energy to pull all of the books off of the shelf, dump two boxes of legos down the stairs and call a random long-distance number on the house phone. My friend Susan's son Joshua decided to go swimming in the toilet during unhappy hour one day. I'm sure Joey would do the same if he thought of it.

4. Boobifier: Using one's breasts as a pacifier.

ie. I admit it: I use a boobifier instead of a pacifier. The boob is just so handy. No tiny pouch to keep track of. Nothing to clean. No fancy dishwasher racks or chemical-free soaps. I never drop the boobifier on the ground or lose it. So, Kate falls asleep nightly with a boobifier in her mouth and a grin on her face.

5. Ma Ha! Moments: Those times where you realize "Ah Ha!", if I do this, my life will be way easier.

ie. Yesterday, I had a Ma Ha moment when I realized that if I always take the time to pack a change of clothes for my kids, I would avoid complicated incidents such as the aforementioned "Nudey Tunes" incident at the gym and the infamous "airplane incident" of '06.

6. Foy: A fake toy. A regular household item that suddenly becomes your childs object of affection du jour.

ie. The page that I tore out of my Parenting Magazine yesterday is Joey's new foy. He carries it around wherever he goes and cried when we wouldn't let him sleep with it last night.

7. Wuce: The watered-down juice left in the sippy cup when you've "refilled" (a.k.a. dilluted with water) you toddler's juice glass fifteen times in the last hour.

ie. For the first few glasses, Joey is fooled by his wuce, but eventually he catches on and realizes that he's just drinking water, which results in him screaming "Aaaaaapppppplllleeeee jjjjuuuuiiiicccceee Mommy!" over and over and over until I succumb and try to ply him with "Maple Juice" a.k.a. milk mixed with apple juice.

8. Lactivism: The strange, unexplainable passion that even the calmest, least-hippie mommies have about breastfeeding.

ie. How did I, the girl who wouldn't be caught dead marching downtown in a rally, end up being a la leche league card carrying, breastfeeding-in-public-without-regard-to-a-cover-up lactivist?

Two New Babies-- One Happy Day!

2008-01-23T19:19:00.000-08:00

This is my beautiful new nephew Jude. He was born on Monday, Jan 21st weighing in at 7 lbs. 11 oz. He lives all the way up in Kentucky which doesn't make me very happy. I just can't wait to meet the little guy. I'm going up there in a week and a half but it just doesn't seem like it's soon enough. Auntie is coming, baby boy, Auntie is coming.

The exciting news is that Cameron's cousin Ari also had a gorgeous baby girl on Monday the 21st. Evangeline (Eva) Virginia weighed over 9 lbs. and is just gorgeous.

Eggplant Polenta Bake

2008-01-16T07:43:00.000-08:00

Cam's cousin Ari's friend (wow---four degrees of separation there!) is hosting a recipe contest on her blog-- and as we all know, I lo-ove recipe contests. SO, I'm entering it.

I thought about coming up with a new recipe, but I decided that my tried-and-true favorite is just the thing. So, here's a repost of my Eggplant Polenta Bake-- full of nutrition, hearty and simple, and so good that your family (or husbands) won't even notice the veggies!

Eggplant Polenta Bake

-Brown 2 lbs. ground turkey or Italian sausage in a large skillet. Drain.
-Add 1 chopped eggplant (sounds daunting but it's not... just rinse and chop!) and 1 chopped zucchini. Cook for 7-8 minutes with the meat until tender.
-Wilt in an entire 10 oz. bag of baby spinach
-Wilt in a lg. handful of fresh basil.
-Pour 1 jar of crushed tomatoes (or crush 4-5 of your own tomatoes) over the veggies.
-Boil 3 cups of water on the stove. Slowly pour in 1 1/2 cups ground polenta (or coarse cornmeal). Whisk vigorously until the mixture thickens. Add 1 tsp. italian seasoning and 1/2 cup parmesan cheese.
- Spread the polenta mixture on the bottom of a 9 X 13 pan.
-Cover with vegetable mixture.
-Cover with grated mozzarella and parmesan (as much as you'd like!)
-Bake for 30-40 minutes at 350 degrees.

Happy Birthday Joey!

2007-12-27T20:01:00.000-08:00

This is the second time I've gotten teary-eyed today. The first was when Joey decided to wake up at 5:30 this morning. I think the excitement of Christmas and presents and candy and cookies and music and lights got to him and he just couldn't sleep. As I sat blurry-eyed on the couch and tried to find something for him to watch (yes, I resorted to TV...), I imagined that most toddlers were finally going to get the chance to wind down today-- to embrace a day of calm after the craziness of Christmas. Not for us, though. Nope, today held more presents and toys and cupcakes. God sure had a sense of humor when he gave Joey a Christmas birthday. Tears were flowing, and really, can you blame me? (And if you can, I'd like to see you try to explain that presents aren't an every day thing to a two-year-old who has spent the last three days in a constant state of sugar-high).

I'm crying again right now because I just can't believe my baby boy is two. Words are inept to describe the bittersweet feeling of watching your beautiful tiny baby grow and flourish. I cry tears of joy when he wraps his arms around my neck and cries "Hold you, Mommy! Carry you!" (he has his prepositions mixed up right now... so it's "Hold you! Carry you! Hug you!" instead of "Hold me! Carry me! Hug me!"). Part of me wants to stop time, yet more of me is anxious to see what God has in store for my baby boy.

I never imagined that one child could bring so much joy while simultaneously causing so much frustration. I never imagined the delight I'd feel hearing my son express his thoughts, watching as his personality and gifts emerge. Joey, I thank God every day for you. I'm so thankful that you're so full of life and joy. I'm thankful that you have such an exuberant outlook-- that everything is a delight to you. I pray that you learn to channel your strengths-- to use the gifts that God gave you to change the world like I know you will. I pray that I have the patience to smile, even when you smash play dough into my carpet and color on my walls. One day I will treasure these moments... even if they happen at 5 am.

I love you so much. Happy birthday.

Terrible Twos? Ha!

2007-11-16T20:23:00.001-08:00

Some very interesting tidbits that I've recently learned courtesy of Joey:

Did you know...

- That red crayon comes off of walls much easier than it comes off of carpet?

- That if you tear a hole in the lining of a diaper, you will have enough tiny, pee-soaked cotton balls to cover an entire bedroom floor?

- That if you take off your pajamas and fall asleep on your bedroom floor, you will wake up at 2 am freezing cold?

- That play dough turns to clumpy slime when it's wet?

- That even the most patient preschool teachers who love spending time with other people's two-year-olds have a breaking point. Oh, and if your kid's teachers look at each other and sigh when you ask how your kid is doing, you should probably be worried.

- That "Suckerfish" is a fun word to call your sister when she's nursing?

- That even if a professional photographer takes 500 pictures of your two-year-old, more likely than not, one or two will turn out. If that.

Ahhhh... Life as a parent. Gotta love it.

Halloween by the numbers (take 2)

2007-11-01T18:51:00.001-07:00

1-- Number of minutes that it took for Kate to start screaming after I put her costume on. For some reason, she didn't think it was comfortable to have foam balls glued to her back. Imagine that.

2-- The number of years that Joey has worn his elephant costume. I know, I know... I'm a slacker. He just looked so cute in it last year and when I discovered that it still fit, I figured that it was worth wearing twice. Plus, I figure that the 40 hours of work I put into it last year warrents using it twice (or possibly three times... look for Kate the elephant next year).

3-- The number of M & Ms that I let Joey eat last night. I know. I'm such a mean mommy.

4--The number of times that Joey woke up in the middle of the night screaming "More El-phant! More Candy!". Imagine what would've happened if I had let him eat four or five M & Ms.

5-- The number of times I burned myself on the hot glue gun while trying to make Kate's costume. My mom's sewing machine is in storage so I had to get a bit creative with my costume assembling methods.

6-- The number of "chaperones" that Joey and Kate had when we went to the Fall Festival at church. Mom, Dad, Peter & Alisa all tagged along to take pictures.

7-- The number of times that Joey has asked for "Auntie. Choo-Choo. More. Please?" today (his Auntie Alisa took him on the choo-choo last night). I told him next year. He told me NOW. Please.

8--The number of miniature Almond Joys that I ate out of the candy bowl throughout the day. Before you chastize my lack of self-control, might I remind you that I'm a nursing mother.

9-- The number of pictures that I took of Kate hanging out on her Daddy's arm. A bit overboard I admit, but she looked so darn cute perched up there.

10--The number of minutes it took me to fanegal Kate into her costume. No, it wasn't the most practical costume but it sure was adorable.

Two is much better than one

2007-10-04T12:59:00.001-07:00

Everyone warned me that being a mom to two is much harder than being a mom to one. Perhaps. But for me, being a mom to two is ten billion times easier than being a mom to one while pregnant. I'm amazed. Sure, Kate is still sleepy from the hospital and Cameron was home for a week, but I've been on my own for a few days now and I'm loving it. There have been moments, but overall, things have gone really smoothly.

It feels so great not to be pregnant anymore... seriously. Yesterday, I drank two cups of coffee for breakfast and didn't eat anything else until dinner. Was I hungry? Of course. Why did I do it? Because I could. For months, I couldn't go more than a few hours without eating or I'd get sick... but now, I can go hours (heck, days) without eating and feel just fine. Plus, I haven't thrown up in two weeks (a record amount of time). It feels great.

Joey tells you about his baby sister Kate

2007-09-27T15:15:00.001-07:00

Big brother Joey is so proud of his baby sister Kate!

Meet baby Kate

2007-09-26T14:15:00.000-07:00

Kate Ellen
Born Monday, Sept. 24th at 1:13 pm
6 lbs. 10 oz. 18 3/4 inches tall

Put me out of my misery.... please!

2007-09-18T10:44:00.000-07:00

I know that the pregnancy books say that pregnancy only lasts forty weeks but I swear it's much longer than that. Honestly, I can't remember what it feels like to not be pregnant. I know there was a time that I woke up in the morning and didn't have to rush to the bathroom and throw up. Yep, there was a time that I could bend over and pick up my son without getting out of breath. There was even a time that I had more than two pairs of pants that fit. But, that's a distant (and blurry) memory. Right now, I think I've been pregnant forever. Literally forever.

Last week, my hyperemesis took a turn for the worst. Instead of throwing up 4-5 times per day, I started throwing up everything I ate, drank or thought about eating. By Friday morning, I was pretty dehydrated. My doctor had me check my ketones (and fortunately, I have a handy ketone kit left over from my home care days) and they were elevated so they asked me to come into the hospital for an IV. Well, after some blood tests, they found that my potassium levels were dangerously low (which can result in heart failure) and so they admitted me into the hospital. I had to stay overnight and get poked and prodded and loaded up with nine IV bags full of potassium rich fluid.

Honestly, I thought they were just going to deliver my baby. The nurses and doctors stood there trying to figure out which drugs to give me to keep me from throwing up and how to get me hydrated enough to go home. I wanted to scream at them that the perfect solution was to JUST TAKE THE BABY but they didn't listen. Instead, they cited some regulation that my hospital doesn't induce labor for babies less than 39 weeks gestation unless it's a medically critical situation. I was 38 weeks 5 days. Two days short. Needless to say, I'm bitter.

So, here I am, 39 weeks and 2 days pregnant and STILL pregnant. Sure, I have a scheduled c-section on Monday but that's six whole days away and I'm not sure if I can make it. Six more days of throwing up. Six more days of losing my breath everytime I walk up the stairs. Six more days of being unable to chase my son around the living room. Six more days. Feels like a lifetime.

Nesting

2007-09-10T11:39:00.001-07:00

Sept. 4, 2007

My mom says I'm nesting. I don't know about that. I mean, my baseboards are still covered in dust and my laundry room hasn't been cleaned in weeks (OK, months). Yep, my closet is still piled high with old clothes and my desk drawers, well, we won't talk about those. But, I have been working hard to get my nursery and Joey's big boy room done.

I started Joey's big boy room weeks ago. My excuse was that he had to get used to it before the baby came, but in reality, I think I just wanted an excuse to redecorate. I was tired of my cluttered, mis-matched guest room. Now, Joey has a fun "big boy bed" and dresser, a new bookshelf and fun sporty walls.

In the daytime, he loves his room and his big boy bed. He reads books to his "Anmals" and cuddles with his UT Bevo toy Cooper. Nighttime is a different story... the transition hasn't gone as well as I had hoped. While he has slept through the night in his big boy bed a few times, he has also spent plenty of nights in his pack & play because staying in bed is much easier said than done. Every night when he's getting ready for bed he says "Bi bo be" (translation: big boy bed) and then says "Me, stay stay stay!". Well, he usually forgets about the staying part about 5 minutes later and ends up in the pack & play for the night. Oh well. He'll get there, right?

Last week, I spent the week getting this little girl's nursery ready. I wanted it to be bright and girly. It's a spring garden with lots of flowers and leaves and is filled with all things pink and pretty. I can't wait until there's a little girl to put in it. Just two and a half more weeks. Seems like a lifetime...

Babies, puppies & hot summer days

2007-09-10T11:38:00.002-07:00

Talk about a slacker. I haven't written in my blog for over two months. I could make up a glamorous excuse as to why. Maybe I spent the last six weeks riding my bike through the Andes and living off the land (don't laugh... it could happen) or perhaps I went on a road trip culminating in a romantic stay at a bed-and-breakfast in the Napa Valley (that's more like it). But the truth? I've spent the last two months wallowing in the couch in pregnancy-induced pity wondering when this hot, sticky summer is going to end.

I hate being pregnant. H.a.t.e. it. Don't get me wrong, I want this baby more than anything, but at this point, the idea of this baby is still a bit abstract and the hours spent hunching over the toilet are fresh in my mind. I'm tired of being sick. Tired of being tired. Tired of being fat. Tired of everything. And, I have 6 weeks and 4 days to go (I'm having a scheduled c-section on Sept. 24th) and that seems like a lifetime. An absolute lifetime.

With that said, after weeks upon weeks of hot, boring drudgery of pregnant summer, we've had quite the exciting week this week. First, my dog Zoe went into labor and whelped 9 healthy puppies. Not the best timing in the world considering the pups will be seven weeks old when I have my baby, but we have puppies nonetheless. Joey loves them. I'm dreading the day that they are big enough to get out of the whelping box. My husband is looking forward to the day that they go to their forever homes and we get a nice little payday. I'm already dreaming of some new non-pregnancy clothes. Ann Taylor Loft, here I come (talk about wishful thinking... as if I'll fit into non-pregnancy clotehs anytime soon).

Second, my first nephew Jacob was born on Tuesday morning. He is just precious (check out his picture above). Unfortunately, he's caught a bit of an infection and is currently spending a few days in the NICU. The doctors think he'll be fine, but that doesn't make me worry less. Nonetheless, I'm in love with my new little baby and I'm getting my baby fix from holding him. I'm still not impressed that I have more than six weeks to go... but having a stretchy, sleepy baby in my arms definitely eases the pain.

I promise it won't be this long again. Well, at least for awhile... once this baby is born, who knows what I'll find to occupy my time.

finding out

2007-09-10T11:38:00.001-07:00

April 30, 2007

I have my twenty-week ultrasound where I can find out whether this baby is a girl or a boy on Thursday. I'm feeling a bit conflicted about whether or not I should find out. I really, really want to know. I'm not the patient type. I want to get the nursery ready. I want to pick out a name. I want to go shopping. Still, part of me thinks that maybe it would be best if I didn't find out. You see, I'm afraid that my disappointment about the gender might plague the rest of this pregnancy. A very unkosher thing to say, but I'm saying it nonetheless.

I want to say that I will be happy with whatever sex as long as the baby is healthy. That's what all of the PC moms are saying. That's the "right" thing to say. But, the truth is, I won't be happy with whatever sex. At least at first. I confess. I want a girl and I want a girl bad.

I'm not saying that I won't love a little boy because I know I will, but I also know that it'll take some time getting used to. I've always wanted a little girl. A girl to play dress-up and tea party with, to go shopping with and to teach about girly things like make-up and Kate Spade bags. I also don't want to get pregnant again (I may change my mind, but for now, this is it). With that said, I'm really hoping and praying for a girl this time.

So, what do you all think? Should I find out?

Another ER visit

2007-09-10T11:37:00.001-07:00

Seriously, I think that the ER doctors are starting to know me by name. Next time I go, they'll probably have my favorite latte waiting for me at check-in and my favorite music playing on the loud speakers. They should. I've been there enough lately.

Today's trip to the ER started at Costco. We walked through the door and Joey started to shiver. At first, we thought it was the fans. It was eighty degrees out so we laughed at his chattering teeth and rubbed his arms a few times. By the time we made it to the back of the store, he was shaking pretty hard. We decided that maybe he really was cold in the store so we decided to head home and come back to Costco another day. He continued shivering in the car. We cranked the heat (I know, I know, rookie mistake) and sweated through the trip home.

By the time we got home, Joey was trembling hard. I brought him upstairs and took his temperature and was shocked to see that it was 104. I wasn't overly worried. He was acting normally apart from the shivering and he's had fevers higher than 105 before. I took him downstairs and gave him some Motrin and rubbed his back for awhile. When his fever didn't drop, I called the pediatrician.

The pediatrician said that while his temperature was high, he was probably fine and told me to give him a luke-warm bath. I hung up the phone and as I stood to put him in the bath, his body convulsed. A few seconds later, he was in a full-in seizure, with his eyes rolled into the back of his head and his body convulsing. My husband grabbed the baby and I called 911.

The seizure stopped a few minutes later (the longest few minutes of my life) and Joey immediately lost consciousness. The 911 operator said that his body was so exhausted from seizing that he simply couldn't maintain consciousness. We were told to check his breathing and keep him cool and wait for the ambulance.

The ambulance arrived with lights and sirens and the paramedics were able to wake Joey up. They checked his vitals and hooked him up to a whole bunch of monitors and whisked him into the ambulance to head to the children's hospital. There, he was rushed into the children's ER and stabilized. The doctor did a variety of tests and we waited and waited and waited while Joey was put on observation.

In the end, they determined that Joey had suffered a febrile seizure from a sudden spike in temperature. They gave him medication and sent us home, asking us to wake him up every couple of hours to make sure his fever stayed under 102. They said that there is a good chance that he'll have another seizure in the next few days, so we're under strict instructions to call 911 as soon as his fever starts to spike. I'm nervous. The doctor didn't seem too worried.

So, we're home now. Joey's asleep in his room and sleeping soundly. His fever is down and hopefully it'll stay down. For now, I'm just hoping to avoid another trip to the ER. I've spent enough time there lately.

scar face

2007-09-10T11:35:00.002-07:00

March 27, 2007

An overly-tired toddler. A slippery pair of socks. A house full of guests all laughing and playing. A small slice of chocolate cake. Sound like a recipe for disaster? Well, it was.

We had friends over for dinner on Saturday night and Joey took quite the tumble. He was tired and loopy and on a sugar-high (I know, I know, I should know better) and a running sprint to give me a hug turned into a crash against the banister that resulted in a cut on his eye that went through to the bone.

I heard it before I saw it; a sickening thud that made my stomach turn. I quickly picked him up and saw the shiny white bone and the blood squirting out and I lost it. I handed Joey over to his Daddy and turned to the wall to keep my balance. Fortunately, one of the friends who was over for dinner happened to be a doctor so he helped us stop the bleeding and get Joey loaded into the car to head to the ER.

In the ER, they strapped my little boy to a “papoose” and stitched him right up while he screamed bloody murder and wailed “no no no no no no!”. It was over in a matter of minutes although my heart pounded for hours. Now he’s no worse for the wear, other than the inch-long bright red cut across his head. His supermodeling career just might be over, but that’s OK. He still has professional football, right?

That mythical second trimester

2007-09-10T11:35:00.001-07:00

That mythical second trimester

I know that there really is such thing as the second trimester. I’ve even met some pregnant mothers who have actually experienced it. In fact, just the other day, I met a mother who was seventeen months along and just thrilled to be living in the second trimester. Her morning sickness had all but disappeared. She wasn’t so huge that she was uncomfortable yet her adorable belly was poking out over her still-buttoned jeans. I met another second trimester mama who actually had the audacity to admit that she was enjoying being pregnant. Actually liking it. Imagine that.

For me, I’ve never experienced the second trimester. My pregnancies start out in the first trimester like everyone else’s. I get all of the nausea and vomiting, bloating and gas, queasiness and exhaustion that comes hand-in-hand with the first trimester. The problem is that my first trimester doesn’t end at fourteen weeks like the baby books say it does. Instead, that my morning sickness and fatigue hang on for a few extra weeks, finally making their exit somewhere around twenty-two weeks when they’ve more than outstayed their welcome.

Of course, by the time I’m twenty-two weeks, I’m too huge and bloated and exhausted to truly feel the energy burst of the second trimester. Nope, I skip right over those rosy-cheeked glory days of pregnancy and go straight to my third trimester. Yes, I spend the last eighteen weeks or so of my pregnancy living with the third trimester bliss of impossible insomnia and a larger-than-life body.

Right now, I’m fifteen weeks along and praying that somehow this first trimester thing will end and I will experience the mythical second trimester. I know it’s a long shot, but maybe I’ll wake up tomorrow morning and roll over and not have to race to the bathroom to throw up. Maybe, just maybe, I’ll find the energy to chase my son around the living room for two hours straight and still throw together a gourmet dinner from scratch. Maybe. Stranger things have happened, right? I mean, I met a woman yesterday who said that she actually liked being pregnant.

weight gain

2007-09-10T11:34:00.003-07:00

March 20, 2007

Status Check:
12 weeks 4 days pregnant
153 lbs. (and growing by the minute)

I gained five pounds last week. Five whole pounds. I went to Kentucky to visit my brother and came back five pounds heavier and not happy about it. Sure, I want to gain weight while pregnant but five pounds in one week is a bit excessive. I remember reading a chart in my doctor’s office saying that I should try to gain 2-3 lbs. during my first trimester. A trimester is 12 weeks long. Somehow I don’t think that gaining five pounds in one week really fits into that plan. Ugh.

There’s something about being pregnant that just makes a body pack on the weight. Seriously, I eat a carrot, I gain a pound. I eat a cheeseburger, I gain five. It’s that simple. The catch-22 to this whole situation is that I’m constantly starving and could easily down three cheeseburgers in one sitting and wash them down with a chocolate milkshake. So, I’m stuck in this strange world where eating is a must but doing so means inevitable weight gain. Can I say ugh again?

So, this week, I decided to try to eat healthy. I had salmon and asparagus last night for dinner and tonight I’m roasting a whole chicken and serving it with spinach salad. My hope is that this will slow down the weight gain a little bit. Of course, more likely than not, that salmon will go right to my hips and that spinach to my belly. Oh well, I can lose it when the baby comes, right?

Stuffing your bra

2007-09-10T11:34:00.001-07:00

March 12, 2007

Status Check:
11 weeks 4 days pregnant
148 lbs.

I’ve taken to stuffing my bra lately. No, I haven’t regressed to my teenage years when a little toilet paper served to enhance my favorite T-shirt, but instead, I am in the rare situation of being a pregnant woman with a freshly weaned son and temporarily shriveled breasts. Additionally, I’m stuck in limbo between my newly weaned figure and my looming second trimester when my breasts will certainly grow and hopefully begin to fill my bras again.

Two weeks ago, my doctor informed me that due to the combination of medicines that I’m on, I’d have to cold-turkey wean my son. Emotionally, I wasn’t ready and therefore, I cried for hours. Physically, I was unprepared for the intense pain of weaning that nobody warned me about. Weaning hurts. Bad. I spent three days with my breasts bound in ace bandages and ice packs on my chest before I was finally able to cuddle my son again.

Then, last Thursday, I woke up and felt intense relief as the pain in my chest had resided and I actually felt like myself again. My relief was short lived as I glanced in the mirror and noticed that my boobs were no longer full and round and perky, but instead were flat, saggy, lumpy and about a third the size that they were before. Talk about a shocker. I was even more shocked when I went to get dressed and my bras were all at least two sizes too big. Two sizes. With going braless out of the option, I did what any self-appreciating woman would do. I stuffed and I stuffed it well.

Anyway, since I know my breasts will grow again soon, I’m thinking about holding off on bra shopping. I’m pregnant for goodness sakes! Last time I was pregnant I remember buying a new bra every other week, so I’m thinking that perhaps I might just wait this one out instead of spending $100 on bras that I’ll wear for a few weeks. Plus, for now, stuffing with nursing pads is working much better than wads of toilet paper. They’re perfectly contoured and fill the bra quite nicely. Another life lesson that I learned about ten years too late.

Super hero nose

2007-09-10T11:33:00.002-07:00

March 5, 2007

Status Check:
10 weeks 4 days pregnant
141 lbs.

Like many pregnant woman, my nose has decided to go into hyper-drive and is so overly sensitive to smells that the slightest change in scent can make me instantly heave. I can smell my son’s dirty diaper before it’s even dirty and smell my dogs from outside even when they’ve just had a bath. I wake up in the middle of the night and gag because I can smell the dirty laundry in my closet or the leftover chicken in the refrigerator. My husband swears that I’ve somehow developed superhero sense of smell a la Heroes and that soon the government will come looking for me for a top-secret spy smelling mission. My nose is that good.

If someone opens the refrigerator, even if I’m in the other room, I have to hold my breath or risk vomiting. I put on deodorant constantly. I hate the smell of deodorant but the smell of B.O. is worse. I catch a whiff of my own sweat and gag about four times a day (gross, I know). I hate the smell of toothpaste, mouthwash and gum, but the smell of bad breath makes me retch. Shampoo, soap and laundry detergent are out, but so are sweaty scalps, dirty hands and stinky t-shirts. Don’t even come near me with a glass of water the reek of plain old water will really turn my stomach. Oh, and don’t even get me started on the scents that waft into my car from fast food restaurants as I drive by. I’m shuddering just thinking about it.

So, as you can imagine, I’m a blast to spend time with. My husband is under strict orders not to wear deodorant or use shampoo, but also to make sure that he never smells like BO, sweat or dirt. Oh, and he can’t have bad breath but he’s also not allowed to brush his teeth or use mouthwash. No, at my house, you can’t open the refrigerator, eat any smelly food, or drive by fast food restaurants. And don’t even think about drinking a glass of water. Ew. So, as long as nobody does any of these things (or anything else smelly), we get along just fine. Wow, it’s sure fun being pregnant and crazy with a super hero nose.

Tales of a twenty-eight-year-old drama queen

2007-09-10T11:33:00.001-07:00

Tales of a 28-year-old drama queen

Status check:
8 weeks, 5 days pregnant
Weight: 142 lbs.

I’m not typically a huge wimp when it comes to needles. Sure, I don’t like them, but I can handle the occasional prick without hyperventilating or crying. That’s why I wasn’t even overly nervous when I found out that I was getting a subcutaneous pump installed to slowly dispense medication into my system throughout the day. Sure, I freaked out a little about the idea of a needle going into my inner thigh or stomach, but I wasn’t hysterical.
The hysterics started when the nurse informed me that I would have to install the pump myself. Basically, the pump runs into a vein through a tiny tube which is easily disrupted and yanked out. That said, since I am on home care and able to stay home right now, I need to know how to insert my own pump should I need to insert it myself. A nurse can’t come running to my house at all hours of the day or night to re-insert my pump. The thought of giving myself a shot really sent me over the edge. As you can imagine *hysterical* breathing and desperate whining commenced. It wasn’t a pretty sight.

I really lost it when the nurse explained that the process involved holding a needle six inches above my leg (my chosen spot of entry) and jamming it in with force to make sure it completely penetrates the skin. That’s right. Six inches above my leg. Slamming it down with force. Slamming a needle into my own leg with force. You’d be hysterical, too, right? Please tell me I’m not the only drama queen around.

Well, after all is said and done, the process wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought it would be. The nurse “helped” me insert the needle by slamming my hands down for me, and it honestly didn’t hurt much. The IV that the nurse inserted hurt much worse. Needless to say, I’m being extremely careful not to yank my pump out and so far, I haven’t had any mishaps. I will have to change out the tubing tomorrow because it shouldn’t be in the same spot for more than 72 hours, but until then, I have a temporary reprieve from stabbing myself.

Could you do it?

Would you rather

2007-09-10T11:32:00.002-07:00

Monday, February 19th, 2007

Status check:
8 weeks 3 days pregnant
144 lbs.

My doctor put me on home care. I’m thrilled (well, as thrilled as I can be considering the fact that I am sick, have needles sticking in my arm and have seven more months of this to look forward to). Basically, home care is a way that I can stay out of the hospital and be home to take care of my son, while still getting the care that I need. I will have daily ketone checks and dehydration checks and a nurse will visit me frequently to administer IVs and medication. Additionally, I’ll get consultations by dietitians, doctors and nurses to help me gain weight and keep it on. I’m feeling a bit teary-eyed right now because I just got the call that not only is my insurance company covering this care, but they’re covering it at 100%. I’m quite blessed.

Anyway, did you ever play the game “would you rather” when you were a kid? You know, you ask someone to choose between two equally horrible things and see what they’d rather do. Would you rather kick a puppy or drink a glass of toilet water? Would you rather eat raw cow tongue or a chicken eyeball? Would you rather listen to Barry Manilow on repeat on your IPOD for the next ten years or be stuck watching re-runs of Olsen twin movies for five years straight. You get the picture.

I was given a real-life would you rather by my home nurse this morning and I’m still going back and forth trying to decide between two equally terrible choices. I’m getting a Reglan/Zofran pump installed. That basically means that I will have a small tube running directly into a major vein that will constantly administer my needed medication into my bloodstream. The tube will run to a cell-phone sized box that I will have attached to my body at all times that will monitor my medication levels. My “would you rather” decision? I can either have the pump installed on my inner thigh or my lower abdomen. Fun choice, eh?
I’m leaning towards the thigh, but I’m having doubts. Honestly, I imagine that the giant needle will probably hurt less on my abdomen. I have a c-section scar down there and the area is still a bit numb. Still, I’m not sure that I want a tube running out of my abdomen for the next five months, especially as my belly stretches and grows. Additionally, I think it would be easier to carry a cell-phone sized pump around while strapped to my leg instead of my already ballooning abdomen. Still, I’m already cringing at the thought of a needle going into my inner thigh. A real-life “would you rather” that I really don’t want to answer.

What would you choose?

Water margaritas

2007-09-10T11:32:00.001-07:00

Tuesday, February 13th, 2007

Status Check:
7 weeks 4 days pregnant
148 lbs.

Water Margaritas and sit-down showers

Throwing up while pregnant is a whole different ballgame than your run-of-the-mill stomach flu. When you’re not pregnant, the best way to avoid throwing up is not to eat, because if there’s nothing to throw up, then you won’t throw up. This doesn’t work when you’re pregnant. First of all, allowing your stomach to be empty is the surest way to find yourself hunched over the toilet. Second, if you don’t have anything in your stomach to throw up, your body will find something. I swear. Bile. Blood. Water. Stomach Acid. Gross, I know, but so true.

So, while I was pregnant with Joey, I desperately searched for ways to keep food down and keep myself from throwing up in public and embarrassing places. The best trick I learned is never to drink while eating. The nurses in the hospital taught me this one and it’s still serving me well. I have no idea what the medical reason behind this is, but basically, you’re supposed to avoid anything liquid within an hour of solid food. That means no soup for dinner and no glass of water with lunch. This gets a bit tricky as you are supposed to drink a lot of water while pregnant, but with some forethought, you can do it.

Another great trick I learned is water margaritas. Anyone who has been pregnant will tell you that regular old drinking water just won’t cut it when you’re pregnant. No, when you’re pregnant, water has to be cold and has to taste really fresh. A glass of water that has been sitting around for a few minutes just won’t do. In my quest for really, really cold and really, really fresh water, I discovered my favorite cocktail, the water margarita. It’s really quite simple. Take a ton of ice, a little bit of cold water and blend it in the blender until slushy. Drink. Sip. Enjoy.

Finally, my other saving grace is the sit-down shower. For some reason, the combination of standing up and hot steam does me in every time. For weeks, I would throw up within moments of stepping into the shower. I was about ready to give up showering all together when my husband suggested that I sit on the floor and let the water flow down on me. Since steam rises and the water is a bit cooler down there, it works like a charm. It’s a bit tricky to wash your hair and face while sitting down, but it’s worth it.

I love my mother-in-law

2007-09-10T11:31:00.003-07:00

Friday, February 9th, 2007

Status Check:
7 weeks 0 days pregnant
148 lbs.

I’ve never loved my mother-in-law more. After hearing a teary diatribe from me last night about morning sickness and my inability to watch her grandson, she talked to her boss and somehow finagled two weeks of medical leave to come stay with us and take care of Joey while I try to manage my hyperemesis (which, by the way, is the medical term given for extreme nausea and vomiting in pregnancy). She arrives tomorrow and it literally couldn’t be soon enough. I’ve spent the last few days throwing up, trying to keep a decent eye on Joey and crying to anyone who is willing to listen about how badly I feel and how much help I need. My parents both came and helped for a significant amount of time during the week, but they both work stressful jobs and simply can’t take long periods of time off. My mother-in-law is a godsend. I really need the break. Really, before I decide to even think about getting pregnant again, please remind me of this. I don’t know how I forgot what this felt like so quickly.

Morning sickness

2007-09-10T11:31:00.001-07:00

Tuesday, February 6th, 2007

Status Check:
6 weeks 4 days pregnant
149 lbs.

Just when I started to get hopeful about the whole morning sickness thing, it hit me. Yesterday, I felt fine. A little queasy at the smell of the refrigerator but nothing that I couldn’t fix with a really cold glass of water and a handful of trail mix. This morning, it hit me, and hit me hard. I woke up, rolled out of bed and started throwing up. I haven’t stopped since. I called my ob and he immediately prescribed me Zofran, the drug that helped me significantly during my last pregnancy. The good news is that Zofran finally has a generic form, so the $28.00 per pill price tag has dropped significantly, making it much more affordable and giving my insurance company less reason to balk at the bill. The bad news is that my tolerance to Zofran has decreased after my heavy reliance on it during my last pregnancy, so its effectiveness is minimal. I have been able to eat a little today without throwing up, but I feel myself going downhill fast.

While I hate throwing up and hate feeling awful, I’m mostly worried about little Joey. I’m having a really hard time caring for him as the getting up and down and chasing him around the house is only making me throw up more. It seems like every time I settle into a comfortable spot on the couch with the little guy in view, he decides to do something like attempt to climb the stairs or knock the lamp over. Then, I stand up and start throwing up, which in turn, gives him more time to get into mischief. Let’s hope I can figure this out, because I have a long, long way to go.

Weight gain

2007-09-10T11:30:00.001-07:00

Friday, February 2nd, 2007

Status Check:
6 weeks 0 days pregnant
148 lbs.

I gained 52 pounds when I was pregnant with Joey. Before you all balk at my lack of self-control, I want to qualify this 52 pound weight gain with the fact that I threw up daily for the entire nine months of my pregnancy and don’t remember eating anything the entire pregnancy. I don’t get it. I still can’t fathom how a few saltine crackers and several pounds of IV fluid equated to 52 lbs. But it did. I was horrified when I went into delivery and tipped the scales at 199 lbs.

My only consolation was that my husband still weighed a few (not many) pounds more than I did. Still, I was upset enough about my weight gain that I kept this nasty little secret to myself for months afterwards. I even lied to my mom and my sister, telling them that I only gained 35 lbs., knowing that neither would dare to comment on the fact that it sure looked like more than 35 measly pounds. In fact, the truth about my incredible weight gain just surfaced a few weeks ago when I finally had the courage to admit that I gained nearly double the recommended weight gain. Even worse, if you count the fact that I lost 15 lbs. in my first trimester, I gained a grand total of 67 pounds. I’m still appalled.

I have all sorts of excuses for my weight gain. Part of me knows (just knows) that this was all water retention. My son must have been swimming (literally swimming) in that amniotic fluid. Additionally, I think there is a chance that the hospital (and doctor’s office) scales are a bit off. I mean, really, they get a lot of use and they’re sure to break down eventually. But, the reality of it is that I just gained a lot of weight. I honestly don’t think there is much I could’ve done to avoid it and to my defense, I did lose it all fairly quickly. I lost 36 lbs. before I left the hospital (which goes to show that my water-retention theory isn’t completely off-base) and lost the rest within months.
The reason that I’m sharing my dirty-little secret with the world is twofold. First, I want all of you pregnant mothers who want to cry every time you get weighed at the doctor’s office to rest assured that you’re not the only one. You’re definitely not the only one who has gained too much weight and you’re definitely not the only one who can’t figure out where those pounds have come from. Second, for those of you pregnant woman who have gained a measly thirty or thirty-five pounds, I’d love to hear your secrets. I’m sure you’re reading this and laughing at all of the poor souls who couldn’t help but gain seven pounds every time they ate a grape, so the least you can do is share your secrets. I’m still puzzled by how you have done it.

So, this time, I’m going to try to be honest about my weight gain. I admit that I’ll probably be tempted to fudge my weight gain a little, but eventually I’ll come clean. So, when you see my weight gain ballooning, rest assured that I’m just letting nature take it’s course this time. I’m sure I’ll gain an exorbitant amount of weight again. I’m sure that I’ll cry and hem and haw about the injustice of it. But, I’m also sure that I’m not the only one struggling and that one day, not too far off, I’ll be wearing my size 6 jeans again. Let’s hope so at least.

Hot Dogs

2007-09-10T11:29:00.004-07:00

Wednesday, January 31, 2007

Status check
5 weeks 5 days pregnant
148 lbs.

This morning, I seriously considered writing a long diatribe about how I’ve been craving broccoli and spinach and lean protein and running five miles every morning. I could’ve impressed you with my incredible health-conscious attitude and my love for all things vegetable. I could’ve bragged about how I’m the only woman on the face of this earth who faces her pregnancy with healthy snacks and moderate exercise all while managing a job and a perfectly-clean house. I really considered it. You would’ve been so impressed by me. But, that would’ve been a lie.

Instead, I’ve spent the last four days doing everything I can to resist my intense cravings for hot dogs (yes, hot dogs… ew!) while wallowing in my own exhaustion on the couch with a sink full of dirty dishes in the kitchen and four loads of laundry sitting on my laundry-room floor. I drove by 7-11 yesterday and saw a picture of a hot dog and literally had to force myself to keep driving instead of running inside and smothering it in mustard and consuming it in two bites I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I don’t usually like hot dogs at all, but right now, a big, juicy hot dog is pretty much at the forefront of my every waking thought. I haven’t consumed one yet, but its doubtful that I’ll make it through the weekend.

Really, the fact that I’m craving hot dogs is a good thing. It means that I’m not sick (yet). In fact, apart from feeling exhausted and weak, pretty much the only thing I am feeling is hungry. I literally feel like I could consume anything and everything in sight. I was so sick during my last pregnancy that I never craved a thing and never felt hungry, so this pregnancy hunger sensation is a new feeling for me. Let’s hope it lasts. Until then, I’ll be satisfying this hunger with celery and carrots and fresh strawberries… ha ha. Who am I kidding… we all know that I’ll probably eat three hot dogs and a bag of chips for lunch.

starving

2007-09-10T11:29:00.003-07:00

Wednesday, January 24th, 2007

Status Check:
4 weeks 5 days pregnant
147 lbs.

All I can think about is food right now. Visions of ice cream sundaes and French fries are dancing in my head. I started thinking about lunch about three minutes after I finished breakfast. It’s 10:00 am and I’ve already had a snack. I emailed my husband and explained to him that he was going to be taking me out to dinner tonight and that I would probably order an appetizer… and a dessert. For some reason (what could it be?), I’m famished.

Fortunately, my appetite is justified. The nurse called me back this morning. My ob-gyn is recommending that I eat 700-900 additional calories each day to make sure that both Joey and my new baby are getting the nutrients that they need. They also think that it wouldn’t hurt if I gained a few pounds right now so that if I do get sick again, I will have a little bit more meat on me. I hung up the phone grinning. Cheeseburgers and onion rings, here I come!
Unfortunately, my sister, who happens to be a registered dietitian burst my bubble about ten minutes after I started dreaming of weeks of food-filled heaven. She said that while French fries and cheeseburgers and ice cream and cookies will definitely help me gain weight, it won’t be the healthy, nutrient-filled weight that I need. So sad. Instead, she recommended eating extra snacks like nuts and trail mix, adding peanut butter to apples and celery, drinking whole milk in my decaf coffee and buying whole milk yogurt instead of fat free.

So, for the next few weeks, I’m on a mission to gain five pounds. Sadly, it won’t be nearly as fun as I always dreamed it would be. I’ll probably still sneak a few slices of pizza and ice cream cones in there, but for the good of my babies, my snacking will most likely be on healthy, high calorie foods. Gaining weight isn’t nearly as fun as I thought it would be.

Breastfeeding and pregnant

2007-09-10T11:29:00.001-07:00

Tuesday, January 23rd, 2007

Status Check:
4 weeks 4 days pregnant
147 lbs.

I called my ob-gyn today to make an appointment for my first pre-natal check. I chatted with the nurse for awhile about pregnancy and breastfeeding as I’m really not ready to wean Joey. Not ready at all. The nurse was actually very encouraging. She said that they don’t think it’s necessary for pregnant woman to wean until about 24 weeks at the earliest. What’s more, she cited some recent research that breastfeeding can actually help to regulate a woman’s hormones in early pregnancy leading to reduced nausea and morning sickness. That was music to my ears. She also recommended that I start taking Premesis (a prescription pre-natal vitamin), that I take 1200 mg. of calcium a day. So, I’m off to HEB to fill my prescription and buy some citracal.

The calm before the storm

2007-09-10T11:28:00.003-07:00

Sunday, January 21st, 2007

Status Check:
4 weeks 2 days pregnant
147 lbs.

I’m pregnant. I’m pregnant. I keep having to remind myself because I don’t really feel pregnant. I’m not bloated. I’m not tired. I’m not even nauseous. I feel pretty much the same as always, except for this lurking thought in the back of my mind that I’m pregnant. In less than nine months, I will have another tiny life to take care of. I will have a tiny baby to cuddle and a tiny hand to hold.

Right now, I’m feeling like I’m sitting smack-dab in the middle of the calm before the storm. I’m feeling good but I know that all of the aches and pains of pregnancy are probably just around the corner. With Joey, I didn’t even know I was pregnant until I was six weeks along. I remember feeling pretty good for the first week or so and then the nausea hit me like a ton of bricks. By the time I was eight weeks along, I spending the majority of my time in the ER, hooked up to an IV as I was simply unable to eat or drink. At ten weeks, I was hospitalized, admitted for dehydration and weight loss. I was not one of the fortunate ones whose nausea went away after my first trimester. Instead, I battled constant nausea and vomiting for the entire pregnancy. What was I thinking?

I sat down and calculated it out today. If I follow the pattern of my last pregnancy, I should be OK for the next few weeks. I’m going to live it up as much as I can. I already wrote a list for my husband. In the next two weeks, I want to go to Trudy’s for stuffed avacados and Central Market for blackberry French toast. I want spicy coconut soup from Firebowl and Mexican vanilla ice cream from Amy’s. I want cannelloni from Brick Oven and a greasy hamburger from Red Robin. I figure that since I probably won’t be eating a lot after that, I need to eat well while I can. That’s exactly what I’m going to do.

Pregnant...

2007-09-10T11:28:00.001-07:00

January 19th, 2007

So much for my vow to be patient. I can’t stand it. My period is officially late now and I’m hemming and hawing about taking another test. Sure, I’ve already wasted three tests this week. Sure, if I wait a few more days, then I’ll know for sure. Sure, I promised just yesterday that I’d wait at least two days before testing again. But, I just can’t stand it. I’m taking a test. Results pending…. Be back in five.

It took a few minutes but a faint blue plus sign appeared in the window. Now I’m freaking out. Yesterday, I was freaking out because I’d taken three negative pregnancy tests. Today, I’m freaking out because I took one positive one. Part of me is ecstatic. I’m pregnant. I’m going to have a baby. The other part of me scared. I’m scared to death that I’m going to be sick again. I’m scared that I’m not going to be able to take care of Joey while pregnant and nauseous and sick. I’m scared that something is going to happen to this tiny life. I’m scared that I’m not going to be able to manage two babies. The roller coaster has started moving and there’s no getting out now. So, I guess all I can do is buckle up, smile and enjoy the ride.

wasting tests

2007-09-10T11:27:00.002-07:00

January 18th, 2007

How many pregnancy tests do I have to waste before I realize that it’s my money that I’m tossing in the garbage. I mean, really. The test says in big letters that there is a significant chance that I will get a negative result even if I am pregnant if I test too early. So, why am I sitting here, staring at my third negative pregnancy test in a week? I’ve vowed not to take any more tests until at least Saturday, the day after my period is due. No more. I will be patient. I will be patient. I will be patient.

Negative

2007-09-10T11:27:00.001-07:00

January 15, 2007

And, it was negative. Seriously, I’m feeling really disappointed and I have no idea why. I mean, we’ve been trying for one whole month. It’s five days before my period is due so it could be a false negative. Seriously. This is a bit pathetic, but I’m sitting here crying nonetheless.

Instant gratification

2007-09-10T11:25:00.001-07:00

January 10, 2007

I am not a patient person. I’m all for instant gratification. At my house, we tevo all of our favorite shows so that we don’t have to wait through the commercials. We order our pizza already-cooked and buy our wine already-chilled. I often shop on the internet, but I also often upgrade to one-day shipping as I simply cannot wait any longer for my shipment to arrive. I like things fast. I like things now. I hate to wait. With this said, this whole waiting game is driving me nuts. Am I pregnant? Am I not? I just want to know. Sure, my period is due in a little more than a week and I’ll know for sure then, but a week sounds like an awful long time to wait.

January 14th, 2007

I’ve been scouring the internet to find out when is really the absolute, tip-top, utmost, without-a-doubt earliest that a pregnancy test can come back positive. Of course, sources vary. While I did find a few articles that said I could take a home pregnancy test as many as 7 days before my period, the general consensus on-line was that it’s best to wait at least until the day that your period should start. Naturally, being a hate-to-wait-and-see type of person, I didn’t like (or heed) this advice. Instead, I went to the drugstore and bought a pregnancy test. The box said “Positive results sooner than any other test!” across the front. Inside, the package directions said that if taken four days before a missed period, a woman who is actually pregnant has a 53% chance of getting a positive result. Those odds are good enough for me.

My period is due in five days. I explained to my husband over dinner tonight that if I take a pregnancy test tomorrow morning, I have a 53% chance of getting a positive result if I’m truly pregnant. For some reason, my husband (who used to be a math teacher) didn’t like those odds. He rationally pointed out that if I just waited until Friday, the day my period is actually due, I’ll have a 98% chance of getting a positive result if I’m truly pregnant. According to Mr. Rational (and I must say, Mr. Frugal), it would be a waste of money to use a pregnancy test on a day with only 50-50 odds of a correct result.

I’ve been stewing all night. The pregnancy test sits on my bathroom counter, tempting me, while my husband has decided to play the lets-be-smart-about-money-and-not-take-unecessary-pregnancy-tests game. I’m not going for that. I’ve resorted to begging and pleading. What if… what IF…I do get a positive result? We could tell our parents early and start planning and get all happy and excited a week before we otherwise would know. Come on, sweetie. It’ll be fun. It’s just one pregnancy test, just one. I got it on sale, anyway. And, for real, there’s even a free test in the box. I’m sure that the manufacturers did that for just this reason.

He finally gave into my pleading. He’s a sucker for my smile (or maybe the memories of a pregnant and crying wife are too fresh in his mind). Anyway, tomorrow morning, I take a test first thing in the morning. I’ll let you know how it goes.

Romance of trying

2007-09-10T11:24:00.001-07:00

January 6, 2007

Who knew that “trying” could be so stressful. We’ve never “tried” before. My pregnancy with Joey was a wonderful “accident” that took us completely by surprise. So, the idea of “trying” is new to us. For a few days it was fun. We hurried to put Joey to bed and then spent the evenings together, eating romantic dinners and making out on the couch. We winked at each other during the day and even “tried” one morning before the baby woke up and my husband had to scurry off to work.

Just when I was beginning to enjoy the whole “trying” thing, I foolishly decided to check out an on-line fertility calculator. It started out simply enough. I wrote in the first day of my last period and it calculated my fertile days for the month. It claimed that I had a small chance of getting pregnant on Jan. 3rd and 4th and that my most fertile days were Jan. 5th-8th. A quick glance at the calendar showed me that I only had two more fertile days left in the month. We were suddenly facing a looming deadline. No more spontaneity. No more romance. We had to get crackin’.

All of a sudden, “trying” went from being fun, spontaneous and easy-going to a stressful race-against the fertility clock. We did end up “trying” as much as possible during my most fertile days, but I have to admit that I’m a little worn out. At last, the fertility calendar says that I’m not fertile anymore so we can have a few weeks off from “trying” and get back into the normal groove of our marriage. Of course, now it’s a waiting game.

Ready to try...

2007-09-10T11:21:00.000-07:00

January 1, 2007

The decision to have another baby was an easy one. Really, I started craving another tiny sweet-smelling newborn about two weeks after I brought Joey home from the hospital. It wasn’t that I didn’t love Joey or even that I didn’t have my hands full, but simply that I knew that I wanted lots of children and that each child would bring additional joy and life into our household. Yes, having a baby has been difficult at times. Late nights, lack of sleep, dirty diapers and a crazy toddler definitely have taken their toll on me, but sweet kisses and musical babbling more than make up for the trials of parenting and I have always wanted a household full of the laughter of children.

While the decision to have another baby was an easy one, the decision to get pregnant again wasn’t quite so easy. My last pregnancy was no piece of cake. I had morning sickness to the extreme. I threw up multiple times every day for the entire nine months, and ended up spending a good amount of time in the hospital fighting dehydration and weight loss. I swore I would never, ever, ever do it again. When I was pregnant, I couldn’t imagine how any baby could possibly be worth the misery. Of course, the instant my son was born, I had no doubt that every moment, every long night spent hovering over the toilet, every embarrassing time that I threw up in public was worth it. Worth every moment.

I spent the last two months fighting these two conflicting ideas. I want another baby. I don’t want to be pregnant. But, I do want another baby. We considered adoption, but decided that adoption takes several years and that while we may keep that option open in the future, we’d like to have a couple of kids close together first. So, a few weeks ago, we decided to go for it. I knew I was most likely getting myself into months of misery. I knew I’d probably spend days sitting on the bathroom floor throwing up while entertaining an active toddler. I knew I’d probably kick myself for even thinking I was ready to be pregnant again. But, I also knew that the moment I held that precious baby in my arms, I’d forget all about the pain. I know it’ll be worth it. So, with that said, we are officially “trying”.

Snow in Texas

2007-09-08T14:59:00.000-07:00

It never snows in Texas. Never. Well, almost never. Over the last few days, we’ve had a winter storm that brought freezing rain, slush, sleet, ice and “snow” (if you can call it that). I grew up in Bend, Oregon, right at the base of the Cascade Mountains, and in a town where snow means *snow*. Growing up, we shoveled our driveways early in the morning, moving several feet of snow just to get to school on time (and then walked to school barefoot and uphill both ways). Snow days were few and far between and required more than three feet of snow in addition to black ice. A light dusting of snow or a thin layer of ice was child’s play to us snow veterans.

Well, in Texas, a light dusting of snow and a thin layer of ice means city-wide closures, empty roads, traffic accidents, and creative snow play. It’s almost comical for those of us who are used to winter weather. On Monday, our temperatures dropped below freezing around noon. Grocery stores closed. News reporters dramatically explained the treacherous conditions. People waited in hour-long lines to get firewood and bottled water. School was cancelled. People were warned to stay indoors and stay warm.

Now it’s Wednesday. Our weather is still below freezing and schools are still closed. Every freeway in Austin is closed in at least one spot where there is a bridge or flyover. The city is completely shut down. Grocery stores are dark. Gas stations are locked. Walmart (Walmart for gosh sakes!) closed at 3:00 pm yesterday and has yet to reopen. The kids across the street ran a hose down the hill in their front yard and used a boogie board to “sled” down their ice tube. The city of Austin is nearly out of its supply of salt and sand so most of the roads haven’t been sanded and are therefore closed. The kids down the street spent hours trying to create snowballs out of the tiny accumulation that we have.

Anyway, I thought that my friends and family in Oregon would get a kick out of our “treacherous” conditions and the extent of our “snow” accumulation. The newscaster just announced that our freeze may break late tomorrow morning and that schools may even be open tomorrow for a half day. Let’s hope so. We’re getting cabin fever here.

Happy birthday Joey

2007-09-08T14:58:00.002-07:00

Dec. 27, 2006

My baby boy turns one today. Not surprisingly, I’m feeling a little sentimental. People warned me that this first year would be hard. I expected to lose sleep and to lose patience. I expected dirty diapers and loads upon loads of laundry. I expected toys to fill my living room and cheerios to cover the floor. I expected doctor’s visits and baby Tylenol and saline drops and diaper wipes. I read all of the books and knew what to expect with a baby at home. But, I never expected to feel the way I feel today.

I never expected the incredible feeling of tiny arms wrapped around my neck and sweet warm kisses on my cheek. I never expected to feel pure joy when I heard a sweet voice utter “mama” and smile up at me. I never expected that I would be entertained for hours watching chubby knees run around the room and explore one thing after another. I never expected a toothy grin to make me laugh harder than I ever have before. I never expected to fall completely in love with my husband again as I watched him play Daddy. I never expected to love someone this much or this fiercely. I never expected that tiny baby that I held for the first time one year ago to change my heart and my life so completely.

So, today as my little boy pulled cake off of his high chair tray and smeared it all over his face, I felt happy and sad and joyful and sentimental all at once. I laughed as he tasted his first bite of frosting and grinned up at me in pure delight. I cried as he smashed bite after bite into his mouth, amazed that the little boy sitting in front of me was the same tiny baby that I brought home from the hospital just twelve months ago. I held on a little tighter as I pulled my little boy out of his high chair, covered in frosting, praying that I’ll remember to take the time to savor these moments when my baby is still young. I love you, Joey. Happy Birthday.

Traveling with baby

2007-09-08T14:58:00.001-07:00

Dec. 20, 2006

I traveled with my son, you’d think I wouldn’t have been so quick to jump back on the horse. But, for some reason, visions of a white Christmas in Oregon surrounded by relatives and hot northwest coffee made me forget the cardinal rule of air travel: Never (ever, ever) step foot on an airplane, bus or train with a child under two unless you’re either crazy or you’re being paid several thousand dollars to do so. Ever. Unfortunately, I forgot this rule when I booked Christmas tickets to Oregon a few months ago. I forgot this rule as I packed my suitcases and shuttled Joey to the airport. I didn’t even remember the rule until after we had checked our bags (along with the stroller, carseat and Pack & Play) and made our way through security.

Once through security, we found out that our flight out of Austin was delayed. This, in turn, made us miss our connecting flight in Dallas which led to a series of misfortunate events resulting in a screaming and naked (yes, that’s right, naked) baby on a freezing cold airplane hours after his bedtime. And this, in turn, lead to three exhausted, cold, tired and wet Texans arriving in Oregon several hours after our original arrival time on Christmas day, feeling anything but merry.

You’d think that since I’ve been a mom for almost an entire year, I’d know that with a baby, you can never be too prepared. I thought I had that one down pat. Usually I carry a huge diaper bag stocked full of essentials and yesterday as I packed for our flight, I went through a mental checklist and tried to think of any and all possible situations. I packed string cheese and cheerios in case he got hungry and empty sippy cups to fill with water on the plane. I brought toys and books and blankets and wipes. I brought diapers and Tylenol and hand sanitizer and changing pads. I brought two receiving blankets and three bibs. I really thought I was prepared, ready for any and every situation that little Joey could throw at me. I was wrong.

We waited until the last minute to get on our plane so that Joey would be able to run around and explore for as long as possible before being cramped in airplane seats for hours. As the last passengers loaded their stuff into the bins, we stepped onto the plane and started making our way to our seats. That’s when I smelled it. I looked down and Joey was literally covered in poop from shoulder to ankle. The plane was jam-packed and ready to leave any minute. Since there aren’t any changing tables on planes, Cam and I rushed back onto the tarmac just outside the plane while the flight attendants waited patiently to shut the doors. We laid out a changing pad and used a million wipes as we wiped him down from head to tow. It was everywhere. I put a fresh diaper on him and started digging in my bag for his clothes when it hit me. I had forgotten to pack a change of clothes.

So, much to the chagrin of many passengers on the plane who were quick to explain to me that there is absolutely no reason to take a naked baby out in public in the middle of winter, we climbed aboard, wrapped Joey in a receiving blanket and a coat and tried to keep him warm. As we got off the plane, the flight attendant gasped (literally) at me and said “You do know that it’s cold out, don’t you?” We carried our naked baby around the airport looking for somewhere to buy him something to wear, but it was Christmas Day and most of the airport stores were closed. Finally, we found a Dallas Cowboy’s T-shirt in his size. He wore that for the remainder of the day with a receiving blanket wrapped around his legs.

This time, I’ve learned my lesson. I will not forget the rules of travel. No matter how enticing it sounds, I will not book tickets to fly with my son until he’s at least two and potty trained. The next time I fly with him, he will be able to happily watch a Little Einstein DVD while we fly. Yes, there will be a next time, but not in the next year or so. No way, no how.

Thanksgiving brunch

2007-09-08T14:57:00.001-07:00

My siblings and I are adamant that my mom cooks Thanksgiving dinner. It’s not that I don’t want to help, but Thanksgiving isn’t Thanksgiving without my mom’s homemade stuffing and pumpkin pie. When other people make it, it just doesn’t taste the same. So, with my mom in charge of all of the dinner food, I always volunteer to host a Thanksgiving brunch. Traditionally, we all walk the 5K Turkey Trot early on Thanksgiving morning so by the time we’re finished, we’re ready for a hearty meal. Because of this, I like to make breakfast casseroles that I can throw in the oven on time-bake so that we come home to a warm house with warm breakfast in the oven and hot coffee in the pot.

So, here’s my brunch menu for this year. It’s not necessarily healthy (who I am kidding, it’s not at all healthy) but it’s warm, comforting and festive. And after all, isn’t that what the holidays are all about?

Menu:
Chile Relleno Egg Bake
Pumpkin Bread Pudding with Caramel Sauce
Ambrosia fruit salad
Spicy mochas
Hot Mulled Cider

Chile Relleno Egg Bake

8 slices white bread
2 tbsp butter
3c. shredded sharp cheddar cheese
2 c shredded jack cheese
2 cans diced green chiles
6 eggs
2 c. milk
2 tsp. chile powder
1 tsp. salt
1 tsp. Mexican oregano
1 tsp. garlic powder
1 tsp. dry mustard

Cut crusts off of bread and butter. Place butter-side down in 9X13 baking pan. Cover bread with cheese. Cover cheese with chiles. In lg. bowl, beat eggs, milk and spices. Pour over bread & cheese mixture. Cover and refrigerate overnight. Bake at 350 for 50-60 minutes until set. Let sit for 10 minutes before serving.

Pumpkin Bread Pudding w/ Caramel Sauce

2 loaves challah
1 ½ c. milk
1 c. half and half
1 15 oz. can pureed pumpkin
1 c. brown sugar
2 eggs
2 tsp. cinnamon
2 tsp. nutmeg
2 tsp. vanilla

Cut challah into 1 inch cubes. Beat remaining ingredients in large bowl and pour over bread. Let stand in refrigerator 1-2 hours. Bake at 350 for 40-50 min. Dust with powdered sugar.

Carmel Sauce

In small saucepan, whisk 1 ¼ c. brown sugar with ½ c. butter. Add ½ c. whipping cream and stir until sugar is dissolved (about 3 minutes)

Ambrosia Fruit Salad:

6 large navel oranges
1 small pineapple
2 large grapefruits
¼ lb. fresh cherries (pitted)
1 ½ c. shredded coconut

Peel and slice oranges and grapefruit. Chunk pineapple and cherries. Mix with coconut and serve.

Spicy Mochas
Put 4 c. whole milk in a medium saucepan. Add 4 small dried chiles de arbol and 3 whole cinnamon sticks. Simmer for 8-10 minutes and remove from heat. Steep for 15-20 minutes then remove cinnamon sticks and chiles. Return to medium heat and whisk in 3 cups strong brewed coffee, 1 ½ c. sugar, 1 c. unsweetened cocoa powder. Cook until heated through.

Halloween by the numbers

2007-09-08T14:56:00.001-07:00

Oct. 31, 2006

1: The number of minutes that it took for Joey to spit-up on his costume after I put it on.

2: The number of cups of coffee that I drank before I met my friends downtown for coffee. It’s Halloween… I’m allowed to be caffeine and sugar-loaded, aren’t I?

3: The number of hours that my son decided to nap this afternoon. I guess the five o’clock mornings due to daylight savings finally caught up to him.

4: The number of miniature candy bars that I ate right after breakfast without feeling the least bit guilty (OK, so I feel a little guilty but I’ll worry about that tomorrow)

5: The number of hours that it took me to sew my son’s costume (you know, the one that he’ll never remember wearing and that he’ll wear for a total of two hours).

6: The number of times I’ve emailed my husband “the cutest picture ever” today after snapping at least seventy pictures of my little baby elephant.

7: The number of seconds that my son kept his elephant hat on before ripping it off and starting to chew on the trunk.

8: The number of times that I had to tear out the stitching and re-sew seams on my son’s costume before getting it right.

9: The number of minutes that I resisted opening up the bag of Reese’s that I bought for the trick-or-treaters. Really, nine minutes is a lifetime when you’re faced with chocolate on Halloween.

10: The number of bags of candy I bought to hand out to trick-or-treaters who flock to our neighborhood on Halloween.

Mini-vacations

2007-09-08T14:55:00.000-07:00

Oct. 20, 2006

I used to daydream about taking mini-vacations. I’d imagine myself sleeping in late on a Saturday morning at a bed-and-breakfast in the mountains. Skiing all day and spending all evening sipping hot chocolate by the fire or lounging on the beach sipping a daiquiri and watching the sunset. Mini vacations where I would get away from it all and come back relaxed and rejuvenated. Now, I’m a mom, and weekends away by the ocean are out of the picture, but I still daydream about mini-breaks. Here are just a few of my recent fantasies:

* A hot cup of coffee, with lots of cream and sugar that I actually get to finish while it’s still warm.

* A freshly vacuumed floor that the baby can actually crawl around on without getting dog hair in his mouth.

* An unexpectedly long nap. You know, one of those once-a-year occurrences where the baby sleeps for three hours and you finish everything on your to do list and have nothing left to do except sit and surf the internet or watch mindless TV.

* Time to sit back on the coach and read a chapter of a juicy novel while munching on caramel corn.

* A Lost Marathon on TV where all of my questions get answered once and for all.

A hypocritical church

2007-09-08T14:54:00.000-07:00

I was talking to a friend the other day and she started talking to me about the reasons that she isn’t a Christian and doesn’t attend church. One of her main reasons is that she sees the church and Christians doing so many hypocritical things. She talked about how the church preaches against immoral behavior yet we frequently hear of priests being arrested for child abuse and of church members who are secretly involved in affairs. So-called Christians use God as an excuse to incite violence against others and to pass judgment on those who don’t agree with them. Christians, who are called to give generously and joyfully are often the last to open their hands and instead, keep their pockets and bank accounts full. Those who claim to love one another are often the last to show love to the downtrodden or needy and instead, blame those who are less fortunate for their woes and quickly cite the reasons that people deserve what they get.

This conversation made me very sad, mostly because my friend is right. The Christian church as a whole doesn’t set a good example of practicing what it preaches. Christians do all sorts of things that don’t uphold Christ’s example. I’m definitely not innocent of this. While I do my best to do the right thing, I am often quick to anger and slow to give. I’m ashamed to say that there have been times when I have gossiped, judged, been greedy, said things that I shouldn’t have and the list goes on. I can say without a shadow of a doubt that there isn’t a single Christian in the entire world who is innocent of this kind of hypocrisy. I can also see why this probably leaves a sour taste in the mouths of those who aren’t Christians.

After thinking and praying about this for awhile, I came to a reassuring realization. The Christian church isn’t about Christians and what they do, but it’s about God and what he did. It’s about Jesus and his gift of salvation through his death on a cross. It’s about his mercy and grace and forgiveness that none of us deserve yet that he gives freely. If we all did the right things and deserved his salvation, then we wouldn’t need Jesus. But, we do need him and that’s clearly evidenced by the hypocrisy and behavior of the Christian church. This is no excuse for the things that we do as humans. They’re wrong and they shouldn’t happen, but it is evidence of the incredible grace that we have been allowed. I just pray that I am able to show God’s love and mercy in my life, and while I’m not perfect and never will be, I pray that my friends and family will see a glimpse of Christ in me.

Chile Verde

2007-09-08T14:53:00.002-07:00

When I was a kid, my next-door neighbor was a Mexican woman named Rose who owned a small hole-in-the-wall restaurant in town. Rose made everything from scratch, from her fresh salsa to hand rolled tortillas. Locals flocked to her restaurant for fresh enchiladas, carne asada, sopa de albondigas and her famous chile verde. I grew up eating her food and when I was in college, I spent my summers waiting tables in her restaurant. After each shift, Rose gave me a free meal of my choice and I never tired of the amazing handmade Mexican delicacies that she created.

When I got married, one of the first places I took my husband was Rose’s little restaurant. My husband loved it as much as I did and we spent many evenings lingering over chile rellenos and fresh margaritas. My husbands favorite was Rose’s spicy chile verde and he ordered it nearly every time we went into the restaurant. Rose’s food was our favorite and we became regulars at her little restaurant, chatting with the waiters and waitresses and knowing the menu by heart. When we moved to Texas, one of the things we missed the most was Rose’s cooking. We have yet to find a restaurant that even compares to Rose’s and everytime we go home, the first thing we do is head over there for dinner. It never fails to satisfy.

My husband has had a rough week so I decided to try to surprise him with something special. So, yesterday, I set about to recreate Rose’s top-secret and famous chile verde. Starting with an old chile verde recipe that I found, I have added a bit of this and a touch of that and let it simmer all day. While I think I’ll add another jalapeño next time to make it a bit spicier, all in all, I really enjoyed the dish. It was also really easy and inexpensive to make which is an added bonus. Here’s my recipe:

Chile Verde

1.5 lbs. pork tenderloin or chicken breast (cubed)
10 fresh tomatillos
2-4 jalapeño peppers (I used two, but I think I’ll use three next time)
2 poblano peppers
1 onion, diced
3 cloves of garlic
1 tbsp cumin
3-4 tsp. salt
¼ c. chicken broth

Husk tomatillos and place in boiling water for 15 minutes. Strain and set aside to cool.
Put jalapenos and poblanos under the broiler until their skins are charred. Turn and char the other side. When charred, remove from oven and set aside to cool.
Mince garlic and dice onion. Place in crock pot with broth.
Cube meat, add to crock pot and stir.
Sprinkle cumin and salt on meat and veggies.
Carefully peel still-warm tomatillos and peppers. Place in blender and puree until smooth.
Cover meat with tomatillo sauce.
Cook on low for 8 hours.
Serve with rice, cheese and tortillas.

Closet clutterer

2007-09-08T14:53:00.001-07:00

Please indulge me while I take a moment to be hysterical. I’m freaking out right now and seeing as how my husband isn’t home to take the brunt of it, you guys are it. A few minutes ago, I was working in the kitchen while my son played on the floor with pots and pans. He crawled over to the kitchen sink and started playing with the rug (the rug that I washed and changed yesterday, by the way). As he picked it up, he started reaching for something under the rug. I caught a glimpse of his target so I went over to investigate. That’s when the hysterics began. Underneath my kitchen rug was a dead three-inch long scorpion. *Hysterics*.

Sure, it was dead, but it was big. And scaly. And had really scary pinchers. And my son touched it. And who knows if it was really dead or just playing dead. And I have no idea if scorpions play dead that but I’m not going to risk touching it. And it’s stinger might still have poison in it. And it looks more like its four or even five inches long instead of three. And I’m not sure that I can live in the same state as a scorpion, much less the same house. And how many more scorpions might be lurking in my house? And did I mention that my son touched it? *Hysterics*.

Remember that I’m from Oregon, where it’s too cold for bugs bigger than a centimeter long to survive. We don’t have wasps. We don’t have those big red flying things that look like they have feet. We don’t have cockroaches and we definitely do not have scorpions. A few weeks after we moved to Texas, my husband found a scorpion crawling up a shirt in his closet. My first phone call was to the exterminator. My next was to the airline to see when I could catch a flight back to Oregon. I calmed down a bit and weeks turned into months before we saw another scorpion.

When we moved into our house, we decided to get pest control services to avoid another run-in. We paid the $70/month happily for a year, but last summer we decided to try and cut some costs. We figured that we could buy the same pesticides at Home Depot and it would cost much less. We figured that we could find a more environmentally friendly option. We figured wrong.

So, now that I’ve calmed down enough to think somewhat rationally, I’ve swept the dead scorpion into the garbage and washed my rug. I’ve also called the pest control company to see about renewing service. Sure, the scorpion was dead, but he was in my house and my son found him. I am not about to expose myself to another scenario like that. The $70 a month is worth it. Worth every penny.

My fun new pet

2007-09-08T14:52:00.001-07:00

Oct. 15, 2006

Please indulge me while I take a moment to be hysterical. I’m freaking out right now and seeing as how my husband isn’t home to take the brunt of it, you guys are it. A few minutes ago, I was working in the kitchen while my son played on the floor with pots and pans. He crawled over to the kitchen sink and started playing with the rug (the rug that I washed and changed yesterday, by the way). As he picked it up, he started reaching for something under the rug. I caught a glimpse of his target so I went over to investigate. That’s when the hysterics began. Underneath my kitchen rug was a dead three-inch long scorpion. *Hysterics*.

Sure, it was dead, but it was big. And scaly. And had really scary pinchers. And my son touched it. And who knows if it was really dead or just playing dead. And I have no idea if scorpions play dead that but I’m not going to risk touching it. And it’s stinger might still have poison in it. And it looks more like its four or even five inches long instead of three. And I’m not sure that I can live in the same state as a scorpion, much less the same house. And how many more scorpions might be lurking in my house? And did I mention that my son touched it? *Hysterics*.

Remember that I’m from Oregon, where it’s too cold for bugs bigger than a centimeter long to survive. We don’t have wasps. We don’t have those big red flying things that look like they have feet. We don’t have cockroaches and we definitely do not have scorpions. A few weeks after we moved to Texas, my husband found a scorpion crawling up a shirt in his closet. My first phone call was to the exterminator. My next was to the airline to see when I could catch a flight back to Oregon. I calmed down a bit and weeks turned into months before we saw another scorpion.
When we moved into our house, we decided to get pest control services to avoid another run-in. We paid the $70/month happily for a year, but last summer we decided to try and cut some costs. We figured that we could buy the same pesticides at Home Depot and it would cost much less. We figured that we could find a more environmentally friendly option. We figured wrong.

So, now that I’ve calmed down enough to think somewhat rationally, I’ve swept the dead scorpion into the garbage and washed my rug. I’ve also called the pest control company to see about renewing service. Sure, the scorpion was dead, but he was in my house and my son found him. I am not about to expose myself to another scenario like that. The $70 a month is worth it. Worth every penny.

He's no Einstein

2007-09-08T14:51:00.000-07:00

Oct. 1, 2006

My son can’t crawl. He can get from one side of the room to another in a matter of seconds, but it’s not by normal knees-and-hands crawling. Instead, he sort of leans sideways and reaches while putting his butt in the air and then flops forward, bonking his head on the way down. It’s not pretty. Not at all.

Joey’s inability to crawl doesn’t bother me much. Sure, I get a bit competitive every once in awhile and try to tempt him forward on his hands and knees, but in the whole scheme of things, I have much bigger things to worry about. He’s happy. He’s healthy. It’s not like he’s seven and still can’t crawl. He’s eight months old for gosh sakes! What is bothering me are the people who seem to think that it’s their duty to inform me of all of the things that could possibly be wrong with my son since he’s not crawling yet. Here are just a few (of the many) things that people have told me lately:

- If he doesn’t learn to crawl before he can stand, then he’ll never be able to read or write because he won’t understand sequencing.

- If he never crawls, he’ll have to have physical therapy on his legs and be in casts for years when he’s older because he’ll never learn to walk flat-footed.

- If he can’t crawl before he’s nine months old, it’s a sign that he’ll probably have a learning disability in math.

- If he doesn’t crawl before he’s eight months old, his arms are too week and I should get him in to see a therapist immediately because it could signal a physical disability.

When people tell me things like this, I want to scream. He’s a baby. His pediatrician doesn’t see a problem. He’s right on track with the rest of his milestones. Crawling has nothing to do with reading. Or writing. Or math. Sure, in the next few years, Joey could face any number of these issues. He could struggle with learning to read. He could need physical therapy for one reason or another. He might not be good at math. But right now, I think that these issues should be the farthest away from my mind and it drives me crazy that people feel the need to say things like this. As if I don’t have enough to worry about as it is, these people think I should worry about his future ability to do long division and read Hamlet.

My little Texas tornado

2007-09-08T14:49:00.000-07:00

Remind me again why I was so anxious for Joey to learn to crawl? Because all of a sudden, my little Texas Tornado moves non-stop and leaves a path of destruction behind him as he tears his way through the house. This morning, I set him down and he made a bee-line for the basket of toys in the corner. He dumped the entire basket and spread the toys around the living room before moving on to the coffee table. He threw the coasters on the floor and spread the candles around the tabletop before heading into the kitchen to dump the entire bowl of dog food on the floor and move the kitchen rugs into the living room. From there, the books were torn out of the bookshelf and the shoes were pulled out of the shoe bench. This entire episode took about 3 minutes, and I’m guessing that all of you parents of toddlers are going to tell me that it only gets worse from here. *sigh*

Gymboree valedictorian

2007-09-08T14:48:00.002-07:00

September 20, 2006

My son is not on track to becoming the valedictorian in his Gymboree class. Not even close. He’s not the quickest. He’s not the strongest. He’s not even the best dressed because some of the parents purchase outfits from Janie and Jack before they even go on sale. One of the boys, nine-month-old Christopher can pull himself up to a standing position and stand on his own. Another little girl, Allie, claps with exuberance at the songs. Little Benjamin can crawl across the room in 10 seconds flat and precious little Grace climbs the play structure as easily as she waves hello.

Joey, on the other hand, is a bit more cautious and a bit more eccentric in his preferences. While the other babies lunge forward to chase the balls on all fours, Joey flops forward and rolls across the room, taking ten balls and the parachute along for the ride. When the other babies attack the ramps and slides on the play structures with gusto, Joey is left behind as his wobbling crawl (if you can call it that) just can’t keep up with the others. When the teacher blows giant bubbles for the babies to pop, Joey screams and hides his head in my shoulder while the other babies squeal with delight. When the teacher sings “Shhhhhhh!” after a long parachute bouncing session, Joey screams at the top of his lungs, thinking it’s hilarious to hear his own voice in the silent room.

Honestly, at yesterday’s class, it kind of bugged me that he wasn’t the fastest and strongest. I didn’t want it to. I know that all babies develop in their own ways and at their own rates, but I sure wouldn’t mind if Joey was the kid that everyone “oohed” and “ahhed” over. I left Gymboree class thinking that we were going to go home and practice. I had grand plans to spend hours on the floor, teaching Joey to crawl in a smooth and efficient manner and practicing balance and rhythm.

But when we arrived home, I set Joey on the floor and my plans changed. He rolled over and scooted forward towards his toys in his awkward and uncoordinated way, and I found in awe of the way he moved and explored the room. He rolled across the room, stopping to examine the table leg and a toy along the way. He pulled himself up on the coffee table and immediately flopped back down and wormed his way over to his books. Sure, he’s not the fastest or even the most coordinated, but he’s funny, interesting and different. He’s discovered a creative means of locomotion that’s all his and I wouldn’t trade the world’s fastest crawler for my precious little boy who crawls to the beat of his own drum.

Childhood friends

2007-09-08T14:48:00.001-07:00

September 15, 2006

While adult friends and college friends and mommy friends are fabulous, there is something about a childhood friend that is just irreplaceable. Don’t get me wrong, I love all of my girlfriends. My college friend Hildi and I spend hours shopping for what-nots and gab non-stop about everything from cooking and cleaning to dating and blogging. My friends Jessi and Jenn each have two adorable girls and my entire day is brightened when I get emailed pictures or updates from them. My girlfriends from my small group at church are caring, kind and compassionate, always willing to step in and lend a hand. When I was pregnant and sick, these girls brought me meals, sent me cards, visited me in the hospital and continually supplied juicy novels to distract me from my morning sickness misery. My girlfriends have been a constant source of advice and support, friends who I can laugh with, share with and depend on to be there for me no matter what. That’s so important because in a world full of ups and downs, there is real comfort in always having a close friend to lean on.

A childhood friend goes a bit beyond that. A childhood friend knows everything about your past and is an important part of your history. Armed with that understanding, a childhood friend can understand where you’re coming from in a way that no one else (other than perhaps your siblings) can. For me, my best friend growing up was a girl named Katie. We met when we were five and became fast friends. We lived a few blocks away from each other and spent our childhood years biking to and from each other’s houses, having slumber parties and playing with our dogs. Later, in high school, we shared each other’s every up and down, holding each other up through joyful and tough times, through eating disorders and bad breakups, through first jobs and college applications. Now, we’ve been close friends for more than twenty-three years and still email each other every day.
The thing about Katie is that she understands things about me that nobody else does. She spent the night at my house nearly every weekend growing up so she knows my family, my eating habits, my quirks and that I get really cranky if I stay up too late. She understands why the 1989 Tiffany concert is and always will be the best concert that I’ve ever been to. She’s seen me wearing crimped hair and pegged jeans and even wearing rag curls and neon-pink tank tops. She remembers my childhood dog and knows why I still miss him. She knows what I did at my senior prom and even knows the guy you went with. She knows my brother and my sister and knows that we used to fight like cats and dogs but are now best friends. She knows why I’m scared of caves and spiders. She was the first person I called after I got my first kiss and the first person I turned to when I had my first break-up. She knows that I will always ask for extra whipped cream on my cappuccino blast, even if I’m trying to lose weight. She knows things about me that nobody else does and I love having a friend who I can talk to without explaining anything. She already knows.

Katie and I now live on opposite sides of the country. While we’re physically far apart, our friendship is closer than ever. Last fall, we found out that we were pregnant at the same time and commiserated together about the ups and downs of pregnancy. We planned our nurseries together and talked about our fears of labor and delivery. We talked about baby names and bassinets and breast pumps and sleeping problems. A few weeks ago, I had the opportunity to visit her and meet her beautiful son, Miles. Holding Miles, I had tears in my eyes as I realized how thankful I was to share the wonderful experience of motherhood with the woman who I’ve shared everything else with for the last twenty three years. I just pray that Joey is able to find a childhood friend like I had. Someone who will know everything about him, about his hopes, dreams, fears and faults and love him just the same.

It's lonely here at home

2007-09-08T14:47:00.001-07:00

September 1, 2006

It’s lonely being a stay at home mom. Don’t get me wrong, I feel so fortunate that I’m able to stay home with my son. I love waking up to the sound of his coos instead of to an alarm clock. I love spending my mornings cuddling with him and going on long walks instead of rushing out the door to get to daycare and work. I love being able to hear his every giggle and watch his every move. I wouldn’t trade being a full-time mom for anything, but I have to admit that I’ve been somewhat surprised at how lonely it can be at home.

Before I had Joey, I was a high school Spanish teacher. My days were non-stop. I taught five classes. I spent my lunches chatting with teenagers about their lives and their problems. During my off periods, I rushed to get tests graded and papers copied. I spent my Friday nights at the football stadium, watching the shy kid in my second period class make a touchdown-stopping tackle. I worked fifty or more fast-paced hours a week and loved every minute of it.

Becoming a stay-at-home mom has definitely been an adjustment. I went from being constantly busy and surrounded by chatter to a more low-key life where I stay home while my baby naps and create a schedule that revolves around feeding and play time. Even if I do take the time to put on makeup and get dressed, it’s a waste because nobody sees me. On many days, the sound of my own voice singing silly songs to Joey is the only sound I hear all day. It gets lonely.
The thing that has surprised me most about staying home is how much I miss my husband. Before Joey was born, it wasn’t uncommon for us to see each other for only a few minutes each day. My husband, who was a football coach, was often at practice and games until well after my bedtime. We were both so busy that we hardly noticed that we didn’t have time, and the few moments that we did share together were full of lively conversation. We had a lot in common then, with similar jobs and similar schedules. Now, I see my husband much more than I used to, yet miss him much more.

When he comes home, I lunge at him, passing him the baby and chatting a hundred miles a minute while he just wants to take off his tie and relax for a bit. Obviously, this causes undue tension, but we’re still trying to work out the ins and outs of our new schedules. I’m not used to so much downtime. He’s not used to so much exuberance when he gets home. I’m sure we’ll figure it out, but these things take time. I always knew that I wanted to stay home with my kids, but I never expected it to be so different from working. It’s definitely an adjustment.

Quiz results

2007-09-08T14:46:00.003-07:00

Mostly A’s: The Madly Motivated Mama

Your kid is destined to be the captain of the football team, head cheerleader, first chair saxophonist, valedictorian and lead in the play. In his/her free time, s/he will be involved in a high-level internship with a top-secret government agency while managing to pull off a perfect score on the SAT’s and ace the AP exams. You wouldn’t have it any other way. If your kid isn’t the best at everything (and why wouldn’t s/he be, she is the smartest, most talented, strongest, best looking and most motivated kid that you’ve ever met), then s/he isn’t trying hard enough. It’s that simple.

Mostly B’s: The Laid-Back Leader

Life should be calm, relaxed and easy. Sure, your kids like to eat to eat like any other kid, but if they’re hungry enough, they’ll certainly find something to eat. Likewise, if they’re tired, they’ll go to bed so there is no reason to push a bedtime routine or sleep schedule. Seriously, who wants to be regulated by a clock and a schedule their entire life? Your days are full of impromptu hug fests and relaxing afternoons playing on the floor. If your kid wants to play soccer, then surely s/he will find a ball somewhere and learn to play.

Mostly C’s: The Perfectionist Parent

There is absolutely not reason to let your appearance, house or husband suffer because you have a baby on your hands. Sure, the little tyke takes a bit of work, but that is no excuse to let yourself or your household slide. You love to entertain your friends with freshly brewed coffee and homemade biscotti and you wouldn’t be caught dead in a pair of flats. Your foundation is perfectly applied and your hair has been washed and curled. Your children are dressed to the nines in Janie and Jack’s latest line and your nails are pained perfectly pink to match your new Jimmy Choo stilettos.

Mostly D’s: The Middle-of-the-road mommy

You’d love to have freshly baked scones on hand at all times and be perfectly presentable at the grocery store, but that’s just not possible with a screaming one-year-old to tend to and a household full of dirty laundry to do. You’d love it if your kid grew up to be a professional basketball player or a best-selling author, but you’d also love it if your kid grew up to be a teacher. Or an engineer. Or a secretary. You want your kid to have every opportunity to explore the world and succeed, so you give your kid the opportunity to participate in Gymboree and dance class and swim lessons, but not at the expense of long and lazy afternoons rolling in the grass with your dogs or playing peek-a-boo with daddy.

QUIZ: What type of mom are you?

2007-09-08T14:46:00.001-07:00

QUIZ: What type of mom are you?

Are you one of those moms who goes to the grocery store in heels with a matching handbag or do you not remember the last time you stripped off those spit-up stained yoga pants? Do you have every possible parenting book lined up (in alphabetical order) on your bookshelf for easy reference or do you just kind of do what seems right? Are you destined to become a mini-van driving mom with a short feathered haircut wearing a pair of Adidas sweats? Or even worse, a high strung soccer mom who yells at the coach when your kid doesn’t start? Take this quiz and find out….

This morning, at 6:30 am you were….

a) Out on my daily 5-mile run with the baby in the jogging stroller.

b) Sound asleep in bed. If the kids need something, I’m sure my husband (or the dog) will go tend to them.

c) In the bathroom applying my makeup and flat ironing my hair. The baby wakes up at seven o’clock and if I’m not presentable by then, I never will be.

d) Laying in bed awake praying that the baby would stay asleep until at least 7:00 so that I could lay under the covers for twenty more minutes.

What’s written into your agenda in your day planner for this week?

a) Well, I have stroller fit every morning at 10:00, then my baby has two Gymboree classes and one Little Gym class, then it’s off to art camp, soccer practice and music lessons and in the evening we’re doing a mommy and baby cooking class. Did I mention that my baby is only six months old?

b) Day planner?

c) I have a manicure on Tuesday and a hair appointment on Wednesday and then the nanny is going to tend to the baby while the Molly Maids clean my house. My book club ladies are coming over for tea on Thursday so I need to have my house spotless for them.

d) My baby does Gymboree on Tuesdays and my friend and I plan on taking our kids to the park on Thursday but other than that, I’ll just play it by ear.

Last night for dinner, you had:

a) We grabbed some sandwiches from Subway between the library’s story time and children’s choir practice.

b) I grabbed a handful of cheerios out of the box while I was feeding them to the baby.

c) I made a four-course meal for my family. We started with organic greens topped with fresh basil, candied walnuts and fresh mandarin oranges and a ginger peach vinaigrette. This was followed by freshly prepared butternut squash soup with mascarpone cream. Our main course was grilled rack of lamb with homemade mint sauce and herbed asparagus and finally we had homemade blackberry pie for dessert.

d) I threw a roast into the crock pot with some veggies and potatoes in the morning. It was great because we were able to sit down as a family after a long day and I hardly had to cook. Thank God for crock pots!

Right now, you are wearing:

a) A pink t-shirt that says “World’s Greatest Mom” paired with jeans and converse sneakers. Oh yeah, and one of those buttons that has a picture of my kids on it pinned to my shirt.

b) I haven’t changed out of my pajamas yet today… come to think of it, I haven’t changed out of these pajamas since last Sunday.

c) I lavender silk blouse with black slacks and four-inch wedge sandals with a fun lavender print. Of course, I’m also wearing matching fresh water pearl earrings and necklace to tie the outfit together.

d) Capri pants, a matching (and even clean) tank top and flip flops. I always do my best to at least change out of my pajamas in the morning so I’m at least somewhat presentable for the day.

5. What was the last fun thing that you did without your kids?

a) I don’t do things without my kids. If I want them to grow up to be healthy, well-adjusted and successful adults, I can’t afford to go gallivanting around the countryside doing things for myself.

b) Well, the other day, I thumbed through a magazine while the kids were playing outside.

c) Well, yesterday I had my weekly manicure and the day before I had an hour-long massage at the spa. Oh, and I always have the nanny watch them while I do my step aerobics class at the gym.

d) My husband and I try to make it out for a real date at least once a month. Last weekend we went out to dinner and then went to the bookstore and browsed through all of the newest bestsellers.

You met your friend and her eight-month-old son at the park yesterday. Her son was crawling all over the place, while your daughter who is two weeks older hasn’t even thought about crawling. How do you react?

a) You immediately take your daughter home to practice crawling. She’s not leaving the house again until she has this down. There is absolutely no excuse for an eight-and-a-half-month-old to not be up and about.

b) It’s not a big deal. Surely your daughter will start crawling when she’s ready.

c) You lay out your blanket and feel extremely thankful that your baby isn’t crawling all over on that dirty grass. My gosh, that would be such a pain to have to constantly be worrying about grass stains on your daughter’s perfectly nice white dress.

d) You’re a little bothered that your daughter isn’t crawling yet but figure that she’ll start crawling soon. You do make sure that she gets some extra floor time during the next few days and even try to tempt her into lunging forward after some of her favorite toys.

When your baby was ready to start eating solid foods, you…

a) Spent hours researching baby food diets and fed your baby only the best energy-efficient foods that were guaranteed to promote muscle and brain development. Now, your baby lives on a diet of lean proteins, whole grains and vitamin-filled super vegetables.

b) Bought a box of cheerios and a few jars of baby food that were on sale and started feeding him.

c) My nanny deals with that stuff so you’ll have to ask her.

d) I read a couple of books about baby food and decided to make my own baby food by pureeing fruits and vegetables and freezing them. My baby loves the food and I’ve found that it doesn’t take much time at all.

What are your kid’s favorite toys?

a) I only buy Baby Einstein brand toys. I figure that there is no reason to have a toy if it doesn’t have some educational purpose.

b) I haven’t really gotten around to buying many toys yet. My kids mostly play with the spoons in my kitchen and whatever else I find laying around the house.

c) My kids have the best of everything. They love their Excersaucer Mega Machine with Ultimate Computerized play center, their Leapfog Play center and their Barbie Motorized Jeeps.

d) I bought my kid a Jumperoo for Christmas but he seems to like my plastic measuring cups and his board books just as much.

Right now, my kid is wearing:

a) A onesie that says “Future Harvard Grad” on it, some athletic shorts and Nike Air Jordan’s.

b) His diaper.

c) A hand-knitted pink sweater with tiny rosebuds around the collar, a lightweight yellow dress with flower embroidery and pink patent leather shoes.

d) A one-piece outfit from Gymboree—I love baby clothes like this because they are comfortable, easy to change and still look super cute.

My kid’s bedtime routine consists of:

a) First, we do some basic strength-building exercises (you know, basic sit-ups and push-ups), then we read for twenty minutes out of Baby Einstein books and practice our times tables before putting her to bed at exactly 8:15.

b) We don’t really have a routine. We just put her to bed when she starts to act tired and hope that she falls asleep.

c) We put our kids to bed at 7:00 on the dot so that we can have a nice dinner together as a couple with wine and candlelight.

d) At about 7:30, we put the baby in the bath. After his bath, his daddy reads him a couple of stories and then I nurse him and we put him in bed at 8:00. If the schedule gets a little off, we don’t worry about it very much.

Right now, my house looks like:

a) A combination of a school and a gym. There are posters on the walls detailing the parts of speech and math facts. The living room floor has various exercise equipment on it and a variety of educational books line our bookshelves.

b) A hurricane just hit it. The dog is chewing on the phone and the baby is chewing on the dog. There are piles of laundry on the kitchen counter and piles of dirty dishes in the sink. I haven’t vacuumed in weeks or dusted in months… but oh well, life’s short, right? Why waste my time cleaning?

c) Spotless. I do a quick once-over every morning to make sure that everything is in its proper place. My floors are shiny and my counters are clean. I absolutely can’t stand a messy house and there is no reason to live in a pig sty just because I have children to care for.

d) Acceptably messy. There are a few dishes in the sink and toys on the floor, but I just did (and folded) laundry yesterday so the house is at least presentable.

Oh! The joys of motherhood

2007-09-08T14:44:00.002-07:00

August 10, 2006

My son is quite talented. Not only is he a proficient roller, but he’s mastered the art of doing two things at once. This morning, I was changing his diaper on the floor. I took the wet diaper off and as I turned to get a dry diaper, my son started to roll. This is where the multitasking began. A steady stream of pee began mid-roll and continued in true sprinkler-like fashion, dousing the floor, crib, ceiling and rocker as my son turned 360 degrees around the nursery. He came to a stop on his stomach on the far wall of the nursery, soaked in pee and giggling. I finally caught up with him just in time for him to do one final roll and squirt me directly in the face. Oh! The joys of motherhood.

Spanking

2007-09-08T14:44:00.001-07:00

August 1, 2006

Last Saturday, I went to the zoo with Joey and was walking behind a young family with two young boys. The younger child was sleeping quietly in a stroller while the older child (probably four or five years old) skipped back and forth in front of the stroller. Excited about all that there was to see, the boy kept running from one side of the path to the other, pointing out giraffes and monkeys and snow cones to his mother. His exuberance, which in my opinion was youthful and innocent, was obviously annoying his father who was trying to navigate the stroller and kept tripping to keep from running over his son. Finally, the father reached the end of his rope. He grabbed the kid by the arm, spanked him hard several times right there and then stormed off, leaving the kid standing in the middle of the path crying with his arms on his butt. The boy stood there for several minutes while the father stood several feet away glaring.

Honestly, I was a bit upset by the whole situation. While I know that I can’t judge the father based on the sliver of a moment that I observed, I couldn’t believe that he spanked the boy in front of everyone, and what’s more, he did so without even telling the boy what he did wrong. From where I stood, the boy had no idea what he had done to deserve the spanking and stood there reeling for several minutes trying to figure out what exactly sparked the punishment. I think anyone would agree that this kind of spanking is wrong and should never be used as a punishment, but this situation got me thinking about spanking in general. Is it effective? Is it safe? Is it emotionally damaging like experts think? Or is it an effective punishment when used correctly?

According to an article in Parenting Magazine, (by Kitty O’Callaghan, August 2006) more than 94% of three and four-year-olds have been spanked within the last year. This is an interesting fact considering that more than 80% of experts believe that spanking is not only an unnecessary form of punishment, but that it could be emotionally and physically damaging to children. Why this disconnect? I mean, when experts tell us that alcohol can hurt a developing baby, moms religiously avoid alcohol during pregnancy.

My friend Natalie weighed in, “Spanking works. If I spank my son, he knows that I mean business and that act is rarely repeated.” Another friend, Kari, explained that while she rarely spanks her daughter, when she does, she does it to eliminate an especially unsafe or uncouth behavior. She said that it works every time. In fact, the main reason that parents site for choosing to spank is that it works. Parents who have tried positive reinforcement and behavior modification techniques to change behavior without effect find that spanking is an effective tool to change difficult behavior problems in toddlers and preschoolers. Well-behaved children lead to happy parents, happy teachers and happy homes.

While most experts readily agree that spanking should be avoided, according to the aforementioned Parenting article, research isn’t conclusive as far as the negative effects of spanking. Spanking has been loosely associated with behaviors like aggression and depression, but these effects could be caused by a variety of other factors. Since such a large percentage of parents spank, research studies have a difficult time proving its negative effects. What’s more, obviously many children who are spanked grow up to be well-adjusted adults.

For me, the jury is out as far as spanking goes. I’m honestly not sure what I think about it. I can see why many parents use it. It’s effective, quick and will often stop a misbehaving child in their tracks. I can also see why many experts abhor it. It’s physical, aggressive and when done in anger, can be damaging. I have awhile before I’ll need to decide, but I’d love to hear your take on it. So, tell me, do you spank your kids? If so, why? If not, why not?

The lady in the pink shirt...

2007-09-08T14:43:00.000-07:00

I admit it, I got cocky. After a calm, collected and crying-free plane ride to New York when Joey was five months old, I thought I was the parent of a wonder child who bravely faced ear-popping altitude changes with a smile. In fact, I even turned to some of my fellow travelers while we were boarding my flight to Oregon and proudly told them not to worry. “Usually babies scream on flights,” I said proudly, “but my boy, well, he’s a wonder baby. He’ll make it through the flight without a peep.”

That said, I know I was asking for it. I should’ve known it was going to be a tough flight when a three-hundred pound man carrying a fast food sack squeezed into the aisle-row seat next to me. He had to lift the armrest to fit into his seat and even so, his body flowed into my seat, leaving me with about 4 inches of usable space between his bulging midsection and my son’s car seat. Still, I wasn’t worried. My baby was cooing happily, playing with the seat-back table and smiling at the passers-by over the top of the seat. Everything was fine.
Everything stayed fine for about three minutes. In the middle of the flight attendant’s spiel about safety, Joey started to whine. Within minutes, his whimpering turned into full-out screaming and by the time we took off, he was arching his back and wailing at the top of his lungs.

The lady in front of my turned around and peeked through the cracks and informed me that “your baby’s ears are probably hurting and you should probably feed him to pop his ears.” Really? I’m just sitting here with my breast exposed to the world while my baby arches his back and refuses to eat for fun. The screeching and thrashing weren’t doing much for my temperament.

Another lady peeked over from behind to tell me that “bottles work much better than breasts on flights, so maybe you should give him a bottle.” Gee! What a great idea. I wish I would’ve thought of that before exposing myself to the male flight attendant, my cheeseburger-eating seatmate and the entire high school baseball team sitting across the row for fun.

“Have you tried rubbing his back and rocking him?” another well-meaning passer-by asked. I glared at her while mumbling something about not having room to move in my half-seat.

Then came the clincher. A teenage girl wearing a purple princess shirt popped her head over the seat in front of me. “Ma’am, your baby’s carseat is making it so that I can’t lean my seat back all the way.” Oh! By all means! Let me drop everything and fix that for you, my dear. It’s not like I’m dealing with anything else right now.

At a loss for what to do, trapped in a tiny seat by a bacon-and-onion cheeseburger and its lip smacking owner, I lost it. With tears streaming down my face, I held Joey to my shoulder, rubbed his back and closed my eyes, letting his screams fill the cabin. He wailed. He squirmed. He wriggled. He sobbed.

I felt a slight tap on my shoulder. A kind woman in a pink shirt was standing in the aisle and she calmly held out her hands. “You must be exhausted. I know exactly how it is on a plane with a baby. Can I give your arms a break for a moment?” At a loss for what to do, I handed Joey over and the kind lady stood in the aisle next to me doing lunges and singing songs to my baby for twenty minutes until he finally calmed down. She put my sleepy baby back into my waiting arms and went back to her seat. I dried my tears and clung Joey close to my heart and said a quick prayer of thanks. Thank God for the angel in the pink shirt… without her, I just might have lost it.

One state, two state, red state, blue state

2007-09-07T19:19:00.001-07:00

I moved to Texas after growing up in Oregon and I learned very quickly that the left-leaning Pacific Northwest is a different world from right-leaning Texas. Having spent the last two weeks on vacation back home in Oregon, I realized all over again that these states are as different as oil and water, as red and blue.

You know you’re in Oregon when there is a recycling center on every corner, complete with different bins for plastic, tin and paper, but after walking for blocks, you can’t find a trashcan to throw away your leftover sandwich.

You know you’re in Texas when you call the garbage company to ask for a recycling bin and the receptionist chirps in your ear “Recycling bin? No one has asked for one of those in a long time. Let me go dig around in the basement and see if I can find one.”

You know you’re in Oregon when you see a lady walking down the street wearing only a white cotton bra with her frayed jeans and no one bats an eye. In fact, not a single person even stops to stare.

You know you’re in Texas when you see woman wearing five-inch high heels with Armani jeans to the park. Or the grocery store. Or to paint the house.

You know you’re in Oregon when you buy a whole-grain organic turkey sandwich and it comes wrapped in recycled brown paper and your herbal iced tea comes in a reusable, refillable environmentally-friendly cup.

You know you’re in Texas when your double barbeque bacon burger with fries comes in a Styrofoam box and your forty-four ounce Coke comes in a double-insulated Styrofoam pitcher. Shouldn’t styrofoam have been outlawed twenty years ago?

You know you’re in Oregon when 90% of the people on the street are wearing cargo shorts and Rainbow sandals. The woman who are carrying purses have them slung criss-cross across their shoulders.

You know you’re in Texas when every woman you see has a matching handbag to her shoes… even if she’s wearing white converse tennis shoes.

You know you’re in Oregon when there is a drive-through coffee shop where you can buy thirty-two ounce mega-jolt mochas on nearly every corner. As any Oregonian can explain, a caffeine buzz is essential when living under dreary, drizzling skies.

You know you’re in Texas when there is a shaved iced stand on every corner where you can buy sticky, syrupy blue-raspberry ice cups any time of the year, rain or shine.

You know you’re in Oregon when you say the word “Y’all” and people glare at you and tell you to go back to California.

You know you’re in Texas when you say “you guys” and people ask “What are all y’all, Yankees or something?”

You know you’re in Oregon when you can buy chicken bento or organic salmon with vegetables at the ballpark, the mini-mart, the school cafeteria or at a little stand on the side of the road.

You know you’re in Texas when everyone in the office looks at you strangely over their Frito Pie and Brisket-and-Wonder-Bread Sandwiches when you pull a veggie wrap out of your lunch sack.

Religion in schools

2007-09-07T19:17:00.002-07:00

August 1, 2006

With the school year just around the corner, I’m feeling compelled to give my two-cents about religion in public schools. As a former educator, I think that a balanced, complete and honest education is essential for our children (and our society). I think that our children have the right to learn all different viewpoints, theories and ideas on all situations. As a Christian, I am concerned about the incredible anti-Christian sentiment (yes, that’s right) that seems to be growing in the public schools. Before everyone gets all upset with me, let me explain.

I can’t understand why certain topics and theories are acceptable in public schools while others aren’t. Like I said, I think that a balanced education is essential. I agree that the theory of evolution should be taught in public schools. It’s an important part of science and has been an extremely influential theory. What I don’t understand is why people are so against the idea of teaching kids about the Intelligent Design Theory (http://www.intelligentdesignnetwork.org/). The Intelligent Design Theory, which has support in the scientific community from scientists in many top-rated universities, theorizes that an intelligent designer stands behind the world’s beginnings. Kids should be given access to every available bit of information and be allowed to make their own decisions about what they believe. It seems very unbalanced that a scientifically acceptable theory cannot be taught in public schools just because it supports Christianity. Once again, I am in no way condoning that Intelligent Design be taught as fact or as the only truth, but as one of many theories. It’s objective science to give kids access to every applicable theory. I’m having a hard time understanding the objection to this.

Likewise, I have a hard time to the common objections that I hear about teaching Christian history and religion in schools. Once again, I am in no way condoning that only Christian history be taught. I think that the history of all other major religions should also be covered and be given equal representation. I think that our kids deserve to learn information about all major religions. They should hear all of the facts in an unbiased way where they are able to learn and understand how all of the major world religions have shaped our world. Why is Christianity the only religion that is criticized on this? I’ve never heard anyone complain that our kids are taught about Islam in schools.

Finally, I am appalled by recent anti-sematic comments made by some major media figures. I am also appalled by the story (http://stage.parentsconnect.com/home/host_parent/LoriO_profile.jhtml) that LoriO wrote about in her blog. There is no way that any student from any religion or background should be shunned or treated like that. LoriO is right that our schools are public schools and that students from every background should have the privilege of a free, unbiased public education. That means that Christians, Muslims, Jews and all others should be allowed a place to learn and grow.

Glutton for punishment

2007-09-07T19:17:00.001-07:00

Glutton for punishment:

July 20, 2006

I’m just recovering from the most difficult year of my life. I spent nine months dealing with constant nausea, fighting to keep crackers and water down. I endured three stays in the hospital, hooked up to an IV while being constantly poked and prodded. I tolerated forty pounds of weight gain and persisted through six months of running and eating salads to lose those forty pounds. I survived an emergency c-section and weeks of being unable to sit up without help. I carried on through sleepless nights and leaky breasts and an itchy c-section scar. I drug myself out of bed for three o’clock feedings and went out in public in my pajamas to buy diapers at the mini mart. I swore to my husband that I would never, without a doubt, even think about getting pregnant again. Joey was just going to have to be an only child. Yet here I am, six months out and I told my husband last night that I am ready. I want another baby. Am I glutton for punishment?

Crazy is as crazy does

2007-09-07T19:16:00.001-07:00

Crazy is as crazy does, right? Here’s what I have on tap for this coming week. I’ll let you be the judge on my mental state.

A solo flight: Yes, I’m planning on flying to Oregon without my husband. Now, flying alone isn’t a big deal, but throw a six-month-old baby and an eight-week-old puppy into the equation and that’s a whole different story. Not only will I be lugging diaper bags and jogging strollers and suitcases and car seats into the airport, but I’ll also be hauling a not-so-tiny Golden Retriever puppy named J.J. to his new home. My poor traveling companions! Note: If you happen to be flying from Austin to Portland this week, you might want to change your flight plans or risk being stuck on the airplane with me.

The Oregon Finnish Festival: Oh, the Finn Fest: the highlight of my grandmother’s year. My grandmother is a Finnish immigrant who has lived in Oregon for over fifty years but still heartily clings to her Finnish roots. She speaks Finnish, cooks Finnish food, visits Finland and most importantly, religiously attends the annual Oregon Finnish Festival. So, I’ll be spending a hot afternoon eating Piparkakuts and looking at Finnish crystal and most importantly, smiling and nodding as my grandmother proudly introduces me to every person that she even remotely knows.

My ten-year high school reunion: While some of my friends are hemming and hawing about going, complaining that high school was the worst four years of their lives and not wanting to relive that, I secretly want to go. Sure, high school was a long time ago and I’m a completely different person now, but I still want to go check things out. I want to do some serious people watching, to see who married who and who’s doing what. Call me Curious George, but I can’t wait to see who’s wearing what and who is still working at Dandy’s Drive-in ten years after graduation.

A stay at my in-laws house sans my husband: I adore my in-laws, really. They’ve treated me as part of the family for ten years now and really go out of their way to make me feel welcome and a part of things. My mother-in-law desperately wants to see little Joey so I’m going to go spend a few days at their house, located at least five miles down a dirt road and at least thirty miles from the nearest town of any size. I’m a city girl. I like shops and restaurants and streetlights and pavement. I like internet connections and coffee shops and heels and white pants. I like air conditioning in the middle of the summer for gosh sake! I’ll survive, but not without complaining a little.

A complete loss of my hard-earned full-night’s sleep: Yes, Joey and I are going to be traveling for two weeks, sleeping in various houses and hauling the good old Pack ‘n’ Play around in the trunk of our rental car. Without a doubt, Joey will forget all about his all-night sleeping habits and decide that he wants a midnight snack or two. I’m sure it will take me weeks to retrain him to sleep through the night. I’m sure I’ll be dealing with a cranky baby and an even crankier mommy for the entire two weeks. I’m sure that at one point I thought this was a good idea, but now I’m not so sure.

Letting my husband fend for himself for two weeks: I honestly believe that without my nutritional help, my husband would’ve succumbed to some bacon-and-egg related health problem five years ago. With a little complaining, he’ll eat fruit and even vegetables if I put them on his plate, but on his own, produce won’t touch his lips. Instead, he’ll live off of fast food burgers and tacos and take-n-bake pizza for two weeks. In a vain effort to try to get him to eat something healthy while I’m away, I took him to Costco this afternoon and let him roam the frozen section hoping that frozen veggie burritos or teriyaki rice bowls would catch his eye but no such luck. The only thing that sounded good to him were the frozen burger patties which I refused to buy because I don’t want twenty-four high-fat burger patties wasting space in my freezer. By the time I get back, I’ll have a garbage can full of Egg McMuffin wrappers and some serious motivation to hide extra vegetables in the marinara sauce for the next six months.

Escaping Target

2007-09-07T19:15:00.000-07:00

Ten reasons that I can’t leave Target without spending at least $50 (even if I only run in to buy diapers)

Baby clothes. Yes, Joey has more clothes than I do and he outgrows most outfits before he can wear them more than once, but I just can’t resist tiny overalls with race cars all over them and the baseball covered tennis shoes.
Woman’s magazines. The covers scream that they hold the ultimate beauty secrets for every woman. Of course, once I get the magazine home, I realize that the beauty secrets work for every woman except me.

Seasonal Displays. Those marketing people at Target have figured me out. They know that if they put adorable decorations and knick-knacks on the end of the aisles during the right season, I won’t be able to resist the temptation to buy. This is why I have plastic bins full of St. Patrick’s Day decorations and summer picnic dishes that are used once a year.

Ch-ch-ch-Choxie. Chocolate with Moxie. Chocolate is irresistible in the first place, but when paired with exotic flavors like champagne and coconut, I simply cannot walk out of the store without a little diet-ruining splurge.

Underwear. Victoria’s Secret is nice, but Target has hundreds of brightly colored pairs for a fraction of the price.

Starbucks. My quick and albeit tasty financial demise started on the day they opened up a Starbuck’s in my local Target. Really, shopping is much more fun when you have a Coffee Light Frappucino in your hands.

Athletic Clothes. I want to be sporty. In fact, nearly every day I wake up and say “This is the day! This is the day that I become an exercise fanatic!” Those are the days that I find myself purchasing cute pink dry-fit running tops and soft yoga pants to encourage my journey to fitness. Fortunately, yoga pants and running tops make great lounge-around-the-house clothes so they’re not a complete waste.

Placemats. I know that I have an entire linen closet full of almost brand-new placemats, but the turquoise and tan tropical print ones would be perfect for that luau dinner party that I was thinking about hosting next summer.

Pajamas. Since becoming a mom, I spend large portions of my day traipsing around the house in my pajamas. That said, I need an adequate collection of comfortable yet stylish PJ’s to get my through my days. We all need work clothes, right?

The notecard aisle. Sure, I already have a huge box full of unused stationary. Sure, I hardly ever write snail mail letters anymore. Sure, they’re really expensive and probably cost less than a few cents to make. But I want them! They’re fun, cute and girly. It’s those darn marketing people again. They know how to entice me.

Guacamole Ice

2007-09-07T19:14:00.001-07:00

July 14, 2006

I’ve decided to make my own organic baby food from scratch for my son. There’s a slight chance I’m being overly ambitious and in a few weeks I’ll scrap the whole idea in a moment of clarity, but for now, my old blender is getting a workout pureeing bananas and avocados. I got the idea from my cousin, Angie who is raising her son on organic produce which seems like a very noble thing to do. I love the idea of knowing exactly what my son was eating and knowing that he isn’t getting any preservatives or extra sugar in his food.

It’s actually not as difficult as it sounds. Following my cousin’s advice, I went to the grocery store and bought certified organic avocados and bananas (which, along with infant rice cereal and sweet potatoes are recommended first foods). At home, I pureed the fruit in my blender (I had to add a bit of water to get it to the right consistency) and then I poured the puree into ice cube trays. I covered the trays with foil and the next day, I dumped the cubes into giant Ziploc bags. Walla! Homemade organic banana ice and guacamole ice made freshly from scratch by yours truly.

Now, when I want to feed Joey a meal, I just take a cube of banana or guacamole ice out of the freezer and let it sit for a couple of hours to thaw. Once thawed, I can serve it to him plain or mix it with a bit of infant rice cereal. The cubes are a perfect serving size for the little guy and I only really have to “cook” once or twice a month as the fruit will stay fresh in the freezer for several weeks. I’m actually a bit proud of myself. Making organic-from-scratch baby food sounds like something that a go-getting, type-A mom with hours of free time would do. Admittedly, I’m a bit Type A, but I don’t have hours of free time and I still got it done in less than fifteen minutes. So, if you’re interested in giving your baby fresh, organic food, try my cousin’s method. It works great. Maybe I will stick to this in the long run. Thanks Angie!

Sleeping through the night

2007-09-07T19:13:00.001-07:00

“I don’t want a full-night’s sleep anyway,” I protested when my husband suggested that we start trying to wean Joey off of his nighttime feedings. I mean, without mid-night feedings, I’d miss out on so much. I’d miss out on dragging myself out of my warm bed at three a.m. and tripping over toys and dogs as I stumble to the nursery in the middle of the night. I’d miss out on staring at the clock in the rocker while willing myself to stay awake for just three more minutes. I’d miss out on dragging eighty pounds of dead weight off of my pillow because my dog seems to think that it’s his job to keep my bed warm while I’m up. I’d miss out on groggy mornings where it takes everything I have to drag myself out of bed at six to change Joey’s diaper. Yes, losing those midnight feedings is quite the sacrifice.

My husband, on the other hand, thinks that the night time feedings have to go. When Joey was young, he was a great sleeper. In fact, I admit that I got a bit prideful when my four-month old was sleeping through the night apart from an occasional four o’clock dream feed. I thought that I really had the whole parenting thing figured out. Unfortunately, Joey had other plans. At five months, Joey decided that since that four o’clock snack was so delicious that he might as well have another one at midnight. At six months, he added an occasional ten o’clock nightcap and even the frequent five o’clock pick-me-up. I went from a gloating and well rested mother to an exhausted mommy with a cranky husband. I admit it, I wasn’t too impressed with the frequent feedings, but I’m less impressed with hearing him screaming in his crib in the middle of the night, so I chalked it up to the joys of parenting and became very adept at scurrying out of bed at Joey’s first whimper.

My husband wasn’t quite as joyful about the situation. Armed with our copy of Baby 411, my husband cornered me last night. “A healthy, full term six-month old is perfectly capable of sleeping for a ten to twelve hour stretch without eating,” he quoted. “He may protest for minutes, or even hours, but he will be fine. He’ll wake up in the morning well-rested and happy to see you.” I cringed. My husband wanted me to ignore Joey’s cries, to leave him alone in the nursery and see if he would fall back asleep. I’d heard about this. One of my friends told me that she had tried this and her daughter had cried for two and a half hours in the middle of the night before finally falling back asleep. Call me a wimp, but I’m not sure I could listen to my son crying for twenty minutes, much less two and a half hours. Still, my husband wasn’t backing down, so we came up with a game plan.

Our plan was simple. We would simply ignore Joey’s cries for the first five minutes. After five minutes, we would go into the nursery and let him know that we were there, but not pick him up. After another ten minutes of crying, we would offer him water. If that didn’t help, we would let him cry for fifteen more minutes before offering him a feeding. I went to bed feeling really nervous, scared that my poor little boy would feel abandoned, hungry and alone in the middle of the night. I braced myself when I heard those first cries on the monitor, willing myself to stay in bed and ignore them. I stared at the clock. Joey fussed for about a minute and then started sucking on his fingers. By the three minute mark, I only heard an occasional coo. By five minutes, he was sound asleep. I never even had to get out of bed. He woke up this morning at seven, happy and cooing and even better, I woke up well-rested with a happy husband at my side. I’ve decided that perhaps a full-night’s sleep is a good idea after all.

Lessons learned

2007-09-07T19:12:00.001-07:00

July 8, 2006

You can teach an old dog new tricks, it just takes a little longer. I’ve learned that with my dear hubby, Cam, who is a fabulous husband. He’s witty and kind and loving and trustworthy… I could go on forever telling you about the many reasons that I love him. Still, he has a downfall. He doesn’t have a romantic bone in his body. I have to hand it to him, he wants to be romantic. He wants me to be happy and he wants to treat me like a princess, but it doesn’t come easily to him. That’s why I’m so thrilled that this year, on our sixth anniversary, he finally got the anniversary thing figured out. Five tough lessoned learned, but the old dog really did learn some new tricks.

Lesson #1: Plan ahead
July 8, 2001: Our Paper Anniversary:
I got home from work to find the house as I left it, with my husband sitting on the couch watching the news. No plans, no presents, no paper. I had won a gift certificate at work to a steakhouse so we headed there last-minute (and admittedly, had a great dinner). When we got home, we attempted to eat our year-old frozen cake top from our wedding but it was too frozen (and honestly, it was kind of gross) so we had ice cream instead.

Lesson #2: Never, never forget the gift.
July 8, 2002: Our Cotton Anniversary:
We were staying at my parent’s house and I woke up expecting something exciting considering it was our two-year-anniversary. My husband woke up like it was any other day. I handed him a mushy, romantic card and a new outfit from Macy’s. He smiled at me with a goofy grin. He had forgotten to even buy me a card. I cried. I yelled. I cried some more. I made him take me to the mall and buy me an entire new outfit (including the shoes!) and take me out to a steakhouse. OK, so we like steak.

Lesson #3: Practical isn’t romantic
July 8, 2003: Our Leather Anniversary:
Grrrrroooooowwwlll… so it was our leather anniversary… and I was expecting, well, leather. You know, a leather purse, a pair of leather shoes, a skin-tight pair of black leather pants, um, you get my drift. Unfortunately, my husband (who was smart enough to remember a gift this time) had no idea that anniversaries had themes. He had bought me a nice, cotton pair of sweats from the Gap with matching hoodie. Ok, so, I love them. I still wear them all the time, but I felt a little disappointed that I didn’t get something a little, well, more leathery.

Lesson #4: There is nothing romantic about the in-laws:
July 8, 2004: Our Linen Anniversary:
I love my mother-in-law. She’s a wonderful woman who I get along with fabulously, but as well as mothers-in-law go together with linen, they do not go well with linen anniversaries. So, when my mother-in-law happened to be visiting from Oregon on our fourth anniversary, I was a little disappointed. We had a nice day and even a nice, family dinner, but there is nothing even remotely romantic about sharing your anniversary with the in-laws. Important memo to guys everywhere, the in-laws are the antithesis of romance.

Lesson #5: There is nothing romantic about my parents, either: July 8, 2005: Our Wood Anniversary. To be fair, my parents can do about as much to put a damper on romance as the in-laws can. Once again, I love them to death and I love spending time with them, but having salad dinner at my parent’s house on our fifth anniversary, is not what I dreamt about as a little girl. At least this time, he took me out for steak (hey, we like meat, what can I say?) a couple of days later in honor of our anniversary.

The new tricks that the old dog learned: July 8, 2006: Our Iron Anniversary

I woke up to a bedside tray covered with six long-stemmed roses, a magazine and a mocha from Seattle’s Best. I enjoyed my coffee and magazine while my husband entertained the baby.
We went out to breakfast at a local café and enjoyed French toast with berries and bananas.
Cam gave me a gift certificate so that I could go buy a sparkly tank-top that I’ve been wanting.
My husband arranged for my parents to baby-sit Joey so we could go out to dinner. We went to the Melting Pot. We split a bottle of wine and enjoyed a four course fondue dinner complete with chocolate fondue for dessert. If that isn’t romantic, I don’t know what is.
We came home early (and sent the parents home…refer to lesson #5) and spent the evening sitting on the couch, talking and holding each other. It was romantic. It was sexy. It was wonderful. It was nothing less than I would’ve expected from our iron anniversary.

Cousin of the crazy cat lady

2007-09-07T19:10:00.000-07:00

July 4th, 2006

You know the crazy cat lady? You know, the one who sits on her porch in her rocker all day with seven cats scrambling for a place on her lap? The one who all of the kids in the neighborhood are just a little bit afraid of for some unknown reason? I used to feel a bit sorry for her. That’s a lot of litter box cleaning and hairball cleaning. I used to pity her. Now I’ve become her.

On May 20th, my Golden Retriever gave birth to eleven puppies. That means that I now have thirteen living, breathing dogs in my house. Thirteen dogs all scrambling for my attention and care, thirteen dogs that can’t go outside during the day because I live in Texas and temperatures are well over ninety degrees outside. Thirteen dogs who all want to be petted and cuddled and fed. Eleven tiny puppies that aren’t potty trained and can’t seem to figure out that the newspaper is for peeing on, not shredding.

It’s not as bad as I’m making it sound. The puppies are adorable. Yesterday, I sat my son up on a blanket outside and let the puppies go. They ran to him and cuddled against him, falling asleep tucked in next to his little body. My son squealed with delight. The puppies rolled and wrestled. My son tried to put one in his mouth. The puppies tried to climb up into his lap. It was a picture-perfect moment made for a Christmas card and the baby book.

So, until July 1st, when the puppies are old enough to be adopted, I have officially dubbed myself the cousin of the crazy cat lady. You know, the one who sits in the grass all day with thirteen dogs scrambling for a place on her lap? The one who spends her days cleaning up pee puddles and shredded newspaper and opening tins of puppy food? I’m her.

Text messaging

2007-09-07T19:09:00.000-07:00

I am not good at text messaging. I like to blame my lack of skills on the fact that the top left button on my cell phone broke about a year ago. While seemingly unimportant, this button serves the not-too-essential purposes of saving phone numbers and to sending text messages. Since my two-year contract isn’t up and I’m not about to cough up two hundred dollars on a new phone, I’ve spent the last year text message free while everyone else has become extremely efficient at typing on a tiny cell phone keyboard.

Tonight, my brother-in-law called and left me a message that he left his money clip in my car. Deciding to get a little text messaging practice, I borrowed my husband’s cell phone and send a text to my brother-in-law. It took me about 20 minutes to type my message on the too-small keys, “You can have your clip back but I’m keeping all of the money”. I chuckled at my wit (remember, I’m new at this) and proudly pressed send. A few seconds later, the screen flashed “Message Sent to Patrick”. My heart sunk. My brother-in-law’s name is Peter. I had sent the not-so-witty message to my husband’s boss.

Needless to say, my husband wasn’t amused by the situation (although I personally think it was a tiny bit funny). I have been officially banned from text messaging, which means that I will not be the mother who is savvy enough to text her son to say that she’s on her way to pick him up from school. I will use good old-fashioned email to arrange play dates. My kids will probably groan at my technological incompetence. At least I have something to blame it on. I’ll be able to tell the story of that pesky little top left cell phone button that broke right at the peak of text messaging and how I was just never able to recover.

A neglige to cover my c-section scar

2007-09-07T19:07:00.000-07:00

Friday, July 7, 2006 9:29 am

While honeymoon lingerie is nice, post-baby lingerie is even better. This little known fact is the reason that my mom and sisters threw me a surprise post-partum lingerie shower last weekend. This is also the reason that I am sitting up at 5:30 in the morning working on my blog instead of last night when I (the perpetual scheduler) had planned on doing it. I was (ahem) otherwise occupied.

Now, for those of you who are wondering what exactly a post-partum lingerie shower is, let me fill you in. We had strawberry cake and toasted Joey with champagne flutes full of sparkling cider. My sister won a prize because she knew that my favorite dessert is tiramisu and my favorite thing about my husband is the fact that he's a peacemaker. I received a pink negligee that had been carefully selected to hide even the smallest stretch mark and a pair of turquoise boy shorts that are high cut enough to cover my c-section scar. We laughed. We cried. We gushed about how much we missed Joey even though we had only been gone for an hour and he was just down the street at home with his Daddy. What was most likely my mom's ploy to get another grandchild turned out to be a wonderful renewal in our post-baby marriage.

I think any new mom can agree that sex isn't exactly a priority with a newborn on your hip and bags under your eyes. In the months since I had Joey, I've felt anything but sexy. Those post-baby pounds and leaky breasts only compound the fact that the moment my head hits the pillow, I'm sound asleep. I admit, I've gotten a bit lazy about the whole sex thing, and my husband (the aforementioned peacemaker) is patient enough to give me my space and wait it out.

But now, armed with very forgiving lingerie and a new outlook, I'm ready to take back my sex life. I'm ready to forget about those silly post-pregnancy pounds and the fact that I haven't gotten a full night's sleep in six months. I'm ready to laugh with my husband, to again share in the wonderful intimacy that seems to erase all of our worries and doubts. I'm ready. Who knows, maybe my mom will get her wish of another grandchild sooner than we thought.

The oblivious shower method

2007-09-07T19:05:00.000-07:00

Monday, July 3, 2006 2:29 pm

I would be a huge proponent of the "No Cry" method if only my son would stop crying when I put him in his crib. Instead, at naptime, I'm a proponent of the "Oblivious Shower Method", a sanity saving strategy that I have developed in the last few months. It works like this: First, I read my son a story, sing him a song and smother him with kisses. I tell him at least fifteen times that his mommy loves him. Then, I put him in his crib, turn the mobile on and make my getaway. I escape into my own bathroom, where I hop in the shower. I turn the water on hot and I leave my conditioner in for the full three minutes. By the time I get done, Joey is sleeping peacefully and I have some precious me time.

In order to prove that I'm not the most callous mother in the world, I want you to know that I gave the "No Cry" method a full hour's attempt before I realized that the "No Cry" method was really the "Baby-gets-to-sleep-in-his-mom's-arms-all-night" method. I also tried to "Ferberize" little Joey. I'd put him down and then sit outside his room and listen to him wail. I'd cringe as he gasped and cry when he screamed until I couldn't bear it. I was too weak-willed, and within minutes I'd go in and do the unthinkable. I'd take him out of his crib and cuddle and coo to him until he calmed down. I'm sure all of you seasoned parents are thinking "rookie mistake", but I'm too new at this to understand the repercussions.

Finally, with no other option, I stumbled upon the "Oblivious Shower" method. It was naptime and I had rocked him for more than twenty minutes and he'd fall asleep in my arms only to wake up the instant his head touched the crib sheet. My hair was matted with spit-up from two days sans shower and my clothes were drenched in drool. In that sleep-deprived moment, when I was at the end of my rope and the end of my wardrobe, the kill-two-birds-with-one-stone "Oblivious Shower" method dawned on me. It worked. Joey was out and I was clean. A proud moment to remember and cherish as I reflect on the early days of motherhood.

Since that day, I've gotten the "Oblivious Shower" method down to a science. I know exactly when to make my escape and exactly how long it takes me to shave my legs and wash my hair. Joey usually is asleep by the time I turn the water on (although I wouldn't know if he wasn't). He naps happily and wakes up smiling. I'm thinking about writing a book. Maybe one day new mothers will be sitting around in coffee shops talking about "Showerizing" their babies. It's a foolproof method. You really should try it

Should've Could'vt

2007-09-07T19:02:00.000-07:00

Thursday, June 29, 2006 9:05 am

Four things that I was planning on doing during my son's naptime this week:

1.Cleaning my mail closet. I hate sorting mail. I hate those little coupon packets that come in the mail that you can't bring myself to throw away. I always forget to use them so they end up littering my counter for weeks. I hate opening bills (and while we're at it, I hate paying them but I usually do that anyway). Instead of being responsible and facing the job each day as the mail comes, I shove the piles of unopened and unsorted mail into a dark closet in my office and forget about it. That's why there are three foot high stacks (I'm really not exaggerating) of unsorted mail in there. That's also why I've been avoiding this job for eight months now.

2.Cleaning the spilled coffee grounds from the floor of the freezer. When I'm in my morning pre-coffee haze, those tiny black specks end up everywhere. The sticky, cold and musty smelling freezer floor is the last place I want to spend my morning hours so the grounds collect there for months.

3.Cleaning the dog hair that has accumulated in the cracks between the carpet and the baseboards. I really don't understand how two dogs can shed so much hair. You'd think that they'd be bald by now.

4.Breaking down and recycling the boxes that are threatening to overtake every last inch of our garage space. It seems like every new baby item from baby wipes to diapers come in big boxes that must be torn into tiny two-by-two pieces in order for our recycling service to accept them. Tearing down boxes in a hot garage is not my idea of a good time.

Four (more important) things that I did instead:

1.Set up my own personal iced coffee bar so that I can make myself a pick-me-up beverage any time of the day. I made a big pot of strong Guatemalan coffee and put it in the fridge to cool. I stirred in some hazelnut coffee syrup. Now, whenever I want an iced coffee, I just add milk to my concoction. It's like having a gourmet coffee shop in my kitchen.

2.I laid a big towel in the grass and let all eleven puppies climb, droop and lick all over me. To me, the cry of a tiny puppy is like my son's laughter. I can't help but feeling like the luckiest person in the world every time I hear it.

3.After watching a Food Network program on cookie making, I spent the next hours salivating over spiced oatmeal raisin cookies. Finally I gave into the temptation and made a huge batch and proceeded to blow any chance of reaching my pre-pregnancy weight by eating seven of them in a matter of minutes.

4.Took my dog into the yard and threw the tennis ball to him until he was so tired he couldn't stand up anymore. Then, I collapsed into the grass with him and hugged him until he caught his breath.

My little mutt

2007-09-06T12:55:00.000-07:00

June 20, 2006

I call my son a little mutt. Yes, I know what a mutt is and yes, I know what I'm setting myself up for. I'm setting myself up for evening phone calls from teachers complaining that my son called his friend a mutt on the playground. I'm setting myself up for several awkward conversations with other parents about name-calling and I'm setting myself up to have to explain to my son that yes, we call him that but no, it's not a nice thing to say. Do as I say and not what I do.

It all started because my husband and I call our dogs (who, ironically, are purebred) "The Mutts". Things like "Did you give the mutts their food?" or "Want to take the mutts on a walk?" are commonly said in our house. When Joey was born, we simply added him to the equation. "How about I take the little mutt (Joey) upstairs and put him to bed while you take the big mutts (our dogs) out?" It was funny at first. Now it's annoyingly catchy and we can't seem to stop saying it. Scoff all you want. I'm not the only one who calls my son an irritating yet cute pet (no pun intended) name. I know a couple who calls their daughter a "Cutie Tootie" and another friend who calls her son "Mr.Farty Farm". And my grandparents gave my dad the unfortunate initials G.A.S. and had the audacity (and humor) to have an initial sweater monogrammed for him.

So for now, I'm going to keep calling Joey a little Mutt and just hope that his first word is "mama" or "dada". If he says "lil'mutt" before he says "Gramma", I'll definitely have some explaining to do.

Dirty socks

2007-09-06T12:53:00.001-07:00

When I was pregnant, I read an article full of simple suggestions to keep your life organized with a new baby around. One tip was to purchase two diaper bags and fill them both with all of the essentials, assuring that you'd always have one fully stocked diaper bag ready to go. I thought this was a brilliant idea and I even got as far as purchasing two identical diaper bags and filling them both with newborn-sized diapers and two tiny wipe boxes that conveniently fit into the pockets of my diaper bags. I put a tiny t-shirt, a pair of socks, two receiving blankets and a pacifier in each bag and proudly put my two diaper bags on hooks next to the door in my laundry room. I was pretty proud of myself. I had this mothering thing down pat.

Fast forward four months and the tiny newborn sized T-shirts (which were too small when he got home from the hospital) are the only things left in the bags. They sit empty on their assigned hooks, my token accessory as I leave the house. You'd think that I would learn my lesson and refill those still-new diaper bags, but that would not only take free hands, but it would also require finding clean onesies, blankets, and burp rags. Clean laundry is a luxury that a new mother does not have. My mom and I were at the mall shopping for a wedding present in an upscale department store when Joey decided to "let 'er rip". I heard it before I smelled it or saw it.

By the time I got him out of his stroller, yellow poo (for lack of a better word) was dripping out of the toes of his socks. I held him at arms length and pulled my diaper bag (which I had expediently remembered to put in the stroller that day) out from the basket. I pulled out my tiny box of wipes and got to work, only to find out that the easy-to-store sized box only held enough wipes to clean one of Joey's legs. Scrounging in our purses for leftover Kleenex and fast food napkins, my mom and I ran to the ladies room where we cleaned Joey the best we could with wet paper towels. I dug around in the diaper bag and found the tiny t-shirt and an old grocery receipt. No diapers. No receiving blanket. Not even a lonely burp rag that could be jerry rigged into a make-do diaper until we got home.

Left with no other option, I did the unthinkable and picked up my squirming, naked little boy and carried him through the mall in his birthday suit. Strangely, the little guy didn't seem to notice that his mom was near tears, feeling inadequate and unprepared while he cooed and laughed, happy to be free of those pesky tags that always seem to scratch his neck.

5 signs that I've lost my cool

2007-09-06T12:52:00.001-07:00

1.When I go clothing shopping, I no longer base my purchases on color, fit or brand but instead on how easily accessible they are for breastfeeding. If I can find a shirt that I can discreetly slip down in two seconds flat with a screaming baby in my arms, I'll buy it in three colors.

2.My favorite tube of raspberry shine lipstick has disappeared from my purse and has been replaced anti-bacterial hand wash and a pacifier. I haven't really needed lipstick anyway since the day that it got smeared all over the top of my son's overly kissable head.

3.It takes me more than two hours to get ready in the morning but I still leave the house with wet hair and mismatched socks.

4.I need to replace the "We Sing Silly Songs" CD in my car stereo because the words to "Pop Goes the Weasel" have been stuck in my head for three days and I just caught myself singing it out loud while waiting for my coffee at Starbucks.

5.While I was pureeing veggies for my son's baby food the other day, I took a little taste test. Three bites later, I added a bit of cinnamon and had pureed sweet potatoes for lunch. To my defense, it's awfully hard to make a sandwich with a squirmy baby in your arms.

For poorer or for poorer

2007-09-06T12:50:00.000-07:00

June 17th, 2006

Our demise into poverty started before we got back from our honeymoon. My husband of seven days, three hours and twenty-nine minutes turned towards me in the crowded airplane seat. Our eyes met and we both started to laugh hysterically. Our checkbook register sat between us on our laps, displaying the grand total of $2.76. Yes, we had little less than three dollars to rent an apartment, buy furniture, get groceries, to start our lives with. The situation really wasn’t funny at all, but to us, young and in love, we found it hilariously amusing.
A few hours later, we stood together on my parent’s front porch, holding hands and giggling as we knocked on my parent’s blue door. My mom answered with a squeal.

“You’re home! Tell us all about it!” She beamed, thrilled that her daughter had come to visit so quickly after her honeymoon. As my mom prepared lemonade and cookies, Cameron and I discussed how we were going to tell them the real reason for the surprise visit. My mom floated into the kitchen with a tray of treats just as my dad walked in the front door. He rushed over to hug us, anxious to hear about our honeymoon and what we were planning to do now that we were back. We told them all about the vacation, stalling as we figured out a way to tell them that we had squandered every penny we had saved and were now sitting on less than three dollars. I finally broke the ice, “Um, Dad. Mom. We have a favor to ask you. We don’t really, um, have any um, money so we were wondering if we could stay here for a few days until we figure out what to do.”

In the childless years that followed, we were able to pull ourselves out of the red, a brief respite from the poverty that seems to cling to young couples. We bought a car, bought a house and even had the money to go on vacation a few times. But now, as a stay-at-home-mom to a four month old, our checking account situation is eerily similar to that day on the plane after our honeymoon. No money in the savings account. We have a few dollars to buy groceries, but never enough to buy designer clothes or eat out at fancy restaurants.

I find myself wondering if this is the curse of parenthood, a tiny pocketbook and an empty closet. But looking around my house, at my worn furniture and old appliances, I’m not sure it’s a curse. My husband and I have struggled through six years of ups and downs, through two moves and three jobs, through two bounced checkbooks and one company downsize. Through it all, Cameron has held my hand tightly and assured me that none of it matters. He’s right. In six years of marriage, we haven’t ever fought about money. Sure, we’ve fought about hundreds of things from the tile on the kitchen floor to where to go out to dinner, but we’ve never fought about money. I think it’s because we know the truth.

We know that expensive apartments and BMW’s and William Sonoma china don’t buy love. We know that trips to Paris and weekends at bed-and-breakfasts in Vermont do little to create romance in a marriage. We know our son can be happy in a tiny suburban apartment without furniture. We know that the most romantic moments come from being together as a family and being hopelessly in love. We know that a kiss can dry tears and a hug can chase away anger. We know that there is nothing wrong with being young and idealistic and in love. We know that dancing is free and that laughter is contagious. We want our son to remember that in our marriage, we laughed. We laughed when life was hilariously funny and when there was no reason to laugh at all

Caffiene addiction...er, attraction

2007-09-06T12:47:00.000-07:00

June 16th, 2006

I was not one of those mothers who gave up caffeine cold turkey when I got pregnant. I wanted to. The day after I found out that I was pregnant, I made a valiant attempt and made it all the way until 10:00 before driving to Seattle’s Best for a Café Au Lait. I even tried to trick my body into thinking that decaf would suffice and that burst of charged energy that comes with every cup was just psychological. I really wanted to believe that.

Instead, I became the pregnant woman who couldn’t make it through her morning routine without at least one (or at the most two) caffeinated cups. To ease my conscience, my doctor told me that recent research has shown that caffeine was only detrimental to my baby’s health in large doses, so I did what any mother would do, I asked my doctor what exactly a “large dose” was. He explained that research had shown that woman who drank five or more cups of coffee a day had increased risks of miscarriage, low birth weight and other problems. I had found my loophole. I made it my goal to stay under two cups a day throughout my pregnancy and breastfeeding. Once the little guy is weaned, I’m sure that I will once again be seen in the Starbuck’s line ordering my third Venti Latte of the day.

This morning, after consuming my typical two cups of morning coffee sans breakfast, I trudged up the stairs, allowing that now-familiar sense of guilt over my caffeine addiction to overtake me. As I logged into my computer, my mind raced (fairly quickly albeit) about how I probably should cut back on the caffeine, limit myself to one cup of coffee per day, and while I'm at it I should probably stop eating French fries and Ben & Jerry's Cherry Garcia every night, too. Much to my surprise, there was an article on MSN about the health effects of caffeine. I didn't want to open it. It was a don't know-don't care situation, but something deep inside me, perhaps that tiny part of me that still clung to the fact that caffeine is my friend and couldn't be harmful if I like it this much, forced my hand to move the mouse, to open the article.

As I read through the first few paragraphs, my hands shook with excitement. No increased cancer risk. Check. No increased heart attack risk. Check. Extra energy (nervous, anxious and twitchy energy is still energy, you know). Check. Increased mental stimulation (does that mean it makes me smarter? Hmmm... I think I've been feeling those effects recently). Check. I immediately loaded Joey into the car and headed for Starbucks to buy a venti-triple-shot-double-caffiene-black-eye. I drank it guiltlessly. Coffee is healthy. MSN says so. MSN never lies.

Ready or not...

2007-09-06T12:45:00.000-07:00

June 15th, 2006

You see it in the movies all the time. A man patiently waits in the kitchen while his wife takes a pregnancy test to the bathroom only to emerge 3 minutes later with tears in her eyes. He sweeps her into his arms and kisses her romantically as they gaze into each other’s eyes and she tearfully exclaims that she’s pregnant. They spend the next few hours flipping through baby names books while holding hands and stopping to wipe tears off of their cheeks. It’s touching. It’s romantic. It’s compelling, and I wanted nothing less from the moment that I found out that I was pregnant.

Unfortunately, reality isn’t always torn from the pages of a movie script. I found out that I was pregnant in the middle of teaching my seventh period class. Instead of a romantic moment with my husband, I was surrounded by fourteen-year-olds who certainly thought that I had gone crazy. I started out the class teaching verbs in a state of blissful oblivion. In fact, I made it through most of the class period without a clue that there was a tiny life growing inside of me. With about ten minutes to go, a girl came up to me and whispered that she had an emergency and needed to use the restroom. As I filled out her hall pass, it dawned on me that I hadn’t had a period in quite a while. My mind raced as I handed the girl her pass and I quickly did some mental calculations.

It had been more than seven weeks since my last period. I was more than three weeks late and I hadn’t even noticed. I sat at my desk for the rest of class in a state of stunned shock. My students occasionally gave me worried glances and rushed out of my room as soon as the bell rang, scared that whatever psychological malady I had would somehow affect them.
It wasn’t that I didn’t want to be pregnant, it was that my pregnancy completely blindsided me. My husband and I had talked about getting pregnant and we intended to do so soon. We just kept putting it off, figuring that we’d start trying as soon as we had our lives figured out. We wanted more dollars in our checking account. We wanted to feel more ready, more mature. Fortunately, God had a different plan in mind. I sat there after school that day and wondered how I was going to tell my husband. I was twenty-seven, had been married for more than five years, with a great husband and good health insurance. What was there to be scared of?

That night, when I told my husband, his eyes lit up and he started laughing. He was as shocked as I was, but he was also excited. As we told our families and friends and began to prepare to have the baby, we realized that having children is something that you’re just never quite ready to do. We could’ve had a million dollars in the bank and been married for fifteen years and we still would’ve been a little scared when faced with the responsibility of a brand new baby. Still, ready or not, babies come and as parents all we can do is buckle down and do the best job that we can. Being a parent doesn’t mean being perfectly mature, financially stable or mistake-free. It means loving your child from the moment they’re born and every minute thereafter. If you’re ready to do that, then you’re ready to be a parent.

A challenge of contradictions

2007-09-06T12:43:00.001-07:00

June 14th, 2006-

Up until four months ago, I generally behaved fairly normally in public. Back then, I’d never sung outside of the comfort of my shower and I always wore clean clothes. My house was fairly neat from its weekly mop and vacuum routine and on most nights, I cooked a simple dinner that my husband and I enjoyed in the breakfast nook while catching up on each other’s days. Yes, back then, I lived like a million other twenty-seven-year-old woman. I had a job, two dogs and a husband. But that was four months ago. That was before my son Joey was born.

Yesterday, I caught myself standing in the middle of the bread aisle swaying back and forth while singing “Old McDonald Had a Farm”. My cart stood abandoned in the middle of the aisle, half-full of groceries while I bounced my four-month-old son, Joey, trying to keep him from screaming. A large clump of white spit-up slowly trickled down the back of my old gray sweatshirt and landed with a splat on the floor. An older woman walked by and raised her eyebrows at me and informed me that my baby was hungry and that I might want to consider feeing him. I honestly considered kicking her in the shin. I continued singing at the top of my lungs and started to do lunges and make silly faces at Joey, but to no avail. Finally, I grabbed my purse and high-tailed out of the store, hoping to escape before the grocery clerk noticed that I left a cart full of melting ice cream in the middle of the bread aisle.

Yes, my little seven pound, fourteen ounce bundle of joy entered my world and turned it upside down in a matter of minutes. His chubby cheeks and bright blue eyes turned me into a cooing and gurgling fool who sings silly songs in public and dances through the grocery aisle. Since Joey’s arrival, my life has changed in ways that only a mother can understand. The trivial things from my former life fade from my mind when my son smiles and coos and melts my heart in an instant. Still, a small part of me wonders if it is possible to hold on to parts of the old me, to maintain some semblance of sanity and womanhood while being a parent. I wonder if it’s possible to be a good mother as well as a great wife, organized housekeeper, a fabulous friend and a strong woman.

How can I be a great parent and a strong, organized and successful woman at the same time? It seems like a challenge full of contradictions. How can I allow my son the freedom to play and explore yet keep my house presentable for company? How can I spend my days playing peek-a-boo and the itsy-bitsy spider yet still have the energy to maintain my adult relationships? How can I strive to learn and grow as a person when I hardly have time to take a shower or put on makeup? This is the challenge that all new mothers face and I am right in the midst of it. So, all of you new moms who have three spare minutes between your baby’s nap and next feeding, make yourself a cup of tea and join me. You never know, the baby might even sleep long enough for you to drink it.
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