Smartter Each Day

To Ty

2012-01-22T17:29:00.001-08:00

Ty:
One day when you read this blog, you'll wonder where I was for the first year of your life. Then another day, when you have your second child, you'll understand.
Ty, for months I have been wanting to write this post. We love you so much. You are hilarious. We have now learned if we want to predict our kids' personalities, we should write down all observations at three months old, and then reverse them. You once seemed so calm and easy-going! Now we now not to plop you down anywhere and just walk away, that you fake-cry when mom walks in the room, that when you're sure you're starving at 3 am, we should just give up and feed you. We know you have no patience for waiting in the pack-n-play, for food to be set down, and getting that bottom wiped.
You talk all the time. It started with "Oooooooo!" (volume goes up and down) whenever you got excited. Now you love to say "dad." You try to say Sam, and no, and bottle. Your little chubby hands clapping, and waving, and reaching so big are the cutest. I love when you sing when we sing and talk back to Sam. Nothing, nothing, makes you laugh as much as Sam. His laugh is funny, his hair is funny, when he hugs (read = squeezes) you it's funny, when he runs it's funny. The other day he was throwing a pot holder against the wall and it was SO funny.
I've never, ever seen a baby so disinterested in toys. If you can't bounce it, you won't touch it. Instead, I pry you away daily from the vaccuum, the china closet, the stairs, the toilet, the trash can, the computer, my cell phone, and the every power adapter we use.
I think you are a lot like your dad. You love taking things apart. You love cords and wires and plugs and anything electric. You aren't clumsy, and even, dare I say it, athletic. You're more interested in climbing and crawling and walking than sitting still for too long. And maybe, maybe one day you'll have his patience.
You are so cuddly and smily and love getting tickled and sung to and bounced and hugged. Everyday I love you more. I'm so glad your mine.
Love,
Mom

a blink of time

2011-12-06T18:07:00.000-08:00

When we were in high school, my sisters and I babysat for a wonderful family. Two families actually...brothers with kids. We loved them, still talk about them, and fight over their names for our kids. If more proof is needed, today - ten years later - I am writing a blog about them; last week, their mom wrote one about us.

See, recently I moved back to my hometown and found myself in need of a babysitter. And who would come to mind, of course, but my former kiddos - the two little girls that still in my mind have aqua glasses and gaps between their teeth and sleep with stuffed animals and nightlights on. It is cute, and ironic, and also disconcerting, that these girls can babysit my boys.
I don't know why that would be so troubling. Kids grow up. Fast. It's something since my very first public outing with a baby everyone from the Walmart cashier to the neighbors wistfully points out. "Oh, enjooooy these days. They will be grown before you know it, blah blah blah." So I have no idea why the fact that the three little kids from Concord are in high school now is so riveting to my system. But it is.
See, if these kids are grown {practically} then it happened in a blink. Boom. They're grown. And, if Jenn's kids really and truly are done with playdough, and don't play Candy Land, and don't need you to pull up their pants with they're done, why {gasp} MINE WILL BE TOO.

In a blink.

This is a theme for me. Yesterday - twice - I stumbled upon this quote.

“But the biggest mistake I made is the one that most of us make while doing this. I did not live in the moment enough. This is particularly clear now that the moment is gone, captured only in photographs. There is one picture of the three of them sitting in the grass on a quilt in the shadow of the swing set on a summer day, ages 6, 4 and 1. And I wish I could remember what we ate, and what we talked about, and how they sounded, and how they looked when they slept that night. I wish I had not been in such a hurry to get on to the next thing: dinner, bath, book, bed. I wish I had treasured the doing a little more and the getting it done a little less.”
~Anna Quindlen

This mom makes me sad. I'm sad her moment is gone forever, with the kids talking about nonsense on the grass. But mostly, I am sad because she is me, and I am busy configuring the router and planning the menu and chopping the onions. Too busy.

But I am a firstborn, and so, it's not just weepy Hallmarkness that the marching of time evokes in me.

Also, I feel motivated. Frantic, really. Something akin to the last day of vacation, run-outside-before-the-rainbow-moves, turn-over-your-paper-and-start-your-essay feelings. There is so much to do, and so, obviously, little time. I don't know if my Uncle Jerry coined the phrase or just made it famous to us: "Raising little kids is the shortest years and the longest days of your life."

I sort of wish God had made parenting kids more spliced out in life. You know, a few months of good sleep here, a sabbatical year there. Which come to think of it, is probably why people love being grandparents so much. (Namely, that you have all the influence but get to go home and sleep all night in your own bed.) But parenting has no such privileges. It is all and not nothing. All all all. All day, all night, all energy, all the time.
I have so much I want to accomplish with these kids, and a few more I'd like to have. In my dreams I am part Pioneer Woman, part Ann Voskamp and these moms who have homeschooling blogs, and go on field trips, and learn spontaneous lessons about rock quartz in the backyard and read everything and go all over, adventuring.

But in real life...Right now, for instance, I have a headache. There are books all over, and they need to go on the shelf. If I don't get a shower now, I won't, and the cookie swap is tonight. And I'm so. so. so. TIRED.

See, mothering is like a marathon, sprinted. Yes. I am tired; that sounds about right. I have never run a marathon, but I'm pretty sure there's not much time to do much else on the side. Sure, you do what you need to do - grab a banana, stretch a sore muscle, stop for a few words of encouragement to push through, and eventually the analogy breaks down, because I'm pretty sure there's a glass of wine in there too once in a while. But irregardless, it is hard, and all you do for a while.

When I see my former clients soon, and they come to be MY mother's helpers, I secretly hope they aren't all grown-up looking. It would be easier to swallow if I pretend they are different kids from the two I colored pictures with. But no, I think it's best that I remember.

And then I will look at mine, little and grubby and needing things, and I will try to stay focused, and motivated, and caffeinated, and organized, for this raising children stage.

Because hard as it is, it is a blink.

God, grant me enough sleep to do this job. Give me just enough breaks to be refreshed, but not enough to lose my focus. Grant me creativity, especially at 4:30 in the afternoon. Help us learn as much as we can about the big wide world, for you made it. Oh, and thank you.

Dear Steven Curtis Chapman

2011-12-05T18:12:00.001-08:00

Dear Steven.

Hi. We've known each other for a long time. We go way back. You probably remember that concert in '96 in Charlotte. It was at a church and I'm PRETTY sure we made some good eye contact. Could have been the blinding lights, also.
Anyways, I guess I've had distant admiration for you for a while. To be honest, growing up I was more of a Michael W. sort of girl. Might have been that raspy voice. But I did like you, too. You always made me cry with that "I Will Be Here" song. That was sweet. And, of course, the later Cinderella song about your little girls. Which reminds me, I can't believe how amazing you and your wife have been since the tragedy involving the loss of your child. I think that's what really made me respect you, on a truly serious level.

And then most recently, I want to thank you for that song you wrote about me. That - was so special.

When I heard it, when Sam and I were driving to Lowe's last week, I truly burst into tears. Because, why yes, yes I did pick up toys for the 15th time, and try to match socks, and yes I did throw color on my lips and a baby on my hip, and yes, I was completely exhausted and wondering the point of it all was.

And then you reminded me. See, I got confused. Sometimes I honestly and truly believe that getting the potatoes peeled before naptime, or the bills done by the 15th, or the prescriptions picked up before 4 - that the point is to DO everthing (or at least one thing!?) on the list. And you knew how stressed that was making me, because of course having a to-do list and a toddler is just asking for disappointment. It won't get done, probably, whatever it was that needed done. Thanks for reminding me that "it all matters just as long As you do everything you do to the glory of the One who made you." When you told me that, I really felt better. I felt hopeful. Like I had a goal I could accomplish. Would that last load of laundry be folded before bedtime? Heck, would the FIRST load of laundry be folded?? Um, let's be honest NO. Would my children do what I wanted them to? Not looking good. But could I do everything for God? Well, now THAT I could try. His yoke is easy and his burden is light.

You know me, Steven. Too, too well. Thanks again for the reminder. Until we meet again...

literary analysis (are you excited!!?)

2011-12-04T16:53:00.000-08:00

Today I saw Ellen, a wonderful lady I know, in the Harris Teeter. At the end of the conversation she noted that she'd missed my blogs recently. (As, obviously, there's been like two since 4th of July, or something.) I promised her I'd write one, so here we are.
I am always a little surprised when someone (besides my parents) says they enjoy my blog. The reason I'm surprised is actually the same reason I haven't posted in a while. (Okay, part of the reason I haven't posted is that I'm pretty sure my brain is turning to mush due to lack of sleep, doing the same 5 things all day long - telling Sam no, making food, cleaning up food, wiping, carrying, dressing or undressing someone) - and from hurriedly packing and unpacking everything we own before each box is devoured - literally and figuratively - by a toddler or a baby.)
But anyway, the other reason I hesitate to post is this. I feel like about 75% of what I have to say is about boring, embarassing, unoriginal same old thing: worry. Bleh. Sure the landscape changes. Sometimes Sam is wheezing. Sometimes I'm dying of something. Sometimes tornadoes, or politics, or the state of America's youth are scary. (But feel me there. Don't you just get the creeps visiting a playground trying to imagine how your kid is going to find an acceptable spouse? Seriously ya'll.) Anyways, the point is, if I were an English teacher (stretch) and I were trying to decipher themes from this exqusitite work of art known as "Smartter Each Day," there would be one main theme, and that would be worry.
And who likes to hear about worry? I've gotta work on some new material, for real. But that's the thing. For REAL, being REAL, I. Just. Worry. It's how I see life, and how God meets me. As goes the quote from my favorite book, Calm My Anxious Heart, "My life has been full of numerous misfortunes, most of which never occurred." I laughed when I read that because it is so me! It is embarassing that I meet God not in terrors and tragedies but in imaginary troubles.

My brother-in-law Dan used to say, "teacher out for summer!" in this sarcastic sort of tone whenever I tried to release pent-up teacher energy on my family. You know, making them do projects, reprimanding people for not raising their hands...perfectly understandable things like that. Well I do guess he's right, about the excess teacher energy thing. Like now, I miss school. Which is probably why I made a color-coded sticker chart for Sam's daily activities, and why we visit the library every other week. And then there's this. The other day I was thinking about my life, and analyzing it like a work of literature. You know. You have the author. (God.) The beautiful, intriguing, complex main character. (Ahem.) And then, the plot.
See it's kind of funny. If I were asking questions to my students, trying to get them to understand the meaning behind the story, first we would examine the main character. What do we know about her? They would raise their hands and say, well, she is afraid a lot. She worries too much. She has a really good life, but always struggles to trust that God will take care of her.
But here's where it gets interesting. What does the author (God) do with her life? One, he takes care of her, constantly. But also, he gives her Sam, a wonderful little boy with the severe food allergies. Now note. He is perfectly healthy. But he has a condition which MIGHT if he COULD POSSIBLY be exposed to certain things suffer POTENTIAL severe effects. Now the question I would ask, as literature teacher, is of course, why did God write the story that way? Why give that girl that child? In plain English, doesn't it sound like a horrible idea to give a neurotic mom a kid who needs constant monitoring to not ingest one of the #1 ingredients in common foods? Doesn't that sound like a recipe for disaster???

I can't tell you how many times I have thought about this. Not so much as in complaining to God, because in a million years I would never change one single thing about Sam, and, obviously, he is a perfectly healthy little boy. But more I marvel, almost in a comical sort of way. God, why did you do it this way?

And I know the answer. Actually, I mentioned the correct answer earlier, in sarcasm. "A recipe for disaster." Because it is disaster. My story, what little bits I can see, is perfectly, wonderfully disastrous.

I collapse.

I can't do it.

I. NEED. GOD.

Can I tell you that a million times a day, and at night in my prayers, I pray for protection against residual peanuts, and powdered formula, and inhaled butter fumes, and dog dander and a thousand other real or imagined threats to my wonderful life. And a million times a day I am reminded of two things. One, I do not own my wonderful life. And two, I need God. It's perfect. It's just what the little girl with trust issues needed to see.

So there's our literature class for today. And something completely unoriginal to this blog AGAIN. Geez, you'd think if I really were getting "smartter" I'd be gaining ground in this worry thing, huh? :) But ps. one more thing. If you haven't read your life like a work of literature, you should. It is very insightful to think about! Why did God write YOUR life this way??? :) (I know, I know, teacher out for summer!!!)

2011-11-17T16:54:00.000-08:00

It's hard for me to think about this conversation without getting emotional. Truly, it's kind of comical, but also on the wrong week of the month, gets the tear ducts moving if you feel me. I tried really hard to remember how it went and even took some notes during...which was a little tricky, as I was driving. Here is the gyst.

Sam: Mom, this is song is Jesus a sigh-a."
me: Yeah, it says Jesus is the Messiah."
Sam: Mom what's sigh-a?
me: Well, it means that Jesus loves us very much and he's going to take us to heaven one day. (Yes, I know I oversimplified. Give me a break, people. Had to take some theological liberties here; he's two.)
Sam: Where's heaven, Mom?
me: Um, it's...very far away. It's a really fun place where we will be with Jesus forever, a really long time.
Sam: And God too?
me: Yes, God too.
Sam: Mom, drive there.
me: Well...you can't drive there. God will take us there when he wants to.
Sam: Is heaven that building, mom?
me: No. It's really far away.
Sam: Will we take the sidewalk?
me: Not really the sidewalk. We'll go with God. It's a great place. We won't get sick, or be scared, or get boo-boos or anything. And it won't rain. (It was raining. Sam and I hate the rain. If you want rain in your heaven, then omit this part.)
Sam: Is heaven over there?
me: No, it's, um, heaven isn't really near here.

long pause. Brief conversation about why Sam's shoes are wet on the bottom, and how Ty ate a leaf recently.

Sam: Mom will there be shoes in heaven?
me: (pause.) Do you want to wear shoes? (No.) Then, no. No shoes.
Sam: Is there goin be toys?
me: Yes, lots and lots of toys.
Sam: And me and Jesus will play with toys!

About at this point we were home. I debated prolonging the trip to see if he'd ask any more questions. But I think the moment was over. what a hoot! :)

update(s)

2011-10-03T17:20:00.000-07:00

Where to start? I've received so many emails and phone calls demanding updates on my "no worries" resolution, so I'll start with that. (okay, more like my husband mentioned it in passing two weeks ago. At least someone remembered. :) It's been almost two months since I gave up worry for lent, or fall, or something.

How's it going, you ask? Well, it was going great. I wrote the blog, went to bed, and things were going swimmingly. Then I woke up and sort of felt that left-arm-numbness-thing I've been noticing. That was a bit of a battle to my spirit. But nothing compared to Day 3 of No Worry Living, when Sam had an allergic reaction to something still unknown, in our living room (carpet? pesticide? peanut butter?), and we had to administer the epi pen and call 911 and rush him to the doctor. I mean, I guess I knew there would be trials and tribulations to surmount. But really, God, really??!? The epi pen on Day 3??! Initially, even this challenge was met with confidence, maturity, and strength. What I mean is, the paramedics (and my mom) were impressed with my attention to detail, yet refusal to cry like a little girl, even though anyone would be scared.

It was only days later that I basically crumbled like a cookie in a lunchbox. Crumbled apart. The terror, the adrenaline, the questions that needed answers, the rashes that needed watching, the doctors who needed prompting...

Worry is like a toilet. No, not just that it's crappy. (Seventh grade humor...sorry. Too much time with my husband.) No, picture the part where it flushes and water is swirling and swirling and sucking down. Worry swallows everything. There is no middle ground. Worry a drop about something; soon you will worry oceans about anything. Either worry is dead or worry is tyrant. So I guess despite my failure it wasn't a total loss. I have learned a lot about worry. I have learned how destructive worry can be. I have learned I am a hypochondriac. (Who knew? Oh, you did? Shoot.) Finally I have learned that I can be great at managing worry, especially with a little medicine, a glass or two of wine, people who listen, a few good nights of (mostly) uninterrupted sleep, when I am surrounded by people, and, ahem, at certain happier times of the month.

I am not the hero of this story. I did a bad job not worrying. (Although give me a little break...the epi pen on day 3?!?! Did anyone think I'd survive that??) I still remain resolute as ever for the next 23 days. I think I am just more humble now. I know I am a worry junkie. I need to go to AA meetings and run like heck when I see a needle. It's my pathetic drug to cope with life, and I am grateful for people who help.

SO there is that update. Now that we've gotten that out of the way here are a few random happenings and thoughts of the last two months.
- We are praying for the right next place to live! Our house is rented. Where do we go next? No pressure, since it's not like our kids will probably grow up in this house, and I'm sure our 3.85% interest rate will be around any old time we need it again. (!?!?!)
- I am teaching again. I have the most wonderful students EVER. Sam, Jack, and Lincoln, so far. Homeschool preschool rocks.
- It's not too late to get up in the wee hours of the morning (or just the regular morning, only if you have a toddler and baby, heads up that it may FEEL like the wee hours of the morning) to read your Bible with us! I am so grateful for this program, and for all the friends all over the country who are reading with me! We sign in via facebook in the morning for accountability. Not too late! Join us!
- Have you been checking out my other blog? It is called The Allergy Free Kitchen. Keep it in mind if you want a yummy recipe for dinner, or if anyone you know needs to eat without a certain allergy. Pass it along!
- Finally. I have realized I have a love/hate relationship with pop culture, now that I am offically an adult. Love: I want to be cool again. When did I lose it? (Oh, yes, that's right. When I got pregnant.) Anyway, I miss shopping. I miss knowing how to do my eye makeup, or doing my eye makeup in general. I resent the realization that I am actually not wearing the kind of jeans the cool kids are wearing. But also: HATE. At the risk of sounding like a grandmother (no - I take it back. No "risk" - I offically WILL sound like a grandmother.) BUT WHEN THE HECK DID AMERICA GO TO POT??? (I warned you...grandmother.) But seriously. Maybe I have just been removed from culture too long while I was burping and shushing and making babyfood. But have teenagers always been so grungy and disrespectful and texting nonstop and just plain NOT who you want your precious little boys to grow up and be with? (or - gasp - be LIKE??) Has mainstream TV always been so full of sex and boobs and really awful people?? Seriously??

Okay, I am off my soapbox. Just had to note it, for the one other person in the world who also feels that way, now you are not alone! :) haha.

Whew, thanks for reading this quite random update, and I promise I won't be gone so long next time!

before 30

2011-08-06T06:48:00.000-07:00

You have probably heard of this thing where people list 30 things they want to do before they turn 30. I am behind a little. I only have 81 days to do whatever crazy things I want to do. Typically this type of thing would be right up my alley. But I have subconsciously been avoiding it for two reasons I just realized. First, even though it sounds cliche, I am joining the club of people who are in denial about their age. I am still coming to terms with the fact that "thirty-year-olds" are not people who hang out with my parents, or those dragging their kids to little league games, or people who tell cheesy jokes and drink adult drinks. No, "thirty-year-olds" are MY FRIENDS, and I am one of them. Sigh. My mom says when you are a kid life goes so slow and then somewhere around adulthood it starts rolling like a snowball until about 50 it is racing so fast you have no idea what's happening. Guess I better hold on.

Anyway, I think the second reason I haven't done the 30 before 30 is that to be honest, making a list like that just wouldn't be that big of a deal, for me or anyone else who knows me. I live and breathe lists. Grocery list, wish lists, meal lists, goal lists, packing lists, project lists. I'm one of those people who adds something to the list just to cross it off. (You know who you are.) I make so many lists that last year I decided that a master notebook (think Trapper Keeper, thirty-somethings) to hold all of my books of lists would be a good investment. It held my notebook for grocery lists, my notebook of project lists, and my notebook of - wait for it - miscellaneous lists. (this is not a joke.) When describing my trapper keeper to my husband, this was the point at which he burst out laughing.

No, for me the challenge has never been lining the lists and getting the goals. My 30-before-30 list would just be one more feather in my cap for self-accomplishments and petty victories. If I really think about, for me a REAL success would be to STOP doing, stop planning, stop analyzing, stop achieving, stop predicting and charting and mandating and controlling and thinking and... DO NOTHING.

In other words, to stop worrying.

Hmmm. The first time this insane idea crossed my mind I literally laughed. What a ridiculous, impossible thing. To make a goal to stop worrying! Makes for a good chicken-soup-for-the-soul story but how in the world. How would I even find the resources to totally, totally let go and with all my strength and heart and mind work on being positive? Too crazy.

And then I was dared to. I was talking to my mom; I can't remember if it was the time I thought Ty had whooping cough or I was having another kid or I couldn't ever have another kid or Sam was too energetic or too lethargic or what. But anyway, I was bemoaning the state of me, the inflicted worrier, when she slapped me with this: You know, you don't really know if you can stop worrying, because the truth is, you've never really tried. Being the goal-oriented person I am, I was more invigorated than offended. Puh! Never tried it!! Is that a challenge? I'll take it!

Of course, it would be goal-making heresy to vaguely pledge to forsake worrying with no defined end. So 1-before-30 it is. Until October 26, 2011, I will do no worrying. (Don't ask me what happens the 27. Worry party?? Anyone in?)

Anyway, upon further deliberation I realized I may need to redefine things, because, come to think of it, telling someone to not worry is about like telling someone not to think about oranges. (What are you thinking about??) And also like, if you forgive my presumption in Bible interpretation, the story Jesus tells about the empty house and the demons coming and filling it. No worry, and you just have an empty space for more destructive thoughts.

So perhaps a better goal is this. For the next 81 days, I will be a positive thinker. I like the sound of that. Truth be told, I am a little, um, worried, about it though. What if I fail? Of course now I'll have to tell all of you, but it's really not little old blog followers that terrify me. As any perfectionist understands, it's me. What if I set a goal, make a list, and FAIL? I would be so depressed. Honestly, though, I don't think it's failure that terrifies me most.

It's success. What if I try to become a different person - and it works?? Then what?? Secretly, I like me. Flaws and all. And goodness knows we don't need two Todds around here. Who would rush the kids to the doctor? Who would warn everyone of tornados (okay, tornado warnings. same thing.) I am at core terrified that if I stop worrying the next 81 days will be full of undetected ear infections, uninspected lumps, untreated diseases ravenging through bodies, unaddressed child-rearing issues and basically, calamity after calamity slapping us, out of the blue, in the obliviously cheerful face.

So it is with great trust, both in God, who I do admit is REALLY in charge (there, I said it), and also trust in those of you who see me daily, that you will alert me if I am exhibiting pre-diabetic symptoms or my child does indeed break out in rashes at the sight of ragweed or whatever alarming things I might miss.

I choose to sit in the passenger seat.

And I am going to dare to enjoy the view. At the impending notion that something terrifying could be coming, I am going to - gasp - choose another, more happy ending. I am going to give life the benefit of the doubt. I am going to assume the best, or does it count if it is at least a medium option. I am going to speak hope, and good, and life and health and beauty, and not tiredness and hints of a runny nose and why-could-he-be-late and I can't-make-it-through-todays.

To be honest, I'm not exactly sure WHAT I will do because this optimism thing is foreign language. So I think I will ask for help. In fact, I think I will interview a few optimists and maybe post it here. Stay tuned. And in the meantime, give me an early 30th birthday present and pray with me. That I can let go. And that if I do, I won't fall (apart). I'll keep you posted on my exciting adventure. Here's to 81 days of optimism. Kind of has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?
:)

funny

2011-07-28T16:09:00.000-07:00

There has been a lot of laughing in our house recently. Also, whining. And a good bit of screaming. But that's all for another post. Here are a few of the funny things which I want to remember forever. I have a lot of guilt that I don't have any of these on video, but everytime I get out the camcorder we end up with eight minutes of Sam repeatedly asking to see movies of himself. Not real entertaining. Anyways, here are some funny tidbits from Sam.

- One morning I heard him singing Happy Birthday to Samule, which I thought was random until I remembered that I told him (when we drug him, kicking and screaming, home from the beach) that when we got home we were going to celebrate Samule's birthday.
- "Mom, what is that wood-packer packing?" (woodpecker?)
- "One day I will be a horse, and the lawn mowers will cut off MY toesies." (This misunderstanding stems, I think, from the time we were in a barn and saw a horse toenail on the ground. Obviously it was a bit traumatic.)
- "Mom, I'm yaffing at Ty because he's doing some funny toots." (Boys.)
- "Mom how silly if Cappy's birthday was a big giant poopie." (???)
- "One day I will be a storm chaser, and I will run and run and run and chase them."
- "If I eat this mustard, it's goin make me big and strong and have big muscles." (mustard = vegetable?)
- "Mom, we won't be having this. It's Dad's money." (said on the toilet, pointing to the toilet paper. I guess that's what happens when you try to give lectures on fiscal responsibility to two year olds who waste rolls of toilet paper.)
- "Dad goes to work, and we buy noodles (pause), and pasta (pause) and espetti ("spaghetti") and yots of things." (gleanings from the same conversation, I think, on how Dad leaves everyday to get us money.)
- "Look how big me is!"
- "If I saw an alligator, he would say, 'Hi Sam,' and me would say, 'Hi' back."
- "Did you see that, Mom? It's Charlotte." (Said regarding any building larger than a two-story home.)
- "Who's that friend?" (while pointing to any random person who looks interesting. We need to work on the dangerous-strangers concept.)
- "Mom, I'm mowing the yard like Gelver." (Said while swinging a ball-popper to smash into holly bushes. The pinnacle of Sam's ambitions are to be just like the lawn care guys that work with Todd. ps, every lawn care guy is named Gelver.)
- "Yook, guys, yook. I'm making your dinner." (Said to the stuffed sheep, while plating them uncooked spaghetti strands.)
- (later) "If they eat all their espetti, they can eat a marshmellow!"
- "One day I will go to work." Me: What will you do at work? Sam: "I will play baseball, and football, and soccer, and golf."
- "Dad, you're very brave, and me is very brave."
- "Yook, Mom, I'm a yizard (lizard)." This was said as the speaker was scaling down the ottoman head first. I was at least able to convince him that lizards jump down furniture hands first.
- And finally, I know you've probably had enough of the bathroom humor, but I am raising boys here, people. You shouldn't expect any less. I want to relay a typical morning dialogue during the first poop of the day. It is quite the scene. It lasts at least fifteen minutes, but Sam makes sure you aren't bored by giving play-by-play for all the goings-on. "Oh, this goin be a big one, Mom. Ooooh, here's a yittle poopie. Now it's goin be a big one, comin in my bombostity." (sp?)

What a riot. I think God made little kids so entertaining so completely exhausted moms wouldn't fall asleep on the job :)

2011-07-05T16:42:00.001-07:00

My family makes fun of me for a few reasons. I am going to assume that it is because they love me. Among these things: how I eat like my food is literally going to sprint from the plate unless I devour it like the Passover, the little cheer-thing I do after half a glass of wine, games I invent and make everyone play (ask me about the one I'm going to copyright and make millions off of), and lastly, how I discover hip new trends two years late. But seriously, anyone...Jack Johnson? Isn't he great? Speaking of, if you don't have an ipod you should get one.
Anyway, in keeping with this trend I am going to go out on a limb here and recommend something amazing, which I'm sure 95% of the free world has already discovered: HOME ORGANIZATION!!!!! Humor me here.
But I need to start by telling you this. My husband and I, like most married couples, have some long-standing arguments. Things like, is K & W a restaurant, what defines "clean," "spicy," and "yelling," if one should consume a Mountain Dew everyday of the year, and whether or not the world will come to an end if there are dishes in the sink overnight. (It will.) I will let you guess which side of the fence yours truly falls for most of those. Anyway, another argument is over our townhome, whether it was a mistake to buy. I say we were suckers. Todd, Mr. Always Positive, claims it was a good decision. Who is right really matters little, because like it or not we are stuck with it, apparently, for the next decade or two.
It's interesting, because what began as minor peeves and the inklings of should-we-sell conversations, now, after approximately two boys, four years, two realtors, eight showings, one job transfer, and, oh yes, one wife who is confined to these 1950-square-foot walls 24 hours a day with aforementioned boys, eventually fermented into full-blown NEED TO SELL discontment. It keeps reminding me of this quote by Martin Luther. "First the Germans killed the Jews because they hated them. Then they hated them because they killed them." Forgive me for making a comparision of the Holocaust to something as petty as unwanted real estate. But it's true. Actions breed feelings, perhaps more than vice versa.

But it's true in a good way, too, and that is the point of my blog today. Act like you love something, and you will. What this means in practical terms, is that sometimes, the very best, productive, and prudent thing to do, is to spend a few hundred of unbudgeted dollars in home organization paraphernalia at Ikea. Yes, that is what I said.
I am learning, here in our little townhome, a very, very precious lesson. More precious than, dare I say it, a nice big yard, or a guest room, or lower HOA fees, or whatever. This lesson is contentment. I know I sound like a spoiled brat, that I need to learn this lesson over something so silly as living in a perfectly good home, but it is what it is. I am learning to be happy, here. To be happy now.
And I am loving this. Come visit. I dare you to open my coat closet, to find a pen in my kitche, to wrap a present, to peak in my laundry space, to step in my closet. My house is getting organized!!! Again, at the risk of sounding embarassingly old news, I am having the time of my life finding a "home" for everything, maxamizing storage space, putting things where I logically need to find them, installing shelves (why did I not do this before??), and, to put it simply, making myself at home. Making peace with my present. It is much easier to live in a house if you aren't worried about what the next buyer is going to think of it. Which makes sense, because, apparently, there IS no next buyer. At least not until we retire. But that's fine. I'm happy here.
Unless, that is, that any of you are so moved by this awesome sales job that you're interested in viewing a Lake Norman luxury townhome at a steal of a price. In which case, send me an email and we'll see what we can do. :)

the lion in me

2011-06-25T09:47:00.000-07:00

Are you familiar with the animal personality test? I, who am obsessed with personality tests, find it to be one of the most insightful. I think Gary Smalley invented it, the love language guy. Anyway, you are either a golden retriever nice), a beaver (organized), a lion (leader), or an otter (fun). Forgive me, Gary Smalley, if you are reading this for my horribly oversimplistic descriptions. Well people who don't know me very well usually peg me for a retriever. I guess because I smile a lot. Oh, you silly people...
Then if you know me a little better you might say I'm a beaver, because I do have nerd-like qualities and appear to be organized. However if I am being truthful, there is a large, predominating lion-like nature to the very deep inside core of Jessica. Ask my husband and he can verify if you are doubtful. Here's how I know this. Again, my deepest apologizies to Mr. Smalley for the positive mangling of his test, but here's how I see it. If you want to know what animal you are, fill in the blank to this question, which would be your life motto or something.
If you do something...
a) do it right.
b) do it so no one is upset
c) do I really have to do this thing anyway? are you sure? there's probably something way more interesting.
Whenever I wonder which animal I am, I remember that my answer is, in fact, none of these mottos, but rather this: If you do something, do it as fast as you possibly can so you can finish right now, giving no attention at all to whether it is done correctly or people are happy. Just get it done.
Now this philosophy has its merits but also a few obvious flaws. Ask my Dad, a true and true to the core lion. Sidenote, if there is a stressful situation, don't send two lions into the CVS to pick out a humidifier. Maybe just send along a golden retriever or two. Heck, even an otter to lighten the mood. Anyways, my Dad was quick to point out (takes one to know one) that, yes, Jessica, we do need a humidifier for your sick baby. But should we perhaps, um, read the label first, prior to checking out? I'm not going to tell you this was a real peaceful scene, start to finish. Like I said, two lions, stressed out, not good.
But the point is this. Sometimes, I concur, haste does make waste. I have about thirteen projects, done in a day, that, ahem, well, let's just say they need to be done again.
I was pondering that this morning when I got the sudden urge to organize my entire house. And I mean ENTIRE, people. No cue-tip box unnoticed, no junk drawer left unsorted, no random vitamin jar unmated to its far away counterparts. I want this house Pottery Barn spotless and Target organized. (Unrelated note: If you really want something done, stop drinking coffee for six months and then have a cup in the morning. The energy is UNREAL!!!!!
Anyways, here's the problem. Not even the most determined, efficient, caffeinated lion could finish this job before being interrupted by an awakened napper, hungry toddler, or, even, the setting sun. This project is too big to finish quickly. Which makes me not want to start, but I don't think that is the right lesson. Instead, I am going to try to solicit my otter of a husband and my beaver of a mom to help me slow down, relax, and do it right. And I guess that is a lesson I should try more often. I've thought of a few ways that my life could be more full with a relaxed, thoughtful, patient mentality. For instance (random alert), if I take a shower, blow-dry, and straighten my hair, though it takes some time I actually am happier for the remainder of that day (feeling a bit more like a normal, socializing adult) and can even get another day and a half of truly good hair days. Worth the time.
Also, projects. BE PATIENT. Do not purchase the first high chair someone mentions, because for the next two years you will be annoyed that it doesn't travel. And on and on.
I have no idea if this helps any lions out there. But I guess the moral of the story is to be you, but be a better you. Is that cheesy or what. But I do have to go now. I estimate only about ten more minutes of nap time. Better go finish some projects before this coffee wears off!!!!

For future parents

2011-06-04T16:38:00.001-07:00

Someone recently reminded me of the school project where kids carry around a plastic baby that cries, to teach parenting skills. Since seeing this depicted on "Saved by the Bell" as a child, I have always been secretly jealous of the project, what with the whole getting-married-to-a-male-classmate thing, pretending to be a mom, etc. I was intrigued to hear it is still around.

Now as a parent, I view this activity with both appreciation and humor. Good idea, but I think I have a few adaptations to add. Truly, I would have benefited from something along these lines. I had no idea what to expect as a mom; most don't. If you are preparing to be a mom, I suggest that you do the following for three months:

Go buy a cat. (*Cat lovers, PETA, and the easily offended: I mean no disrespect to cats. Sure, they're FAR inferior to dogs, flighty, and weird, but no real harm intended.) Anyway, find a cat. From the instant your purchase is transacted, don't set the cat down for more than a minute unless it is sound asleep. Carry it at all times. For the first three weeks, conduct all your business (making your bed, getting water, going to the bathroom, sweeping the floor, etc.) while holding the cat. If you have a spouse, brief trade-offs are allowed during the hours of 6:00-9:00at night.

-Let's start with the sleeping routine, because that is the biggest adjustment. You'll need to prep the room beforehand. Turn the closet light on, position your radio to a nice static-y AM station (to mimic a monitor), turn on a fan, and set a noise machine loudly to a nice mechanical ocean wave setting. If it sounds like an airport, you're on the right track. *Keep in mind that every night you have to set all this up before putting the cat to sleep, because the changes might wake him up.

-Then, situate the sleeping cat next to your bed in a small, open carrier. For the first night, set your alarm to go off every 45 minutes. Be sure to choose the most annoying sound option. When it goes off, gently sway the carrier back and forth for ten minutes. Make sure to practice the whole gamet of rocking motions - the back and forth, up and down, side to side, etc. For the length of the three month experiment, the alarm should go off each night at least every THREE hours. Sometimes you'll wake from the dead of sleep to feed the cat, sometimes rock him, sometimes scour the floor on your hands and knees for pacifiers you have hidden, sometimes go downstairs and administer medicine (be sure to wake yourself up enough to dose correctly, mind you), and other times, just wake up and do nothing. Just wake up. Then try to go back to sleep.

- If your future parenting plans include breastfeeding, then practice by doing this. It's not an exact parallel, but you'll get the idea. Every other time you wake up, use a blood pressure monitor for a good fifteen minutes on each arm. Keep in mind you have to hold the cat during the whole interval, and stay awake for the whole thing. If you plan to bottle-feed, then get up make a serving of hot chocolate. Be exact in your measurements, now. Feed it to the cat using a dropper.

- About midnight, wake the cat up and feed him a small serving of cabbage, peppers, and refried beans. He might be a bit gassy in an hour or two. If he is, you might want to move his legs around in a bicycle sort of motion for a while (up to an hour). Put him to sleep and back in his crate. If he wakes up in the transfer, you must start again.Remember throughout it all that any loud noises will probably wake up any other children in the house, though your spouse will sleep peacefully until morning.

- Choose a different alarm for 6am. At this point, most likely the cat will be awake, hungry, and unhappy. First feed him. Then, bounce him around the room, cuddling him, singing "Joy to the World" for at least a half hour. At this point he'll be happy, but not sleeping. Both of you should plan to start your day then.

- But don't forget. You aren't allowed to brush your teeth, wash your face, or take a shower until about 1:00. If you'd like a cup of coffee, sure, go ahead. Drink half and feed half to the cat, and see how the day goes.

- For breakfast, toast some bread. After fifteen minutes, you can butter it. Eat two bites and then stop to put a diaper on the cat. Then feed the cat and wait an additional fifteen minutes. If you'd still like your toast, you can proceed, but do it while talking on the phone, unloading the dishwasher, checking your email, and, of course, rocking the cat.

- Proceed with the day's activities. If you plan to have more than one child, you must narrate all activities while doing them. Be perky, be instructional, and, always, be alert. Every half hour make a complete round of all the rooms in the house, checking for loose cords, dropped pennies, or other hazards or misbehaviors. As soon as breakfast is over, take all the small objects in the house and scatter them around on the floor. Open all doors, strip down the couch cushions, and pour water all over the kitchen floor.

- Throughout the day, run the cat up and down the stairs AT LEAST 100 times. If you plan to have other kids, then get ahold of a small to mid-sized beagle. Take him up with you half the times.

- If you can make it until one, it's shower time. First, get the cat asleep. Dead asleep. If you plan to have multiple kids, flip a coin. If you get heads, you win. You can take a shower today. Otherwise you're out of luck. If it's a good day (read: shower day) then first position the sleeping cat within eyeshot of the shower, but not so close that the rushing waters will wake him up. It may take a little fidgiting to determine the best position for YOUR cat before the starting of the shower. You may need to incrementally start the vent fan, the water, and the noise machine so all the racket doesn't wake up him. Anyway, for your shower be sure to shave just one leg per shower, and of course, eliminate that silly conditioner. Waste of precious time. Streamline your makeup routine into five steps. Go ahead and throw away all your lipgloss, because you will never, ever have time to put it on.

- About four thirty it's time to make dinner. Pick something simple, of course, because you'll be holding the cat. It is permissible to strap him to your body in a carrier. He'll need some up-and-down movement though, so make sure you're bouncing up and down while chopping potatoes, browning chicken, or stirring pasta. If you're planning to have multiple kids, spread golf balls, opened markers, and tupperware lids all over the floor, remembering to dodge them as you cook. Every five minutes, take something out of the cabinet and dump half of it on the floor. Stop and pick it up. As before, narrate all of your steps aloud, here stopping at least 12 times to say, "No, don't ___". You can pick any random chastisement here, but they all need to be dangerous, and different. Once you have dinner ready, you can eat. Go ahead and put yours in the freezer for a bit before eating it. While you eat, bounce up and down with the cat. Put some music on, like Raffi. You are never allowed to finish your plate, at least not until bedtime.

-Like to entertain? No problem. Invite a few friends over and do all of the following in heels, without getting flustered, intermixing the aforementioned talk with witty, pleasant adult conversation.

- The cat will need a bath. Clothed, stand and under the shower for three minutes and get your front side at least half wet. Then bathe the cat. When you are done, you have about 90 seconds before he will be very tired, very hungry, and very unhappy. He'll be squirming, so work quickly. In that time you will need to towel him dry, rub lotion on his fur, slather some desitin on the hind quarters, zip him in a onesie, and hurry him downstairs for a meal. Don't be discouraged if you're both in tears by the end of it.

Once the cat is asleep, congrats. You made it through another day.
If you are childless, you are probably thinking I am joking with this silly plan. I assure you, from the depths of my heart, I am not. Try it! You will be well-prepared for motherhood! *Disclaimer: The chaos reflected in this essay is not intended to hide all of the WONDERFUL things about being a mom. It sure is hard work, but there's nothing else I'd rather do!

Notes from the Underground

2011-06-02T17:07:00.000-07:00

You secret English majors out there probably realize I stole my title from Dostoevsky. Thought it was a clever title to give my recent tidbits from life in the SCORCHING heat of May, locked in a 1750-square-foot house with a newborn and a toddler. ( visit? anyone? thought so.) Please do not confuse the following essay with the aforementioned literary classic, the random psychotic ramblings of a lonely insane person. (hmmm....)

Anyways, a few thoughts.

- acid reflux (#2) + some sort of unidentified illness (#1) - lots of moaning, whining, requests for medicine at 2 am, etc. + husband late + Grammy and mother's helper gone + heat wave + no scheduled activities = not a very fun week. I am not complaining, people. I am putting this in writing so when I read this 18 years from now, in tears, looking at old pictures of the good old days, I can remember that it was not all cuddles and giggles.

-I get now why second-borns are so easy-going. Take naps, for instance. In contrast to the pampered first-born, who was swaddled, shushed, laid gently down in a room brimming with three fans and a noise machine, the second-born has no choice but to enjoy his or her naps in the comfort of the carseat under the kitchen table, with the comforting sounds of the garbage disposal, vaccuum cleaner, ice machine, and, of course, sibling #1's serenade of who-knows-what while pounding two lasagna noodles for a drum. It's sleep then, or don't sleep. So of course, they adapt.

- Speaking of second-borns, I am glad for the one I married. He exhibits all of these wonderful characteristic traits (adaptability, patience, high tolerance for lasagna drumming, etc) as well as quite a few more. Which brings me to my point. I am SO grateful for a man who compliments burnt pasta sauce, who loves to rock babies to sleep, who orders me to Target at 8pm on the day from heck, who eats sandwiches that are two days old (with soggy tomatoes, mind you) and who tells me over and over that probably, no one is dying, and most likely, we will (eventually) get sleep.

- a few more things I am thankful for. These are not mere trivials, folks. These are NECESSARY, crucial tools with which the tired housewife finds repose. Among them: Prison Break (I heart Michael Scofield), wine, oreos, 15 minutes of sunshine, coconut ice cream CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIE DOUGH FLAVOR!!!!!!, my baby smiling at me, the time out chair, the fly swatter, Zac Brown Band, Boz (Christian Barney, but way more tolerable), Harris Teeter express lane, and, importantly, my cell phone. What the heck did people do in the olden days when they could not call their mothers to ask them how long to roast a chicken or if that background crying sounds authentic or manufactured???

- Oh, the glorious terrible twos, you are so prompt. I share one little humble victory in hopes that you, too, can apply its truth. Sam has the cute little habit of asking, "Mommy, what's that?" It sounds innocent enough, until you realize it will be repeated, consectutively, on end, over, and over, and over again, for a good ten minutes every hour on the hour. It is not an inquiry, mind you, it's a control mechanism. I joke not. It's not usually obvious what he saw/heard/etc that prompted the question, but I have found that if I reply, "airplane" to each question, somehow that ends it. Not sure why.

- lastly, I can't stop thinking about this song (faith), or this song (marriage).

Happy Birthday Sam

2011-05-15T17:54:00.000-07:00

Among my many regrets of parenting, perhaps the biggest (although most superficial) is what a horrible memory-keeper I am. Unlike his cousins Jack and Tommy (who have calendars which chronicle the first time they made eye contact, drank from a sippy cup, and got their nose wiped, etc. etc), one day poor Sam will have to grapple with the severely poor job his mother did in capturing his momentous events in photos or journals. I do really feel bad about it, and I'm going to blame my mom for the bad example. (Probably her only mistake as a mom.:) And also I will comfort myself with the fact that I am living proof that one's ego can survive without a baby book. Anyway, the real tragedy of this whole thing is that everyday I think at least two hundred times, "Sam. You are hysterical. I really need to write that down." And I rarely do.
So today, Sam, two days after your second birthday, I want to make myself stop eating potato chips, cleaning breast pump parts, and stalking random people's facebook pages to figure out what is actually in style (because I have no clue), and I want to try to remember.

Sam, it has been the greatest joy of my life to be your mom. We are so similar, from the big hazel eyes and round cheeks of your face, to the tantrums you throw when you don't get your way, from your passion for tornadoes and french fries and reading and animals and parties and cooking and life.
You love people.I know this because of how bored and miserable you are at 3:30 when all you've seen is lame old mom, how you tell random people, "Hi" on walks, and ask me, "His name iiiiiisssssss...." whenever you want to know who is mowing our lawn or serving our fries. When you someone you love comes to visit, you turn around and jump like a bunny away from them. It looks funny, but I know it is because you are so happy they came. You love your daddy, every one of your grandparents, big driver "cyubs" and pretend cooking, pretend drumming, pretend driving the car.
You remember everything. You told me my phone number, you know more lines from the truck book than I do, and you will always tell me "I don't want to" because that one time you saw a bratty kid say it on TV. Nothing makes you laugh as much as Samules, paps, and big doggie. Now you poop on the potty all the time, because you get "a whole bowl of marshme-yos and to hold dad's cyubs." Really, your pronunciation is impeccable, except for a few words which are so incorrectly adorable we will never, ever correct you. Sometimes I say them wrong, too, because I don't want you to stop. Like computader, banananana, piananano, a-nogger, or every word with an "L" like yook, yove, and yike. We yove YOU, Sam. Also I'm not going to correct that you call breasts "hearts." It's probably better that way for now. :)
People are continually amazed at your flawless golf swing, your speaking in paragraphs, and that you always seem to do whatever Jack tells you to, even though you have at least three inches and five pounds on him.
You say the FUNNIEST things. Just in the last week, you named a turtle "Doug Smartt," said a garden worm was doing his exercises, prayed you would ride a bulldozer, told Aunt Julie she was a pretty cool guy, and frequently asked Ty, "what's going on, baby Ty, how you been?"
You are such a dreamer. I can't wait to see what you become, whether you do end up riding a jet plane, playing golf on TV, driving a car and winning a trophy, or riding the moon, like you've told us you would.
I hope you never stop talking yourself to sleep, pulling up chairs to help me cook dinner, asking to "go Grammy's house," or loving to play the fifth hole of the Peninsula from start to finish with me as your caddie.
God already has answered so many prayers for you. Frequently, we look at you, and marvel. You will forever be my living, breathing, laughing, gabbing, squealing example that, as your name means, "God hears."
Sam, you are the best little boy. We love you always! Love, mom and dad

The Velveeteen Samule

2011-05-09T17:15:00.000-07:00

My parents tell the story over and over about how they left my stuffed lamb (or rather, unstuffed, as he was a puppet) at my Grammy's house when I was little. Three or so hours from home, they elected not to go back for "Lambsly" (creative name, right?), although apparently that decision was greatly deliberated upon. This story is definitely in the "top ten stories told most by my parents" category. I always liked hearing this story, as it emphasizes both my dedication to stuffed animals and my steadfast, unforgetful nature (as I cried relentlessly, apparently, until he showed up in Fed-ex box two days later). But never did I really see how the whole thing was that big of a deal. Until now.

Enter: Samule. Samule is a stuffed mule (yup), and Sam's closest, funniest, most intimate friend. It was love at first sight. There are only about three strands of black horsey hair left on his tail, because Sam rubs his tail (or what remains) between his two chubby fingers to fall asleep every night. Samule has been golfing, swimming, pooped on the potty, buried his "toes" in the sand, received albuterol through the nebulizer, been thrown up on, covered in poop (don't ask), eaten oatmeal, gotten his hair dried, helped to make Jesus his birthday cake, and, needless to say, been through more cycles of the washing machine than anything with stuffing should. Around month 6 of his life Todd and I came to the unmistakable conclusion that we could all go to sleep much easier if there were a Backup Samule on hand.

Here is where we went wrong. First, I ordered a mini-Samule, accidentally. Who reads the fine print of dimensions on stuffed animal orders anyway? I am embarassed to admit I actually thought it might make due in case of emergency. Rookie mistake. When Sam saw him he literally started laughing outloud. Mini Samule was returned.

Then arrived Backup Samule. When he arrived it immediately became obvious exactly how loved (read: disgusting) the real Samule had become. He was a shadow of his former self now. This Samule was also promptly identified as an imposter. We tried to use him once as a backup, and Sam named him "comfortable Samule," repeatedly asking for "real Samule." And I know what you're thinking, but all attemps to make him look disheveled have failed. No matter how many times I wash him, somehow comfortable Samule comes out looking more fluffy and comfortable, and real Samule more ratty and gnarled. Apparently, there is no substitute for the loving, snotty, sweaty hands of a two-year-old.

So tonight, Velveeteen Samule was missing, and two grown adults - two full-grown exhausted, busy adults - searched obediently for a good 25 minutes for a 10 inch stuffed mule while Sam moaned for him in his crib, imposter Samule in hand. It should be funny, but I assure you, at 7:53 on a Monday night it was not. Eventually we did find him, by the way, jammed between two sofa cushions. of course.

So I don't know what the moral of this story is. I was so proud of myself for my proactive preemptive ordering of the backup, now evidently in vain. I guess, if I do it again, I should keep #2 Stuffed Friend completely a secret, sneaking him out during intervals of naptime to run him through the dishwasher, jam him in the garbage disposal, and suck him up in the vacuum. Yes, that's a good plan. We will have to try that with Ty-ger. :)

No shortcuts

2011-04-12T10:40:00.000-07:00

I don't really think of myself as a cheater, or lazy. And truth be told, those aren't my weaknesses really. I have plenty, don't worry, but they're more of the controlling, not-trusting, thinking-only-of-me type-flaws. But I realized recently that I have uncharacteristically been taking (or trying to take, anyway) the easy way out this go-round.

I have been investing (squandering? wasting?) nearly all of my time recently trying
to figure out what.the.heck.is.wrong. with Ty. There has to be something. Acid? Allergy? Intestional blockage? Heartburn? Sleep disorder? Truly, the amount of time and money, spent in our household to determine a cure for a yet-to-be-determined illness is nearly embarassing.

Now it's important to note that I'm not saying he isn't truly suffering from something with a name. I have my theories, personally. But here's the thing. Despite any existing, or not existing, problems, there is no easy way out. Parenting a newborn (apparently) absolutely and inescapably requires THE WORKS. I realized that I have been trying to avoid, through diagnosis, THE WORKS. You know. The rocking until they're dead asleep. The moving too soon, failing three times, feeding again, swaddling again, changing diaper again, rocking again, etc. The shushing. The singing of John Jacob Jinglehymerschmidt (sp? :) The bouncing on the yoga ball. The patting on the bottom. The replacing of the pacifier. The dancing. The exhaustion, the frustration, and the crying (his, and yours. Oh, and the other kid's). The thing is, IT IS JUST HARD. I think I am finally at peace with the universe's cruel truth that no medicine, diet, or carrier makes parenting a baby any less than sheer, exhausting, LABOR.

I think deep down I thought I was exempt from all this in round two. After all, I had a (relatively) hard baby. I learned my lessons. And I have a toddler now. I mean come on, I'm not trying to watch Oprah here and eat Cheetos with all my free time. All I want is twenty minutes of an uninterrupted nap so I can take Sam to the bathroom, call the pediatrician, put in my other contact, shove a bowl of rice in my face, and change the laundry. Is that too much to ask?

Apparently, Madame Universe does not make exceptions for the noble, the veterans, or the already-busy. Babies are hard work. Period.

But I am happy that with this lesson, I learned another. Mom reminded me that, yes, it is hard work, and yes, way to go on coming to terms with that. But it is not meaningless work. "Don't let anything take away your joy of this. It is the most wonderful job in the world, nurturing this little life. There is nothing better."

I feel better. Granted, I am still typing this while bouncing on a yoga ball with a sleeping baby strapped to my chest because tries #1-14 to lay him down failed. But, yes, I do feel better. :)

I am no Corrie ten Boom...

2011-04-11T17:48:00.001-07:00

...And I have a broken cell phone to prove it. I will explain that in a minute. But first, it is ridiculous how much I think about Corrie ten boom, a dead someone I've never met from another century. Seriously. I think about her book The Hiding Place literally every day.

And it's not what you think. Sure, she forgives Nazis and saves Jews and all that stff. But it's not these inspirational acts I think about when I'm shushing babies and chopping carrots. It's other random things.

Like the first three chapters, which have little to do with Jew-saving or Nazi forgiveness. She starts out telling random, unconnected stories from her childhood. Some are so silly: conversations with her dad, a first crush, things like that. But at the end of each story she will give a one-sentence "moral" so to speak of what that incident taught her. And you realize that things like getting dumped, having ugly clothes, and seeing a dead body for the first time have all prepared her, somehow, for the amazing future she eventually accomplishes.

I can't tell you why in the world this is the biggest help to me, but it is. It is a "fun" little game I play. I will be in the middle of some difficult, annoying moment (like cleaning up thrown-up grapes and applesauce from the car seat) and I will wonder, what purpose is this serving? What is this teaching me how to do? It's surprising fun for a pessimist, because sometimes I do end up imagining some horrific application (like battling cancer, say) with the same current lesson (patience under suffering or whatever). But strangly, it comforts me. It reminds me that every small struggle has a purpose in my life, or the lives of those I'm helping. Life feels bigger, and more meaningful.

But if I have that in common with Corrie, I have little else. Honestly. These people, Corrie and her family, are a different animal species entirely from me, who, yes, slammed my perfectly good cell phone into the kitchen cabinet in a fit of rage against life, particularly because I couldn't stop two babies from crying, take a shower and eat my breakfast when I wanted to. Again, I don't know whether to blame America, pop culture, my genes or what, but I am half the person these women are. I will tell you this one story to demonstrate.

Corrie's mom had a stroke when she was 40-something. Her abilities became limited to saying three words: yes, no, and Corrie. Couldn't move, dress herself, etc. Now mind you, this is all explained in about half a sentence in the book. No pity-parties there. Anyway, Corrie explained that, despite this embarassing demotion of life, Corrie's mom continued, with the same dedication as prior, to LOVE PEOPLE. She would look out the window, and love people. She had a little system of saying, "Corrie," when she wanted something. Then Corrie would somehow figure out it was someone's birthday whom her mother had sighted out the window. Corrie would guess and guess until she figured out who, and then Corrie's mom would scrawl a signature on a card. Happily. This was how she lived her life.

I don't need to draw any conclusions for you, I'm sure. I envy, marvel, and yet cringe at this type of character. I want it and I don't. I'd like to add on a sentence saying maybe one day I'll be like her, but honestly, I think that is wishful thinking. I think I'll be happy if the Holy Spirit helps me keep my cell phones in one piece when I'm frustrated. Maybe someday.

help wanted :-)

2011-04-04T17:03:00.000-07:00

First of all, a few notes. One. I am now completely, utterly confident that people who bring meals to families with new babies get a special jewel on their crowns in heaven. If you are one of those people, be assured that your labor is not in vain. Two. I am equally certain that whatever money I am saving a month on formula by breastfeeding I am spending almost that in coconut milk ice cream. It is deplorable. And also necessary.

Anyways. There were a lot of surprises for me being a mom, which I am reminded of again in round 2. Some are silly. Hearkening back to the aforementioned, I had no idea that the caloric intake of a breastfeeding mom is equal to that of a linebacker. And who knew you changed 12+ diapers a day for a month, or that babies were born with blue eyes, or that the belly button stump turns black (ick), or that "tummy time" is as necessary as it is hated. On a larger scale though, if I am being perfectly frank with you, the biggest surprise is simply this: that the human race keeps on existing. I mean this in two ways. First, it's amazing to me that at least half of the human race isn't cut short before their first birthdays due to idiotic and careless parenting skills. Which goes to prove that my husband is right (again?): that babies ARE more rubber than glass.

But also, I am genuinely surprised that despite horrible, trying, unmeasurably difficult circumstances, people continue to carry, bear, and raise little babies. Even choosing, against all rationality, to have another or - gasp - three or four more after that. Because the truth is, being a mom of a baby is - to me anyway - shockingly, impossibly, painfully difficult. I'm embarassed to admit that. God sanctifies some people through trials of illness, loneliness, prison, torture, and the like. For me, all it takes is an eight-pound baby with a potential case of acid reflux. And viola, I am undone. Honestly, I still can't figure out if I am just that pathetic of a person, or parenting really is that difficult. I waffle between silently accusing dismissive older parents of lying or forgetfulness, or wondering if it's just me. Maybe it's because I'm a first-born, an American, or just plain spoiled. But parenting asks too much of me. It demands biceps and back muscles and mental multitasking and the remembering of a hymnal of kiddie songs and the ability to immediately conjur up sufficient distractions to ward off an impending tantrum, along with the wisdom to know which act of defiance to ignore and which to punish. It asks me to remain patient when my baby wakes up (again), to trust when I don't know why he cries, to sacrfice sleep and cheese and coffee and long showers and me time all in the name of unselfishness. I am embarassed to admit that being a mom demands more from me than I can give.

In some ways, though, there is not a better place to be. God has reminded me constantly that, "When I am weak, then I am strong." There is something a little comforting in finally saying, God, I can't do this without you. Please help. I know that he hears those prayers!

The jogger, the Westin, baby Ty and me

2011-03-21T17:21:00.000-07:00

We welcomed Ty David into the world 2 1/2 weeks ago. He is healthy, sweet, and the spitting image of his dad. I guess we are almost to the halfway point of the infamous first six weeks. Everyone keeps informing me things look much better after six weeks. As I recall from previous experience, I did feel at least like a human being around six weeks, and pretty much back to my old self around 3 months. The real challenge of this time, I think - aside from the other notable challenges of nursing while cutting oranges, not killing your spouse during stressful 2am wakeup calls, and somehow assuring baby #1 that baby #2 is a) here to stay, b) not as durable as stuffed animals, and c) not a threat to his lifelong peace, prosperity and happiness - the real challenge is not wishing away this time. I'll be honest. My most passionate desire right now is to book reservations at the Westin Charlotte for the three-month milestone and make a large posterboard calendar with smiley-face stickers to tick away every long chaotic day that passes, gritting my teeth at the blur in between.
I still think the reservations are a good idea. But there's something askew about the thinking. This dawned on me last Tuesday. There was a jogger. She was jogging my route, passing my trees. She was wearing my jacket. She was listening to my ipod. I had the boys in the back but every bone in my body wanted to yank the car around, pull up next to her, and say, Enjoy this. Really. Enjoy it. Would she have listened? I wouldn't have. Jogging Jessica of three years ago, lucky as she was, was worried. I worried about whether I was a good teacher. (I was.) I worried about whether it was right to keep dating Todd. (It was.) I stressed about all the projects that would never get done. (They did.) Frankly, I wasted time.
See, there are two kinds of perfectionists. There is the kind who always has her nails polished, laundry folded, thank-yous written, and sink cleaned. I wish I were her. Unfortunately, I am type #2. I am realizing that I just can't enjoy life if things aren't perfect. It's a horrible way to live, and not even have manicured nails to show for it. Perfection is a thief, and a liar. It tells me life this side of heaven should be easy, and it steals my happiness for today. If there's one thing I've learned in the past 18 days (besides how to breastfeed while playing football), it's this. I desperately need to learn to enjoy the moment, no matter how hard things are, were, or could be. Desperately. There is so much good in the world that I just miss out on.
I should be more like my husband. I asked him one time how he didn't worry. He laughed and then got distracted by the solitaire game on his phone. Five minutes later I asked him seriously what his answer was, and he had forgotten the question. I think after three more promptings he said something about not being able to concentrate long enough to let anything stick in his mind too long. Not real helpful, Todd. :)
But that's the goal. Ty is crying. I am tired. Sam is bored, and disobeying. Todd is late. But I can enjoy! There is SO much to enjoy, and be thankful for! Find it, and
focus on that!
"Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable--if anything is excellent or praiseworthy--think about such things!"

i'm still alive post

2011-03-20T08:45:00.000-07:00

Hi everyone,
In the back of my scattered brain (the very back) there is a post about life with two kids. It's funny, poignant, and informative on all we've been going through. Probably I'll have the time and mental wherewithall to write this post when Ty is six months old, so stay tuned. In the meantime, I thought I'd share this story I wrote. I entered Real Simple Magazine's life essays contest back in August when I had more time on my hands. The prompt was: "Finish this sentence: I never thought I'd..." Unfortunately, having lived a fairly lame uneventful life, I directed my essay to more vague interpretation of the prompt :) I didn't win. And I didn't deserve to. You can read the winning essay here. It is so good! But since I worked so hard on mine, I thought I'd post it here so someone besides my husband and sister could read it :) And in the meantime I'll work on that real-time post about life with two kids. Although it might be a while because above that on the to-do list are a few other important things, like brushing my teeth and shaving my legs. JK. Kind of.

Christmas In July
I never thought I’d be an optimist. I’ve been anticipating the worst since I was a little girl. I cried everyday for the first month of first grade, sure I would hate it forever. I had to be talked into roller coasters, ear piercing, and junior high volleyball, each of which I was sure would be the death of me. On school days, if Mom was five minutes late, I began looking for police cars and ambulances instead of the family suburban. I am petitioned daily to be more positive, mostly by my husband and mom, to whom the task falls to assure me that the sky is not falling in one world or another. But I just can’t help it. It feels like you might as well ask me to color my hazel eyes blue, or grow a few inches so my jeans won’t shred at the bottom when I step on them. Sure, it might be nice, but it doesn’t seem possible. And my pessimism is worse than usual. Some people see dark clouds and dust off the umbrella; I herd the pillow cushions into the pantry for the impending tornado. Some people rush to the doctor for a darkening mole; I’m already having nightmares about who my husband will remarry. I should be ashamed of myself, but if I’m being honest, I’ve kind of gotten attached to life being Eyeore. I feel safer, more prepared, less foolish. If I expect the worst, at least I’m not surprised, right?
But whether blessing or curse, I know one thing. I didn’t get it from my dad. We could not be more different. Dad is the self-proclaimed “Eternal Optimist.” This phrase pops up in various different scenarios. It could be that his team is down 34 points with a minute and a half to go, or that he’s air-balled the crumbled paper thirteen times, or that he has six hours to clean out the entire garage. To Dad, no game is hopeless, no shot impossible, no job too big. The Eternal Optimist. You’d think such foolishness would bite him, but oddly, it doesn’t. I’d never waste my money in a slot machine; several times, he’s tossed in a quarter and a few years of our college tuition clinked out. To me, negotiating seems fruitless; Dad’s been known to drive a car past befuddled car dealers at half of the sticker price. He smiles at the world, and the world smiles back. He’s his own biggest fan, and yours, too. When I was sixteen, I ran off the road and got a flat, and he praised me for pulling over in time. He frequently tips the worst waiters best. And he always, always, believes you can do anything.
In high school I wrote a piece titled I Wish Snowmen Never Melted and to my dad, it might as well be Faulkner. He’s asked me for a copy at least six times, and twice in college, mailed one back along with a gift card for pizza. It’s no masterpiece, but he loves it. It’s cheesy, cliché, completely predictable, but it’s totally me. We were supposed to write a Christmas piece, and, having no imagination, I decided to list everything about Christmas that I wished would last, or be real. But don’t be fooled by cutesy language and mentions of snowmen – it’s still gloom and doom. All the things wrong with the world, all the things I wished were different. A few of the things I wished for were that snowmen never melted, that Santa was real, that everyone had a mommy like I do, that every Christmas was a white Christmas, that every Cinderella always found her Prince Charming, that pets never died and roses never wilted, that I never had to grow up, that “suntans, vacations, promises, snowfalls, and the smell of the Christmas tree in my living room lasted forever.”
A decade later I read it like I read old love letters, or look at prom photos. I laugh a little at the girl I used to be, at my childish hopes and fairy tale wishes. But also, I think teenage Jessica was right about those premonitions regarding adulthood and the real world. Grown-up life is hard, and, despite any wishes to the contrary, it’s nothing like Christmas when you’re nine.
Take parenting, for instance. My husband and I joked that having our little Sam was a “jolt into adulthood.” Nothing makes you feel more adult, and more afraid, than knowing you are the one responsible to pay stacks of hospital bills and get a screaming baby to, somehow, fall asleep. The crying part, you get better at. The bills – well, they keep coming. I’d happily traded my wardrobe allowance and Todd his love of cable TV so I could stay home with Sam. These losses are small to us, and passing up a Starbucks craving here and there isn’t really that horrible. The worst part is when you realize no matter how frugal you are, no matter how organized your coupon box is, no matter how many times you do and redo the budget, it just might not be enough.
This summer, we’d just found Sam would have a sibling, and were realizing the house was too small, the car was too small, and, of course, the single income that was already too small would be way too small. We met in our living room with some very helpful financial advisors, who showed us color-coded charts explaining that in addition to the $1.3 million we’d need for retirement, we’d better allow $394,000 for our two children’s college. Charts are usually comforting to visual types like me, but these made me want to throw up, and hide my stupid coupon box with those silly $2 Pampers coupons.
As if on cue, a few weeks later, my car started making a humming noise. An expensive humming noise – I could tell.
I think there may have been a lump in my throat when I reported the damage back to Dad, the resident car expert. “I need a new hubcap system. It’s $449, but it’s okay, it could be worse.”

A few days later when “Black Beauty” was healed, to the mechanics I went.
“You do take Visa?” I was impatient, tense, eager to swipe the card and forget it. I’m not even sure I made eye contact. Then came the words. The ones you hear in movies, or in other people’s stories.
“It’s been taken care of.”
I looked up. “What? By who?”
“A very nice gentleman came in here and wanted to take care of it.”
And he handed me the receipt. My eyes started blurring but something was circled, and in between all the random numbers and car jargon was a phrase so out of place but so familiar:
“THE SNOWMAN NEVER MELTED.”
I stammered something, completely sobbing. Sobbing to my car, sobbing through the intersection, sobbing dialing the number.
“Dad? It’s me. Why – why did you do that?”
He played dumb for a while, like when we were little kids and the puppets burped “mysteriously,” or when you’d find your favorite donut on the counter. Then, this. Just this.
“Those snowmen, you know, people think they melt, but some of them just don’t disappear.”
Hope.
Dad knew that $449 hurt for our little family, and it was nice to have it back. But he gave us more than that, too, on that muggy Monday in July, like a few things I’d lost while working so hard to be a grown-up. The reminder that we’re not alone. The encouragement that God hadn’t forgotten about out little family. And the humble plea to believe that things aren’t really that bad, and they’ll get even better. Dad had changed the words to my poem, and was asking me to do the same. He was asking me to believe that life this side of Santa isn’t quite so cruel and rational and scary as it sometimes seems, that miracles still happen, and that sometimes, we do get just what we wish for. It’s been a few decades of Christmases since I’ve had that kind of hope.
Our frugal little family went out to dinner that night, and I ordered everything I wanted, not the cheapest thing on the menu. And then I dug up that silly poem. One day I’m going to read it to Sam. Maybe I’ll give it to him with a gift card to somewhere. You know, one that I’ll buy with all of our future earnings. All this saving is doing something, right? And if not, well, there’s always a slot machine. Anything’s possible, you know.

2011-03-01T09:52:00.000-08:00

It's different than I thought.

I'm a caddie, a quarterback, a lineman, and a pitcher.

I'm the stalker of the garbage man, the fan of the mailman, and the watcher for afternoon school buses. I'm the passionate admirer of big sticks, awesome pine cones, really big rocks, and decrusted worms.

I'm the maker of tall towers, the digger of big holes, the smasher of crunchy leaves. I'm the praiser of big poopies and pee-pee that aims for (and hits) the toilet paper.

I'm the spotter of jet planes, the lover of bulldozers, and the imitator of trains, cows, and fire engines. I love tractors, graders, skidsteers, and gas stations. I'm the referee for living room wrestling, the racer of shopping carts, and the cheerleader for good chips, putts, and drives. I daydream about NASCAR races, create sports equipment out of playdough, and daily describe the mechanisms of cranes.

I'm the kisser of boo-boos, scrapes and bruises, the fixer of broken golf clubs, and the retriever of wandering golf balls.

I'm an explorer, a tennis ball machine, an animal expert, and a train constructor.

I'm a mommy of a boy, and I love it.

Tailor-made troubles and hand-picked kids

2011-02-25T16:47:00.000-08:00

Do you know who Joni Erikson Tada is? My mom made us watch her bio video when we were kids, and quite honestly it freaked me out a bit. At age seventeen she dove in a shallow pool and became paralyzed. That whole scene is still in my head like 20 years later. But anyway, she is a crazy inspirational person. Despite being a quadriplegic, she is married, paints (with her teeth!!), gives speeches on how good God is (!!!!), writes books, goes on talk shows, and has an entire business (or two) running.

One time I heard a blurb she did on the radio. It was titled "Tailor-made trials" or something like that. In it she talked about how God hand-picks every single trouble for us. Every trouble is individually selected as something that each one of us needs, or would benefit from. I had never thought about God carefully picking my problems, out of love, out of kindness, out of really knowing who I am.

I have often thought since about how God also hand-picks our children for us. Of all the mommies in the world, Sam got me. God thought that I would make the best mom for him. It's crazy! So I have Sam. Sam, who had colic. Sam, who is allergic to everything. Sam, who loves to learn, who is addicted to golf, who has a soft heart, who has asthma, who soaks up everything like a sponge, who takes forever to climb down the stairs, who likes to rock and be held when he wakes up, who loves books and who only naps for one hour and fifteen minutes before waking up with a poopy diaper, every, single, TIME.

And then I think about Ty. I'm dying to know if he'll be blond like Sam or will love reading as much or will light up too the first time he notices the giraffe on the mobile. I think if I'm honest with myself I'm halfway expecting him to have most of Sam's good qualities and none of his struggles. I should probably work through that unrealistic expectation over the next 11 days or we are in for a bit of a disappointment, now that I think about it.

But one thing I know. Whoever he is, whatever he is allergic to or afraid of, or however he is the most wonderful or challenging kid I can ever imagine having - he is mine. God chose him for me. There is a lot of comfort in that I think!

Now, not to second-guess God's arrangements or anything but if Ty could just stop kicking me in the kidney (or whatever organ that is) for the next bit, we would ALL be happier. Really, we would.

my favorite song

2011-02-22T17:23:00.000-08:00

Isn't it funny some of the moments that you remember exactly? For the life of us neither Todd nor I can remember his proposal speech. Honestly, not even a sentence. And it was a good five minutes long. Isn't that horrible? Speaking of, neither of us can remember meeting each other, or any of our first twenty or so conversations. Kind of "love at first sight," but not really at all.

Yet somehow I have vivid memories of my mom telling me I used too much Soft Scrub to clean the bathroom sink when I was like ten, and the red sweater and gold earrings the girl wore when she sold us our townhome in May 2007 (sidenote #1: the exact WORST time to buy a townhome. sidenote #2: does anyone want a townhome???? recently reduced:)

Anyway, along those lines, while most of my wedding day is unfortunately a blur, I can tell you exactly where I was standing, what I was wearing, and the dinner I had the night Todd and I discovered the song to be sung at our wedding. I still have to stop what I'm doing to listen to the words whenever I hear it. The song is called "The Love of Christ is Rich and Free." It was written by a Baptist pastor in 18-something, and the words are old and horribly out of date. I'm still not sure what one line means, and I'm an English major. Nevertheless, one stanza grabbed me the first time I heard it. We printed it on the front of our wedding program:

His loving heart engaged to be
Their everlasting Surety;
’Twas love that took their cause in hand,
And love maintains it to the end.

At the time I think I thought it was cute that it said the word "engaged" (get it? engaged, wedding?? haha). But there was probably more...those last two lines, about God taking "their cause in hand," and "maintaining it to the end..." I think even as a giddy engaged 26-year old who was preoccupied with dress necklines and honeymoon shopping and dish patterns - even then part of me realized that this marriage thing was going to be difficult - bigger than us - and on some level I knew we would need some help.

Now I am no old person rocking on my front porch with my partner of fifty years. Actually, we have only made it four. Okay we are not even at four yet. (And if I am honest there were times I wasn't even sure we'd be here.)

But now when I listen to those words (like last week at church while Sam and I were singing them) they are more than a hope or a vague promise you hope someone will keep. To me now, they are fact. These days I worry about asthma attacks and H1N1 and paying maternity bills and whether or not traces of peanuts find their way into chocolate chips. And of course I worry about whether I'm a good enough wife or mom or Christian or neighbor or - basically - whether I can hold it all together. But how silly. This same God who melded two selfish, bratty, completely opposite people (one of whom had a bad habit of throwing the car keys during first-year arguments), this God who time and again provided jobs and patience and sleep and cures from coughs and colic and toothaches, this God who never once let us go or let us down, He is still holding us. He must get impatient with me and my worries. I really should make myself listen to old William Gadsby's "The Love of Christ" every morning while I'm brushing my teeth. I really should. God is holding onto us and our little family! Remember, Jessica, remember!!

"He loves through every changing scene...
Not all the wanderings of her heart
Can make His love for her depart."

Bye Bye Milk

2011-02-11T15:32:00.001-08:00

Poor little Ty. Not even out of the womb and his chances of enjoying a bite of an ice cream cone before kindergarten are bad to very bad, as two out of three of his closest relatives had/have severe milk allergies. (Allergies are highly genetic.) In preparation for his arrival I'm beginning to cut milk and eggs from my diet so if the allergies are there, the first few months are a little less, um, awful for everyone involved.
Thought I'd share these "recipes" I've utilized, not because I think there is more than .001% of the population who is also on such a weird annoying diet (although I know there are some of you out there!) but because I was surprised to find these little meals are actually GENUINELY good. I would choose to eat them even if I didn't have to. Who couldn't use a new meal idea or two? Just a heads up though...I'm bad at measuring when I don't follow a recipe. So forgive me for the "smidge of that" and "glob of this" types of commands. We're not talking souffle and prime rib here so you should be okay.
- REALLY GOOD PANCAKES. Okay. So I like pancakes on sunday morning. And I like them with Bisquick. Sue me. Ingredients: Bisquick, club soda, pinch of vanilla, pinch of sugar, splash of orange juice, and a dump of quick cooking oats. On top: blueberries and bananas. Note about the club soda, or seltzer water or whatever you call it. Club soda is like a push-up bra for pancakes. Your pancakes are lighter, more attractive, and with a pleasant little lift. Plus it keeps forever in your fridge, opened. Basically for this recipe you follow the general guidelines for pancakes on the box, adding no egg, and adding the extra things I mentioned. I use less Bisquick and some oats because oats are good for you and bisquick is not. They are really undetectable, and these pancakes are AWESOME!!
- Tuna salad. Mayonnaise was a casualty of the new diet. One of the most devastating, if I'm honest. But here's a tuna salad that's good and good for you: canned tuna, a few glugs of olive oil, dijon mustard, cut up grapes, and salt and pepper. Seriously. Yummy~
- Chicken salad. Same sort of thing - grilled chicken breast, olive oil, dijon, and here I like cut up apples with salt and pepper. You don't even miss the mayo!
- Smoothie made with coconut milk. Coconut milk is so yummy! Thanks mom for this idea.
- Avocado mayonnaise - Smooshing up avocado with olive oil, salt and pepper is a VERY desirable substitute for mayo on a sandwich.
- This recipe for homemade meatballs. I will never use another even if I can add egg or milk. So easy and so yummy!
So that's all my tips for now. All of these I highly recommend, whatever diet you are or aren't on!

a current events update, from someone very out of the loop

2011-02-09T10:40:00.000-08:00

Confession. I am horrible with current events. Horrible. I told Todd it would be genius if someone would come up with a weekly show like "24" which told the world happenings of the week in a more palatable format. I realize I sound like a seventh grader not wanting to learn anything unless it's fun, but I think it would help. At least then I would have another source for news other than the three lead stories that pop up in the sidebar when I'm checking my gmail, or the links people post on facebook to stories. Because unfortunately, my friends, those are the primary sources of my news.
It's deplorable. But this year I have been getting "World Magazine" (courtesy of course, of my mother-in-law) so things have improved a tad. This week I forced myself to read an article on Haiti. I say "forced" not only because, as I mentioned, news is boring, but also because the pictures made me feel like this would not be an article I would be able to read while eating my raspberry sorbet and then forget about. And I was right. What I read was shocking and unforgettable. I'm sure some of you are actually somewhat informed of world events, but I am going to assume for a second you all are like me and completely ignorant. Here are the things I learned.
- Haiti was already the poorest country in the Western Hemisphere, before the 7.1
quake came and demolished everything.
- Six months after the quake, the country was flooded by rain. This destroyed a lot of the work that had already been done on repairs, and many people got cholera (which is still rampant).
- Haiti's government is horrible, and most of foreign aid (which there has been a LOT Of) has been squandered, wasted, abused, or who knows what.
- It's been a year since the quake, and the general consensus is that about TWO PERCENT of the rubble has been cleared. (2%! CRAZY!)
- A large portion of the population is infected with diseased water, unemployed, homeless, widowed or orphaned, with nothing to eat. That is not an exaggeration - it's factual.

Basically, I heard about the quake a year ago and forgot about it. I assumed that things were better, because let's face it - you are always hearing about this or that catastrophe and things eventually just improve. But in Haiti, they aren't, and most of the big-money aid from other countries is not helping because of the corrupt government.

So, the obvious questions are, what CAN help, and what should I do (if anything). I'll tell you what we have done. It's always hard to know, I think, whether your money to aid organizations is paying for unnecessary 30-page color flyers or some CEO's plush salary, and how much of it actually goes to rice or bottled water. I was happy to learn that Compassion International ranks in the top 1% of charity organizations for its financial integrity. And I like their vision. They find kids who are hungry, and bring them to a clean, safe center every day for a good meal, basic health care, schooling/vocational help, and to hear that Jesus loves them. If your Compassion kid ends up really becoming a leader, they can attend a Compassion college of sorts to become an adult volunteer in their country.

There are currently 1600 Haitian kids who need sponsorship. It is hard for me think about grieving the loss of $38 a month when the need is so great. I feel it's a good way to help. Here is the link - you can even pick your own child from pictures. My next step is to actually write this poor kid back when he sends letters so I don't feel guilty everytime I get one. But let's not get too ambitious all at once I guess :)

Love and Lysol

2011-02-04T09:32:00.000-08:00

God speaks to us in different ways. In the old days God spoke through donkeys and whispers and thunder. These days we have the Bible and pastors and things like that. But this week, God talked to me through the stomach flu.

I learned a lot of things. I learned it's silly to worry about all the horrible things that can happen, because most don't, and then others you never even imagined (like puking so much while you're eight months pregnant you start having contractions and have to go to the hospital for fluids and meds...twice) - some things like these will happen whether you dreadfully anticipate them or not. But also I learned some things you fear aren't actually all that horrible when they happen. Like the whole time I was sick I kept praying and worrying and hoping that Sam would NOT get my horrible sickness. And of course, he did, but unlike me, who in between pukes was shaking, and moaning, and confessing my last sins, and asking my husband for an ambulance, Sam was smiling, and congratulating me (with cheers and claps) for peeing in the potty. So, see, not as bad as I thought. I also learned that whoever those people were who invented that boring "BRAT" diet for recovering intestional victims, well, what they lacked for in creativity they probably made up for in wisdom. In other words, if three days after a stomach bug you want Chick-fil-a and Dairy Queen, just wait on that craving. You may be sorry. I will leave it at that.

But mostly during the Great Stomach Bug of '11, I learned about love. And germs. Love and germs. See I had gotten it wrong. All this time I have been thinking that love HATES germs. Love protects right? Love cares for your family by washing the sheets frequently, by staying away from sick people, by santizing and chloroxing and pumping up with vitamin C. And, sometimes, I maintain, (especially in the face of people like my husband who so frequently remind me that we need germs and should be licking doorknobs and things like that) sometimes, love does do those things.

But to a point. This week, I was really pathetic. On top of needing someone to bring me ice chips and make me plain rice and help me up the stairs, I also needed help with Sam, a very big and very energetic almost two-year-old. And boy let me tell you. I am thankful for people who helped. I am thankful for a husband who slept on a hospital recliner and got up every time I was sick when all he could do was watch, and who still looked at me like I was his beautiful wife when I was eight months pregnant, with the stomach bug and hadn't showered.

And I am thankful for my parents. Sam and I were both sick (proof that it was contagious) and both welcomed, loved, hugged, and cared for in their home. Not once did someone ask me if I washed my hands before grabbing those crackers, or switch out the nice living room blanket for an old one easier to wash, or go around after me with wipes and disinfecting spray. We were loved. Period. I know if it's your family it's easier, but I have to think at some point I would be tempted to invent an errand to get some fresh air, or get rid of the nice pillows off the couch, or subtly start wiping all hard surfaces with vinegar. But I never felt anything but loved and welcome. Simply put, I was treated like Jesus would have treated me. Which brings me to the lesson.

I don't want to be sick. Worse, I don't want Sam to be sick. I don't want him to be around flu germs or cold germs or gross people or dirty people or people who aren't clean and normal and un-needy and safe. But there are people out there who need me. Like a girl this week needed some help: the incapable, flu-carrying, can't-even-get-her-own water eight months pregnant girl with a VERY energetic kid. Someone will need me like that, and I don't want fear or selfishness to make me say no.

And now, God, since it's clear that all of us here have learned all of our lessons, feel free to go ahead and let this be the fourth and final time I will wash germs out of our sheets and towels and off of our counters. You can feel free to go ahead and give us seasonal immunity from here on out. Just sayin.

a helpful tip? maybe?

2011-01-30T16:39:00.000-08:00

Earlier this week I had the blessing of having a "GI bug." At first I thought I had food poisoning. Later I was sure I was dying. (Don't worry...I wasn't.) Anyway, at one point I was holding a bucket closing my eyes to try to keep the one bite of Saltine cracker in the right place if you get my drift, and at the same time was explaining to Mom how many drops of vitamin D Sam gets and where to put the probiotics. At that point it dawned on me: there should be a better way to do this.

So, later, I did what I always do when faced with a problem. I opened up a Word Document and started writing. I made a little chart called "Sam's information." Probably everyone in the world already has this document for their kids, but I still felt very efficient and responsible. My document records things like allergies, dr. number, where to find the insurance card, as well as Sam's favorite foods for breakfast, his naptime routine, and what to do if he wakes up in the middle of the night. I forwarded it to anyone who might watch Sam. I do think it will be helpful, because even the people closest to Sam don't know which inhaler to give and things like that. And heck, you never know when you'll be holding a barf bucket or delivering a baby and trying to convey important information. If you are interested in seeing my chart, I'll forward it to you.

the witching hour

2011-01-28T14:07:00.000-08:00

There is a funny scene in "Marley and Me" where - after they have three kids a dog - the dad is sitting in the car avoiding going into the house for dinner. Jennifer Aniston asks him what he's doing in the car and he says "man stuff." When I watched the movie first I was pregnant, and ignorant. I now know that that man was doing what all men do: trying desperately to avoid "the witching hour."

My mom is the one who introduced me to the term. At the time Sam was two months old and I was complaining about how horrible the end of the day is. She explained to me what apparently all moms, kids, dogs, telemarketers, UPS men, and even houseplants know about: the horrors of 3:30pm - whenever Dad finally gets home. It is long, boring, everlasting, dreadful, and miserable. Some things make it worse. These factors include decrease in sunlight, daylight, outside temperature, or nap length, the number of kids (babies under six months count as 3 points), the hunger of all immediate persons, and number of people teething or with head colds.

There is no real solution to the witching hour. But I thought I would offer some things that we do around our house then. I am not a kindergarten teacher and I am not creative, as you will see from this list. These ideas are born from desperation, nothing more. Therefore, please comment below with your witching hour suggestions.

~ craft box. Most effective if used sparingly. Ours holds scissors, glue sticks, markers, stickers, tape, bandaids, playdough, finger paint, watercolor paint, brushes, coloring book, fuzzy sticks, dry erase board, pencils, highlighters, and a few other things in the dollar store aisle. Locals, shout-out for the new dollar store at exit 23. Tons of crafty items, all $1.
~ indoor sand box. This is a bad idea for so many reasons. First, the sand box is actually a glass jar that is decorating the bathroom. Second, hello, sand inside? Bad idea. But the second half of this project is always vaccuuming, which is actually a good witching hour activity in itself as well now that I think about.
~ baking. Contrary to normal baking, witching hour baking pays no attention to how much you actually want/need the item or whether or not you feel like scraping oats and honey off the kitching floor. It's recreational.
~ "baking." We make cake out of various items, such as golf balls, old head of iceberg lettuce, tea bags, flour/water, celery stalks, cheerios and raisins, blocks, spice bottles, and an orange. I don't recommend the orange. He tried to eat it, sprayed everywhere, etc etc.
~ a good long bath. Like as an activity. Bring up a strainer, a big spoon, use lots of bubbles, waste lots of water. Real pace changer.
~ Fisher Price online alphabet game, and online books.
~ playing with all of the tupperware out of the cupboard. Sure, I always wash it after. (?)
~ taking all the cushions off the couches and making a fort.
~ going for a ride in the laundry basket, stopping at "stations" to pick up favorite animals or toys. This is not recommended for the pregnant or the weak.
~ painting with water on paper. You could accuse me of being poor, but I care not. It has used up a good fifteen minutes before.
~ homemade playdough. There is probably an official recipe somewhere, but I mix corn starch with water (and food coloring if things are really desperate) and it is pretty fun.
~ dance party.
~ playing with ice chips.
~ "driving" the car. Sam sits in the drivers' seat and pretends he is driving. Only downside to this one is the tantrum you will get the next time he realizes he does not get to drive and must sit in the back like a mere passenger. Apparently it's crushing.
~ TV. Used aptly, it is a lifesaver. Truly. Sam is obsessed with this video, in case you are in the market.
~ going to a new room in the house. I know, people, it's a stretch. But you just never know what might create a whole twenty minutes of new fun.

So there are my lamo ideas for the witching hour. FYI, here are a few things I do not recommend doing during the witching hour:
- expecting your toddler to tell you when he/she needs to go to the bathroom, or to hold it for longer than fifteen minutes at a stretch.
- answering phone calls of people you want to impress.
- trying to actually accomplish anything, including making dinner.
- looking in the mirror.
- calling your husband to ask where he is. This is a lose/lose. The absolute only good answer is, "Yes, honey, I am currently standing at the door, and you will see my face in four seconds. Oh, and by the way I picked up dinner at Carabbas." But we all know that is not usually how that conversation goes.
:)
Look forward to hearing your tips!

to be perfectly honest.

2011-01-11T17:57:00.000-08:00

I used to think love was nice. I remember watching “Bed of Roses” (which is probably a horribly made movie) around sixth grade or so and thinking I could not WAIT to fall in love. Then I got engaged, had a wedding, got married, and love was still pretty sweet. Sure it was harder than initially thought, requiring a little more self-sacrifice, overlooking of flaws, picking up dirty dishes, etc, but it was still pretty great.

Then, I had Sam. I am going to be blunt. I am nineteen months in, and I don’t like love anymore. It is too serious, too velveteen-rabbit-real, too daring, too painful. And it is getting worse. Now it seems a thousand times a day I feel love. Sometimes it’s for obvious reasons, like when he folds his hands to pray when I've forgotten, or tells me "thank you pretty mommy for dinner," or tenderly comforts the teddy bear (who is getting his diaper changed) or claps because he's so happy he's finally seeing Daddy. But sometimes it's the smallest thing - the way his little toes look in the bathtub, hearing him jabber to his stuffed animals in his crib while dozing off, the way his pudgy little hands pick up a raisin and his crinkly smile when I finally let him hold the spatula. Those moments make you think life is just perfect. And it is, now.

But it can’t last. The more love you feel, the more awful the reminder that you can’t prevent anything – not cancer, not child predators, not the chicken pox or bloody noses or broken arms, snotty godless girls or teenage rebellion, nor the worst one of all: time.

Of course I dread sickness and tumors and all of those horrors. But somehow it almost seems equally a tragedy that he could be spared all of those...and grow up. And not wear his fuzzy winter hat, and not need me to put on his sneakers, and not sing "songs" while he plays the piano and not tell me “Mommy I yuv you” and not struggle to use a fork but keep on trying and not drink milk from a sippy cup and not stay on the side of the babygate that I put him on. But he will, soon. Love is cruel.

To be honest, I’m not sure I can take much more love. I’ve always wanted lots of kids…now, I wonder if I have the courage to love two. Dear God, thank you for the blessing of loving the most wonderful little boy ever. Give me the courage to keep on loving, and loving, and loving, and trusting. for you are good. amen!

things that are worth the money.

2011-01-08T17:42:00.000-08:00

At the risk of sounding like a grandpa, when did things get so expensive? I'm pretty sure I filled my car up with gas in high school (my suburban, mind you) for twenty bucks or so. I'm always shocked now when McDonalds cheeseburgers aren't $.49. Why in the world does it cost $4.95 to buy a simple birthday card? And don't even get me started on life insurance, chicken breast, or baby shoes. It's crazy.
It doesn't help that I'm frugal by nature. For me, spending money always seems to feel wrong, like eating the last oreo at a guest's house, or texting in church. But there are a few things, a few wonderful things, which, even in these inflated times, make me feel happy, and smart, and righteous even, for buying. Here is my personal opinion, for shoppers or scrimpers, of things priced right and worth the money.
- Victoria's Secret yoga pants. My use of the word "righteous" earlier now seems a little misplaced. But seriously. The $29.99 I spent five years ago made initial appearances in the gym and mall. Those pants followed me on my honeymoon, through years of saturday house cleaning, and yes, even into the hospital to deliver a baby. Or maybe it was a few weeks later. Whatever. They are beyond comfortable without looking comfortable.
- Our internet. Random, yes. But I feel the need to share that for $19.95 a month, Time Warner supplies us with perfectly acceptable fast speed of wireless access. And hours of time wasted. So thanks. (?)
- Harris Teeter. Yes, Bilo is cheaper. But at Bilo do they put my groceries in the car? Do they reward me for my frequent shopping with free cookies at Starbucks? Do they offer me random terrific deals like this week's 24 water bottles for $1.88? And most importantly, do they make me feel, for one hour of the week, like I am good enough to deserve organic raspberries that are not moldy in the bottom? No, they do not.
- Pampers wipes. Sam has all but told me in his own words, please only buy Pampers wipes. They are the right amount of moist, soft, and thick.
- My Electrolux vaccuum, my kitchenaid mixer, and my Pampered Chef utility knife. Still as wonderful as the day I got them (all gifts, but I'd buy them if I had to).
- Turning on the gas fire when it's really cold in the morning. Enough said.
- A nice dinner on your birthday. Pretending you're more wealthy than you really are, when done discriminately, is actually very healing. My local preferences are the North Harbor Club and 131 Main.
- Mary Kay eyemakeup remover. There is no substitute.
- Going to Chick-fil-a on a really bad day to buy a small lemonade. It has made many a rough day bright.
- A caramel frappachino. Like once a season, in the afternoon, with whipped cream.
- a king-sized bed. Being the cold one/one who likes to cuddle, I was very dubious of this buy, thinking it threatened our marriage and my warmth. Oh, how I was wrong. I will never go back.
- a family vacation. We didn't plan to travel this year, but we did. It wasn't long, expensive, or exotic. It was Myrtle Beach, people, how could it be. We were SHOCKED at how many wonderful memories we made, how refreshed we were, and how fun a time we could have on basically a short and lame vacation. We are now determined to take one every year, and enjoy it.
- The pansies on my back porch. I was shocked the day I discovered people bought flowers that died every year. What is the sense in that. But I take it back. I am slightly happier everytime I see them in my backyard, even if it reminds me that we still haven't sold our house and no one has even seen them yet. Oh well.
- a year's subscription to Cook's Country. I don't get this magazine anymore, but thankfully I saved them all, and I read them over lunch, before menu planning, during evening wind-down time, and anytime I am curious what the best way is to make something. How many magazines do you read, save, and re-read? For me, not many, but this one I do. It's a gem.
- And finally - can I say this without sounding like a nerd? Disability insurance. I feel obligated to remind everyone to check and made sure what your family's coverage is in case you need to add to it.
So there! Hope you enjoyed my list! I's love to know what some of your worthwhile buys are!

a letter to me

2011-01-02T10:16:00.000-08:00

It is no secret. I was a horrible new mom. I was selfish, I worried, I stressed, I (gasp) tried to keep the house clean and dinner cooked, and I doubted myself, my calling, and, basically, whether life would ever be what I hoped it would. Well-meaning books and magazine articles remind you you can't be a "bad" new mom, but, oh, I was. Then again you probably already knew that if you've read much.
I think my major problem - besides lack of sleep, which I am convinced is the most effective form of torture mankind could ever utilize - was perspective. I lost all sense of time. On some level I think I truly believed I would never again have a shower longer than eight minutes and that Sam would be crying from gas the rest of his life, a life that, incidentally, was destined to be cut terribly short from SIDS, nasal congestion, or general bad parenting.
Thus, it is with an understandable amount of apprehension that I anticipate the arrival of little Ty. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't nervous. But more than nervous, I feel determined. I know my mistakes, and I will NOT make them again. I can't wait to meet our newest little guy, and show him how much his mommy loves him, and also that she is unfazed by inconsolable crying. It won't be easy, though, so I'm writing myself this letter to read when things start looking bleak.

Dear new-mom-again Jessica,
First of all, stop right now and say thank you. This is hard, but it is not cancer, it is not heartbreak, it is not war or AIDS or persecution or imprisonment. God is allowing you to be stretched and made holy in the most wonderful, blessed way possible - with a precious little newborn. So say thank you.
Now take a long, deep breath. It may seem like this will last forever, but it won't. Right now you are worried that this little guy will roll over in his sleep, that he has some undiagnosed allergy, tumor, or infection, that without you watching him like a hawk he can't possibly survive newborn stage. Relax. Chances are good that before you can blink, he will be sitting in his Bumbo with a smiling doggy bib eating sweet potatoes reading "Green Eggs and Ham" and saying "mmmm." Chances are, he will survive, and so will you. And that crying, gas, or colic? He might be unhappy now, but he won't be forever. One day he will be bouncing and laughing in the farm animal chair, he will die giggling when Daddy tickles him, and he will jump up and down squealing the name of his favorite stuffed animal.
You're tired. Every minute of crying is longer, every burnt piece of toast more devastating, every "no" from Sam more obnoxious, every too-small piece of clothing more offensive, and every worry more terrifying than it actually is. It will all look better by bathtime.
So just wait. No matter how awful-horrible-no-good this day is (and it's only 8:26 in the morning), it will end. Eventually, all babies will be sleeping, and you and Todd will laugh at something Sam said and that you found mounds of toilet paper behind the television and nipple shields in the potato chips, and you will climb in bed and watch 24, and it won't be so bad.
But until then, enjoy. You may be tired, someone may be fighting a nap, you might be worried about asthma or fitting in old jeans, what to make for dinner or whether Ty is allergic to peanuts or not. Nevertheless, there are still beautiful things happening. Sam might be finally learning his colors, or Ty discovering his hands, or maybe the dogwoods are starting to come out, or a new dachshund puppy going for a walk, or a friend just finding out she's pregnant, or the sun making that pink color it does at about 5:45pm in May. Don't miss the good things. One day the boys will be gone and your house will be empty, and believe it or not you will gladly give up your blow-dried hair and vaccuumed floors and 5:30 dinner reservations to be cleaning up playdough while two kids are crying. (So I hear anyway. :) So until then, relax, trust, and enjoy. You'll all make it! I promise.
Love,
older mom Jessica

santa mommy and other reflections of Christmas 2010

2010-12-31T12:09:00.000-08:00

If you're NOT one of those few who were robbed of Santa as a child (like my brother-in-law Dan, who repeatedly reminds us that SANTA is how Satan spells his name when he's trying to trick us) then adulthood exposes two truths about the fat man who leaves cookie crumbs on the table. First, that he is fake, unreal, a fraud. And don't give me the crap about the spirit of santa living through our good actions. That is not what we were told, and thus, insufficient. This exposure can be more devastating for some than others, like myself, for instance, who discovered the mythology of Santa, the bunny, and the tooth fairy all at once when I found a box of rotting childhood teeth in my parents' closet. It was quite a frightening way to be informed of so much at once. The second truth about Santa, though, comes later on, and is much more pleasant. It happens when you realize that BEING Santa is actually way more fun than waiting up for him. This was a huge relief to me on two accounts.

Although of course the beauty of Christmas is Jesus and that can never be taken from you (box of teeth or no), it is still nice to know that all the Christmas fun doesn't stop when there aren't mounds of presents with your name on it. And second, I sure feel better about all those times feeling sorry for my parents. ALL those gifts for us and a measly homemade coupon book (which I never fulfilled), a JC Penney bathrobe, and whatever we found at the Dollar Store with Nana and Pop for them. My guilty conscience is greatly relieved to know they did enjoy Christmas after all. This was one of the best Christmases I have ever had, before I even opened a gift.

"Advent" is an advanced theological term that means little to busy adults or preoccupied college students. To parents of a toddler, however, "Advent" means oh so much. It begins in October or so, when you start selling the Christmas tree-getting-trip. Around that time you start digging up the children's Bible and rehashing the Christmas story. After you get the tree (and turn it on every. single. time you come into the room) you spend the next month picking out recipes for Jesus' birthday cake, discussing balloon colors, shopping for Christmas presents for cousins and Daddy, playing with the manger scene, faithfully pulling out the day's Advent calendar item, singing Silent Night at the dinner table, looking for Santas, Frostys, and polar bears on the way to Grammy's, singing "Hatty Birday dear Jesus" over and over, watching for Christmas lights at nighttime, watering, grooming, and playing golf with the Christmas tree, and, of course, discussing what will happen Christmas morning. Unlike previous years when it's December 18 before I've given Christmas a second thought, Sam and I were VERY ready for Christmas this year. We had given it full mental preparation. A few things I never want to forget about Christmas 2010, when Santa and snow and Jesus came to visit in a real live way:

- An early visit from Santa Johnny. My brother is one of the most generous people I know. We celebrated with a rare dinner outing that night. (Side note: Red Robin is awesome, not only for unlimited steak fries - HeLLLOOO - but also for an incredibly amazing allergy menu. FYI if you have kids with allergies.)
- Sam's first self-selected Christmas ornament: three golf balls, of course, forming a snow man. This guy is VERY lucky he survived Christmas in one piece. Very.
- a wonderful Christmas eve appetizer party at Grammy's. We made a special trip to pick up SamMule and some pajamas because I was sure he would fall asleep after the long Christmas eve service. Instead, at Grammy's he ran laps around the house screaming and laughing, stuffing sausage balls in his face and jumping up and down. He was not very tired.
- the look on Sam's face when he opened his Thomas bike from santa. Christmas could have ended then, happily. Also, fun moment when Santa was one-upped by Aunt Julianne who gave him a bulldozer, which is actually way cooler than the bike. Thanks, Julie. :) Sam also loves his official (junior sized) football, and kind of his soccer goal, although he calls it a tent and putts the golf ball into it. Whatever.
- My first Christmas entertaining at home. Not only was it a blessing to have Todd's family with us, some of Sam's favorite people, I loved picking out the menu weeks ahead of time (ham, scallopped potatoes, cheese ball, raspberry fools, wheat rolls, pear salad for fatties like me who are curious). I love being the host! Although, I was diagnosed with "too much Christmas" (exact words) from the dr. after having high blood pressure from all the fun. poo.
- the snow. Oh, the snow. I have never had a white Christmas before. Unfortunately, we now have to break the news to Sam that chances are he won't have one again either, despite the pictures on every Christmas book we own and now, his own individual experience. Walking, or rather running, with Sam on Christmas night as the snow was falling was the best moment of Christmas. He also loved making the snowman with Cappy and Daddy. I wimped out after about ten minutes. Give me a break, it was freezing.
- My secret Santa gift. Props to John Haggan, my brother in law, who blessed me with the beginnings of a very effective storm-preparedness kit. Creative, personal, yet extremely useful. Also, I know have actual pictures of tornadoes to show Sam. This is a big moment for us.
- the photo video my sister put together of pictures of our family. (To the song "Heroes" by Paul Overstreet. shoutout.) I was sobbing and Todd was in tears as we watched little Sam, Jack, and Owen grow up in pictures. I was reminded how faithful God has been to us and our little family and all the prayers he has answered. Pictures can be sacred, I think.
I will close with this. First, I am glad I married by husband, who put together the soccer tent and the bike quickly and happily. When I asked him if he was prepared to spend the next few decades of Christmas Eves like this (putting together random presents) he said, "Absolutely!" Me too, Todd. :)

the sayings of sam

2010-12-12T17:03:00.000-08:00

I keep telling myself, you've got to write these down somewhere. And if I had a notebook I carried with me all day, along with my camera and video camera like the Perfect Mommy in my head, I would. But oh well. Overall, I would say I prefer the talking stage to the not talking stage. Although there are moments, like today when Sam demanded "special treat special treat special treat" loudly during the church welcome, church prayer, Scripture reading, and every other moment of silence in between, when I may not. Here are some things Sam has been telling us.
- While driving to see Santa: "Santa, play football, say touchdown." (?)
- He often wants to "drive it" when he sees any machine/vehicle. To which I have been responding, "maybe someday." To date he has said, "Drive it, maybe someday..." naming specifically the UPS truck, the dragon at Harris Teeter, the moon (yes), the school bus, a bulldozer, golf cart, Grammy's car, fire truck, ambulance, mountains, and, perhaps most emphatically, the mailman's car (?). He's kind of a dreamer, we've realized...The "maybe someday" has also been said regarding "play golf on TV," "go camping" and "climb mountain with Daddy,"
- Apparently I am an affirmative parent. He notes frequently about his activities, "Sam such a good job __________. ( A few notables he has named: pooping, eating noodles, sweeping the floor, vaccuuming tree mess, throwing clothes down, swinging golf club, singing, and taking medicine.) Glad we don't have any self-esteem issues thus far.
- We golf non-stop. We narrate our golfing non-stop. "Sam putting ball. Sam look at ball. Mommy watching Sam putting ball. Sam swing. Good swing! Nice putt! Go get it ball. Mommy putt. Mommy putt. Mommy hit the ball..." I am concerned about how crushed he will be when he realizes golf is a silent sport.
- Prayers. We are thankful for the following: baby Tommy, the fireplace, football book (Sports Illustrated), Daddy football on tv redskins and hat (this is was all one prayer), Josephine, Jesus book, and friends.
- Speaking of friends, a children's book of his references "best friends." I'm not sure he understands the whole concept, but he enjoys saying it. He will say when we are doing the same thing, "best friends, all eating pizza." "Best friends, sitting by fire." "Best friends, watching Thomas." "Best friends, brushing teeth," and such and such. It's precious.
- We are learning prepositions and minor parts of speech. "After" is the favorite. "After Sam go pee, go see Grammy." and such and such. For about a week he thought "afternoon" and "after" were synonymous. Off the record, this got a little annoying. Another fav is "proby." "Probby go golfing soon." "Probby redskins play football soon." "Probby be more booberries later," etc. He's quite hopeful.
- And finally, Todd said they passed a deflated Santa decoration and Sam said, "Santa, laying down, watching jet planes." Sure, Sam. :)
I can't wait to see how much more interesting this is going to get...

Tidbits

2010-11-03T17:01:00.001-07:00

Blogging is like laundry. The longer you wait to do it, the more overwhelming it is. I'm sure all of you have been hanging on by a thread wondering what I've been doing since eating popsicles in the last post. Well, I can tell you. Eating popsicles. Or toaster struedels, or Halloween candy, or bagel bites, or whatever else is not delicious and still left in my house from first trimester. Blech. I will be so excited when these things are gone and don't tempt me. Whatever possessed me to buy three boxes of Bagel Bites I don't know. Anyway, here are a few things that I've learned since our last post.
- Sam has asthma. And Mom has anxiety. Okay, we all knew that. Three times in the 24 hour dr/hospital stay, someone told me they were more worried about me than Sam. And keep in mind several of these times Sam was receiving oxygen. I should be insulted, I know.
- Ambulance rides are not covered by insurance. I will spare you the gory details except by saying if you can put the bill in terms of what fraction of your YEARLY - yes YEARLY income is, it's scary.
- Normal days are beautiful. My friend Lauren posted a very long time ago a poem called "Normal Day." Lauren if you're reading can you find that? That really came to life in the hospital and doctors' offices. If you are having a day where you are worried about the dryer that doesn't dry clothes in one cycle, or how your husband is late, or that your kid spilled powdered sugar on the floor after you just mopped it, or how a nap was too short - CONSIDER YOURSELF BLESSED. Normal is beautiful. I promised myself if Sam and I were home sweet home and better, I would never again complain. about anything. This sort of helped regarding the next point:
- Potty training has a bad rap. As long as you are prepared to not leave your house for three weeks (this is literal. I think we got the mail finally on day 3), as long as you realize there will be pee on every square inch of your living room carpet, that you will not be able to stop eating Dora treats even though you feel horrible afterwards, that just when you think you are getting somewhere you'll have a day like today with three accidents and three complete outfits to wash, and that you may have to endure Thomas videos every half hour on the hour to keep the bladder moving - as long as you can do that, it's fine. Sam is a good learner, honestly. It could be way worse.
- Church gets progressively more unfun as your child gets older. In the old days of church, I cuddled my Starbucks taking notes with a swirly pen in a spiraled journal while listening to the sermon. Afterwards I went out to lunch and then took a nap. These days, I feel like I've won (or lost) a bull fight by the time we get home. A literal bull. Oh wise muse of the blogs, how - oh how - do you make it through the child-rearing decade teaching your children what worshipping God looks like, while somehow absorbing any part a the sermon, all the while refraining from teary breakdowns in public?? How?? I feel the answer probably has to do with Cheerios. But that's all I've got.
- When people reference "the terrible twos," it's possible they actually refer to the the 17 1/2 month mark. I just want to give everyone a heads up, in case you are wired like me. When your child acquires a will, it often looks like an impending headcold, a bizarre side effect of a medicine, a serious internal organ problem, or a dark emotional trauma. What I mean is, it's hard to believe your child could be THAT bad without help. But it is possible. Reference below a conversation that occured between my mom and me.
Me: Mom, there's something wrong with Sam. He hasn't been himself all day, and now he's crying, hysterically, in his crib. Something is wrong. I think it's the medicine.
Mom: No, I don't think that's it. I think he's fine. I think he doesn't want to go to sleep.
Me: That's not possible. If you could hear him crying, it's awful. something is really wrong.
Mom: Put the phone up to the door.
(pause - I obey.)
Mom: He's fine. He's forcing himself to cry.
Me: (crying) Are you sure.
Mom: Yes.
Me: (still crying) Well listen. If you are absolutely positively sure that I don't need to take him out of the crib and to the doctors right now, then I will trust you. But if he dies or something goes horribly wrong, it's on your head.
Mom: (laughing) I am sure.
Folks, unfortunately, I did not embellish this conversation. Sure enough, Sam woke up happy, ate a popsicle, played in the sandbox and...threw a similar tantrum when he couldn't watch Thomas. It's a relief, but, man, things sure get interesting past the nursing, Boppy, mashed up babyfood stage. They really do:)

Guilt, Popsicles, and Real Food

2010-10-05T17:41:00.001-07:00

I’m a hypocrite. Let’s go ahead and get that out of the way. For as we type I am licking my lips of the smudges of not only one but TWO Breyers Caramel Chip Popsicle somethings. I bought them a long time ago, and I’ve had a really long day. So I am chalking this one up to frugality and desperation. But it brings me to my next point. With this post I am supposed to tell you about all of the changes we’re making in our diet and lifestyle. Well, here’s the thing. Two things. One: it takes time. And two: sometimes, there are caramel popsicles in the freezer, and you are going to eat them.
As I am reminded frequently by those who squash my goals/bring me back to reality, we live in the real world. So I’m just not going to tell you I’m never going to eat a Wendy’s Single and accidentally on purpose make it a combo, or have soft ice cream even though soft ice cream is the devil, or enjoy only whole wheat pasta for the rest of my lasagna, ziti, and chicken tettrazini-eating days. People, I’m just not. I am too weak.
But I am grateful to the man who wrote “In Defense of Food,” whose name escapes me right now, and to others you’ve heard from. Because of them I have clarified in myself the things that I can REALLY do, that will really help. These things I am doing. And I genuinely feel better when I do these things. Much better than, say, eating two processed 30+ ingredient ice cream mystery treats. Really.
1. Eat more vegetables. (We already eat a lot of fruit.) This is actually easier than I thought. Whatever you are making can easily include more vegetables. I eat more salads and put more veggies on them, add carrots, celery, beans, peas, etc to anything I cook, choose meals in which vegetables are the main part. It really is easy and still gets you some delicious meals. You just have to buy (and use) more vegetables than you’ve been used to doing.
2. One thing he talks about in the book is to “eat food.” Totally revolutionary, but when I am tired, in a hurry, low on ingredients, and generally not feeling like chopping a cabbage, tomato and vinegar salad for lunch, I eat what I am hungry for. And then I think, what REAL FOOD do I have that I could also eat? These are not the ideal days, but even if you had a cheese quesadilla, you could always have a tomato with EVOO on the side, an apple/banana/handful of carrots, etc. It’s better than nothing.
3. No more low-sugar, low-fat, processed garbage they make you think is healthy. I am determined to use real butter, whole wheat flour (half/half in recipes), honey instead of sugar whenever possible, only vanilla or plain yogurt, no more delicious but what-the-heck-is-in-this coffee creamer, wheat breads with only ingredients I can pronounce, organic or local eggs, olive oil or canola instead of vegetable oil, small serving of pure chocolate if I want a dessert, oil and vinegar instead of mayo, only homemade dressings, no weird meal mixes with ingredients I’ve never heard of. Basically, real food. Only real, live food.
So that’s that. My changes are small, but I am sticking to them. In the meantime, I am struggling to think of some good, convenient satisfying snacks. When I am about to faint and it is 3:45pm I do not want to wash the spinach, make a vinaigrette, and toast some wheat toast. I want a snack. Now. Yet I also deep in my heart of hearts do not want Cheez-its or snickers or a pudding cup anymore. If you have any suggestions, I would love to hear them. Thanks!

Healthy Eating Post 4

2010-10-03T15:47:00.000-07:00

If you blog-stalk my recommended blogs, you will know this next contributor as "Frugal Megan." She is still frugal, but now I think of her as "Raw Megan." Or at least 80% raw, as I understand it. :) She is a wealth of knowledge on nutrition...and if you need some raw food recipes, she's your girl! Enjoy!
Hi Jessica,
Hmmm, top five things I would do...
1. Stock up when things are in season. Freeze or can surplus, but I prefer freezing since I don't have to cook it first. Some people will tell you that you must "par boil" produce before storing, but I've never had a problem not doing that. The cheapest way to stock up without a garden is to visit the farmers market and ask the farmers for "cull" produce- Basically like produce that isn't pretty enough to sell at the market. They may cut you a nice deal on a whole box of stuff. You might also find "pick your own" places in the area for both conventional and organic produce. They are very reasonably priced- This year I found organic blueberry picking for $1/lb!
2. Stick to the "dirty dozen" list for organic produce. This will help you know what has the highest amount of pesticides, so you can be cost effective when buying. If peaches are high in pesticides but Onions are not, don't be spending 2x as much for organic onions. If you do purchase non organic produce, soak in a vinegar rinse of 1 part vinegar to 10 parts water for about 2 minutes. This has been shown to both sanitize and leach pesticides from produce. Don't soak too long though, vinegar also pulls out calcium over time!
3. Make things from scratch- Doing this helps you control what goes into your food, and your budget. Making things yourself often helps you see what is and is not healthy. If you make muffins with white flour, sugar and butter, you SEE no nutrients. If you make crackers from whole flax seeds, chunks of vegetables and a touch of sea salt, you can SEE wholesome goodness as you pour the ingredients in. Relying on making things yourself also helps you "KISS"- Keep is simple (although I refuse to call anyone stupid ;)). My kid wants a snack? he's getting apple slices and carrot sticks, not some elaborate concoction that takes me hours to make each week. Less preparation, from whole foods, often means better health and fresher more nutrient packed ingredients.
4. Vegetarian meals. If one can incorporate more vegetarian meals in their diet and cut out some meat, they will save both money and physical health. It is cheaper and more eco friendly to create meals from in season veggies than with meat (think how much food the cow had to eat to produce a few pounds of sirloin). Not to mention it is easier on the body to break down vegetables into amino acids and build protein from scratch than it is for the body to tear apart meat formulated for a different creatures needs, pick out what it can still use and reform proteins. It literally depletes the body of stomach acid producing cells to repeatedly do this. Of course, it takes a little research and knowledge to know you're getting enough and varied amino acids in your diet.
5. Gather coupon booklets from health food stores in the area that offer manufacturer coupons. If they are manufacturer coupons, they can be used at other stores. Find these healthy organic products on sale, and use the coupon. Be sure if you are getting snacks you realize this is more expensive and probably not as healthy as making them yourself, so only keep them on hand for emergencies or travel. This is important in my household, as there must always be food in the house that is safe for Caspian.
Well those are the five things I try to do. I can't afford to do it all. If either of us had the room, I would say the Number One best way to eat healthy and keep cost down is a garden, but alas! $30 of seeds and a little bit of work can reap $300-500 of fresh produce. WOW!

Post 3: Healthy Eating

2010-09-27T17:07:00.000-07:00

Meet Meghan. She's a real live Martha Stewart, but nicer. Honestly. I still remember the every dish of the 4-course meal she cooked the first time we came over for dinner. Yes, I am obsessed with food, but it was over three years ago, people. That's a memorable meal, I don't care who you are. One time I was having a bad day and came over for a visit, and she sent me home with wine in a sippy cup. Not sure if that's legal, but don't you like her already? She has recently relocated to a unique organic farming/residential neighborhood that has gained national attention. I am jealous of the farmer's market within walking distance!!!!
Here are her very practical tips:
Gosh, it's so hard! I could talk about this all day.
I try to buy local produce as much as possible. Local and seasonal is usually the least expensive, most nutritious and a lot more fresh.
Whole grains like brown rice, bulgar wheat, and whole grain pasta are staples. Packed with protein and so good for you.
Canned tomatoes from Italy (san Marzano) for soups and sauces are good in winter when you can't buy farm tomatoes.
Boxed broth is $2 at trader joes and I use it for everything.
Fresh market has dry goods you can buy in bulk- grains, beans, etc.
I don't eat meat but when I buy it for other people it is always organic and grass fed.
Coconut oil is so good for you- I use it to make popcorn. Not so good for you, but whatever:)
Plant an herb garden to add tons of color and flavor to meals. Cheaper than buying the $2 packets at the store.
Amy's organic frozen meals are so good when u don't feel like cooking.
Frozen berries and fruit for smoothies.
If I eat soy I make sure it is not genetically modified. If it says organic it is not gmo.
Bottom line, the least processed the better. It takes a little bit more effort at first, but you will feel amazing.
I still love a chip and I eat them regularly, but I balance chips with lots of greens and whole grains.
I don't eat dairy so I use almond milk to cereal and coconut milk for creamer.
Also,
I will bake some chicken breast to have on hand for a sandwich or to put on a salad for dinner with walnuts.
Or just have some barbecue sauce for dipping and have the salad on the side.
Buckwheat noodles (also called Soba-has tons of protien) with broccoli sauteed in olive oil and some lemon.
I live on avocados.
:)

Update on Sam

2010-09-26T17:55:00.000-07:00

It's been awhile since I’ve commented on Sam. It’s not that I don’t have things to say; it’s just that I’m not sure you’d believe them. I hardly do myself.
I have files and files on tips for infant eye contact, on signs of autism, on evaluations and write-ups and doctor forms for Sam. I think it will be the story I tell till I’m 100. It felt so real, those days and weeks where Sam wasn’t interested in looking at you, woke up at night crying inconsolably, and refused to nurse. It was terrifying because I felt like I didn’t know who my baby was, really. Would he ever be normal? What was wrong? How could I fix it? Hope has never been my strong point. Others hoped for me. Todd. Those who prayed for us. And, mostly, my mom. Early in the struggle she said she had lots of hope because it was so early, and that she believed we would tell him about this when he was 10, the story of how God answered our prayers for him. For some reason, I clung to that. In my darkest scariest moments, I would ask her: “Mom, do you still think we will tell him about this when he’s ten? Still?” She would laugh and always say yes, and yes, and yes. And I would close my eyes and picture us all, our family...we would be at the beach (because the beach is my happy place, I guess) and Todd and I would be sitting on beach chairs and Sam would be running up to us, showing us shells and waves and pointing out kites and everything else. If Mom believed it could happen, it could.
I had forgotten about that little vision until I started planning our family vacation this year. I was laughing in my head at how much fun Sam was going to have at the beach. I couldn't wait to bring him, because I knew (and I was right) that he'd be running around pointing out the waves, and the sand, and telling us when he saw a dog or a shell... And at some point, it hit me. The vision. Mom was right, just nine years off. Our miracle did happen, it just didn’t take that long.
Sam, I want to remember forever how you say “Go Skins, Boo Cowboys” and clap when everyone laughs. How you said, “Daddy, home, see Sam, happy” the other day when Dad walked in from work. How you remember the “awesome rabbit” in Grammy’s yard and the next three words are always “Johnny,” “bushes” “catch” because you thought it was the coolest thing ever when John Haggan tried to hunt it. You tell me every time we pass a garbage truck, a tanker, the gas station on 73, or a bulldozer, which to you is simply, “bull.” You ask for noodles and beans or chicken and fries when you’re hungry, and can tell me every item on the “things that move” page. You remind us about the “hay ride,” the lazy river, and when you tell us, “big one coming,” we know you are remembering the “awesome ocean.” You ask to read “Humpy Dumpy,” and love to point out his shoes. Your favorite song is “This little light of mine,” and I know you want me to sing it when you say, “bushel, no.” It took me awhile to get it, but now I do. You love learning the name for the whisk and the teapot and the egg masher. All lotion is “desitin,” all water is "Lake Norman," and every train is Thomas. The cutest things in the world are when you ask for SamMule, call me Mommy, Mommy, and when you remind yourself frequently, “Daddy, see Sam, soon.”
We love you Sam. You make us laugh, keep us on our knees, and remind us daily of The God Who Hears. He loves you more than we do. Love, Mom and Dad.

Sweet Potatoes and Broth

2010-09-25T17:15:00.001-07:00

My Aunt Rebecca has many interests. This morning she was on the radio (Baltimore Talk Radio) singing a song she wrote about the government treading on our rights. (You can preview the song here.) She gives riding lessons to handicapped children, wrote a curriculum on overlooked figures in Black History, wrote and published kids' album on horses, oh, and she is our family resident expert on alternative medicine. (Sometimes I think of her as a "witch doctor," but I mean that in the best possible way :). She lives on The Farm in Maryland, and is a wealth of knowledge. Her thoughts on healthy eating are below. I like it because you can hear her talking when you read it. Great tips!
If you were to study the components of a sweet potato or, say, some wonderful homemade beef or chicken broth, the life-giving elements you would discover in these foods and how these elements all work together for our good, are truly amazing! Food is a miraculous gift from God. How sad when these gifts are over-processed, stripped of all their dense nutrients, fortified with synthetic vitamins and then sold to the uneducated consumer. When shopping for our families, it is important to keep two thoughts in mind. First, is this a “nutrient dense” food? And, second, did God make it? If the package says enriched or fortified the answer is a resounding, “No!” Preparing food for your family is a matter of common sense. Here are just a few things to get you thinking and to help you figure out for yourself whether a certain food is one that you want to put on your family’s table or not.
1. God did not make ‘low fat’ anything. Man has decided that he knows best and has stripped the fat and therefore much of the nutrition from many foods. There is a lot of information available about the myths of high cholesterol.
2. “You are what you eat and you are what your meat eats.” When you consume beef and dairy products from animals that are raised on grains, not grass and sunshine as God intended, you are not receiving His nutritious gift and in fact may be hurting yourself.
3. God did not make artificial sweeteners. He made raw sugar, honey, maple syrup, etc. Did you know that aspartame is derived from the waste products of e.coli bacteria?
Do you see my point? It is, really, just a matter of common sense, and believe it or not you will eat less, and feel truly satiated if the foods you are consuming are “real.” Now, how do you take this common sense and fit it into your family’s budget?
Food is the most important item that I purchase, and although I may not be able to afford everything I would like to consume, this has always been my plan of action. Before I spend money on anything, I ask myself one question: “Is this purchase something I really need?” Is this tube of mascara necessary? What about this cartful of “stuff” from the dollar store? Hmmm. Are there hygiene and cleaning products that I could make myself or simply do without? Vacations? Christmas presents? Trips to the local coffee shop? The list goes on and on and it all adds up! When I look back on how people lived years ago, I learn a lot about what is truly necessary for us to live. There are many areas where, if I choose, I could be more frugal.
So let’s get back to food. Keep in mind that you want to purchase foods that are “nutrient dense.” This means you may have to do some searching before you can find a good source. The local grocery store may not be your first choice. Fresh, free range eggs are packed full of nutrition and will easily last a few weeks in your refrigerator. Take an afternoon ride and keep your eyes peeled for the little inconspicuous cardboard signs posted on telephone poles or mail boxes that say, “eggs for sale.” If the place looks alright, don’t be shy, just pull up! They put the sign there because they want you to stop in and “bother them!” It may sound silly but sometimes something as simple as a nutrient-dense egg reminds me of how great God truly is. Oh, make sure you ask how old the eggs are.
Then there are farmer’s markets and roadside stands. Yes, take advantage of these. Always try to find out if their produce is local, because this means less of the crap they had to spray on your food for prolonged shipping and shelf life.
Have you ever seen the small family roadside stand with no attendant? You know the ones where they trust you to stop and purchase using the honor system putting your money in a small box under the counter? Well by all means, stop there too. Don’t worry that some little old lady might be peeking through the living room curtain to see who’s pulled up at the end of the lane. Take a minute and see what they have! Maybe you don’t want it for supper but you can freeze just about anything. Which reminds me. Freezing is much easier and far healthier then canning.
Meat is the expensive item. Keep in mind the amount that you truly NEED to eat, not the amount you WANT to eat. Ask around for local butchers, as their cattle, more then likely, have not come from filthy feed lots where they are primarily eating corn and soybeans instead of grass as God intended. Also keep in mind that shipping cattle long distances for butchering puts them under heavy stress which causes them to release toxins that taint the meat.
Making soups and stocks from pasture-raised animals is easy, economical and extremely healthy! You can add bone marrow or chicken stock to anything you are preparing for extra nutritional value. I’m sure you’ve seen the popular picture of the old man at the table, head bowed and eyes closed, thanking God for the small bit of sustenance that he was about to eat. I like to think about the miraculous gift of nutrition that God was providing him through a little bowl of broth!
Don’t put a lot of pressure on yourself when planning meals. Concentrate mainly on “nutrient dense” foods and you and your family will be fine. I remember my mother saying that when she was a little girl she took an apple and a piece of bread with butter (mind you, not margarine or a low fat spread) to school each day. And, oh, what a big treat it was if they got to take a sweet potato! Needless to say, we eat way too much nowadays.
Food has become such an obsession with many of us, and advertising doesn’t help. I will always remember a young mother I met this year in D.C., at Glenn Beck’s “Restore America” event. She told me of an instance where they had taken the kids to Burger King for a treat. Her 10-year-old daughter commented that she didn’t like what was written on her bag. The mom asked her what she meant. “Well, the bag says, ‘Have it your way,’ and I just think that’s rude.”
I pray that God will constantly remind me that I can’t always have food “my way.” Maybe all I really need is a sweet potato or a little bowl of homemade broth.
One last thing. Experts say that we should be eating fermented foods sort of like a condiment with your meal. A small serving, say 1 tablespoon, with your meal gives you great added flavor but more importantly tremendous health benefits. I wanted to leave you a simple recipe that is packed full of nutrition and tons of good bacteria that are essential for a healthy gut and immune system. Please find other fermented recipes and try them also, as they are extremely easy and economical. Get your children accustomed to these foods at an early age!

New Series: Healthy Eating, Happy Eating

2010-09-21T16:14:00.000-07:00

Welcome to Part I of the new series with a cheesy title. It was either that or no blog post today, because you have to have a title for a series, and I was too tired to think of a good one. So there.
I have "interviewed" a few people who eat healthier than me to try to find out:
1. what is they think is MOST important regarding healthy eating
2. what they actually have for dinner
I have learned a ton, and can't wait to share it. If you also have tips to eat well on a budget or healthy meal ideas, please share!Post number one is from Katie. Katie is the kind of person who finds the most effective way to do everything. Therefore (of course) she has found the most effective way to eat healthy on a budget. She probably should write a book, and she actually sort of did. But it's all good, so I'm sharing it:

Jessica,

Can't say I'm an expert by any means... but here are a few things I'm doing to try to keep our family healthy:
- I've been watching our diet to attain a pH balance (between acidic and alkaline - the vast majority of Americans are extremely acidic which causes numerous health problems over time) - this is really critical to your body's ability to fight off germs, disease, etc. - even cancer. You can test your pH using saliva or urine tests that are quite cheap and can buy these at Healthy Home Market up near Brandi's house or online.
- Reduce our intake considerably of white flour, white rice, sugar, and all animal products (meat or dairy). All of these lend themselves to making you quite acidic (in reference to the pH scale above) so reducing them makes a big difference. I usually only cook something with meat in it a couple of times a week - and even that is more for Titus than for us. Of course, to maintain proper protein and iron levels, you do need eat a lot of beans and other high protein foods in it's place.
- I try to ideally make at least half of our intake fruits and vegetables (mostly vegetables) because they are alkaline bringing the balance back up. Raw is better, but any will do. Lemon, lime, cucumber and ginger are all great to add to water... you're supposed to drink a lot of water - your weight in pounds divided by 2 - that many ounces a day.
- I'm becoming more and more convinced of the importance of going organic (read the Organic Manifesto if you have time - it's in the library) because it is arguably more healthy with more nutrients in the soil, but also because it is not loaded up with pounds of pesticides, fertilizers, herbicidesfungicides, etc. How about this for a statistic? Every year the amount of pesticides, etc. added to agricultural soil is equivalent to 4 pounds for EVERY American - I can't remember what the big number was now, but is that not ridiculous? The book goes into more detail about how that harms our land and water, how it is causing global warming and most immediately interesting, how much damage all those chemicals do to our bodies. I know on the surface it looks like it is more expensive to go organic, and it might require a slight increase in the budget, but overall there are several ways to keep the costs low even with organic food such as:
- buy what's in season and if it is something you want a lot of, consider canning or freezing it to have for other months of the year. This alone will save a lot of money AND you'll much higher quality food if you buy it locally and in season rather than having shipped from who knows where and picked before it has the full nutrient level.
- make a lot of foods yourself to avoid processed foods and the additional chemicals and preservatives added (I make my own yogurt, bread, most baby/toddler food, and as much as possible from scratch.
- Good places to buy healthy and organic food for reasonable prices: Bradford Store, Healthy Home Market, Trader Joe's, farmer's markets (but make sure they really are local farmers), Amazon (right now there is a promotional Amazon Prime account for free for three months for mom's. I can send the link if you can't find it), Neighborhood Produce (but this is NOT organic, so I may not do it much longer - if you do, just make sure to wash it well with a one part vinegar to three parts water bath for 20 minutes) and Costco - I know I'm a broken record on this one - but I haven't found cheaper prices for organic foods than I do at Costco - I really think the membership is well worth the money saved, particularly on the organic stuff but also on all your baking items.
- and of course, growing your own will always be cheaper. We hope to build our garden more and more and eventually make enough to can all our tomatoes for the year and things like that. Use fresh herbs for flavor rather than additives with chemicals in them when feasible.
In terms of recipes, we have salads just about every day feasible for either lunch or dinner - usually consists of a mix of lettuce or spinach, celery, carrots, cucumbers, peppers, tomatoes, avocadoes (this helps ease the no meat thing as well), and whatever else is on hand - broccoli, cauliflower, whatever. I also make a lot of brown rice and black bean concoctions... either just adding onion, chili powder and cumin or making it with more veggies - tomatoes, corn, jalapenos, peppers, onion, etc. Very cheap, but has full proteins and a lot of other nutrients necessary. I also make a lot of pasta primavera - whole wheat pasta and the more veggies the better - squash, zucchini, broccoli, peas, carrots, tomatoes, mushrooms, onion, peppers, garlic, etc. And finally, I also make a veggie dish either with brown rice, spanish rice or no rice. I just chop up asparagus, zucchini, squash, green pepper, tomatoes, onion, garlic, jalapenos, celery, etc. and add some lemon juice, herbs, etc. When we do cleanses, we usually have a lot of this dish since it is straight up veggies.
I think one thing I've learned is that healthy food generally just takes more time - to buy, to grow, to cook and to preserve. It's worth it to me though to stay home and attain/make healthy food than to have an excess in our budget. Sorry to write a book in response - I didn't expect it to be this long! I'd love any other tips you have or learn as well!
Kate

Hope you enjoyed! Stay tuned for more!

A Good Book. Or an evil book. One or the other.

2010-09-14T18:43:00.000-07:00

There are good books, and then there are good vacation books. This weekend on vacation, I read a good book. I do not recommend it for vacations, if you are like me and want to eat with anywhere you want an unrestrained conscience, like Mammy’s Kitchen and Dunkin Donuts or the place with the “world’s best French fries.” But alas, this vacation my palate was ruined for French fries. And soft ice cream, and chicken tenders. And this, my friends, is very, very hard to do.
The vicious, merciless, unforgiving harbinger of the torture is the book called “In Defense of Food.” I am glad I read it, even though I now have no idea what to eat for breakfast tomorrow.
His “thesis” is this: “Eat food. Not too much. Mostly plants.” And that’s it. The part that made the most impact on me was “eat food.” So obvious, right? Not really. Apparently, much of the “food” in America today is just processed chemicals. It’s easy to dismiss these claims to the obvious imposters like Ramen and marshmallows and Cocoa Puffs. I mean deep down, we all knew God never made marshmallows, didn’t we? But it’s not just these foods. The “industrialization” of food is rampant, affecting wheat bread and low-carb spaghetti and low-fat peanut butter and almost every kind of yogurt, and ketchup and – where does it end??? Even the produce isn’t safe. Mass-produced, depleted of nutrients, covered in chemicals…I tell you, food is almost ruined for me forever.
Almost. Because then I remembered the farm. “The farm” is the term we cousins use to describe the family plot in Maryland where most of my best childhood memories are made. As a kid I loved making forts in the apple orchard and eating Schwan’s pizza with Grammy and playing flashlight tag and those sorts of things. In recent visits, I admire different things. Like the chickens who lay eggs for breakfast and the outdoor pizza oven and the land to grow whatever you want in a salad. I am reminded that it is possible to do like my book says and escape the “Western diet.” But it’s not easy. Luckily I have some good examples, like Aunt Rebecca on the farm, and others who manage to bring the farm to suburbia, in one way or another. Over the next few weeks I will be posting the thoughts of others who I respect for their healthy, frugal living. I hope you enjoy those thoughts, and I welcome yours!

What Is Wrong With Parenting Magazine. (It’s not a question; I’m going to tell you.)

2010-08-20T18:17:00.000-07:00

I know. Not a very nice title. So I will start with something positive, a shout-out. To my mother-in-law. One of my favorite things about Carole, my mother-in-law, is that her love language is gifts and letters. This means I very frequently open my mailbox to find an “envelope (or box) o’ stuff.” Unfortunately, I am horrible at cards and letters these days. I hope she doesn’t feel terribly unloved. But anyways, Carole knows two things about me: 1. I love to read. 2. I am poor. Because of her, I enjoy a wide range of reading material that I would not otherwise. My favorite, of course, is Real Simple, which literally makes my day when I get it. Obviously. She’s also sent a wonderful women’s devotional, and a really cool “HomeMade” magazine, with all kinds of amazing ideas I will never be creative enough to implement, but totally respect.
And I also enjoy Parenting Magazine. And I do mean “enjoy.” I love reading about the new baby toys, and trendy snacks for kids and parents (mostly kids…is that wrong?). There are a lot of interesting articles about safety, diet, people who go on really fun trips or do creative things with their jobs, etc. etc. And, to put it bluntly, on a very lonely and begrudging day, I am downright ecstatic to get my hands on the happy pages of Parenting during a bathroom reprieve.
But I have a gripe. I’ll call it, to be productive, a “missed opportunity,” or a “room for improvement.” Because it has the readership, concept, and design to be a really terrific, helpful magazine, but I believe it falls short. Here are the things that bother me. I’m sure Carole agrees. :)
1. Emphasis on “me time.” Listen people. I am all for “me time.” There is a good and rightful place in this world for pedicures, solitary vacations to Palm Springs, mom’s night out, and escaping to the bathroom from a whining kid, etc, etc. But would it be too much to ask that for every eight articles about the former, there might be – I don’t know – ONE article encouraging moms to do something boring, unsatisfying and unselfish, for the sake of your kids? You almost get the idea reading it that being a good mom means indulging yourself.
2. And on that note, (and I know I sound like a fifty-year-old) but what is up with the sex columns? Was I the only fifth grader who read mom’s magazines when I was really bored? I bet I wasn’t. If you are reading Parenting, then you have a kid. A kid who doesn’t really NEED to know about sex technique, problems, or toys (yes!).
3. A little too much politics. Lesbian moms (“dads”?), diagnosing prejudice, and eliminating gender roles to name a few things. I’m fine with that if it’s Time, but seriously. Can’t we just consumer review diapers?
There. I feel better now. That’s what you get for reading the blog of a pregnant woman. I’ll try to be more positive next time.

My Thing.

2010-08-19T17:55:00.000-07:00

I don’t have it yet, and it’s starting to bother me. You know, the thing that I do, that puts me on the map, makes me important, gives me the glory I’ve been waiting for all these years. I mean, sure, I won the science fair in sixth grade for that revolutionary work on magnets. I think I got the Literature award when I graduated high school. Once my letter to the editor was published in the Charlotte Observer. Yup. But as wonderful as those successes were, I dream big, people. It has to be big… A seminar that millions of people (yes, millions) tune in for, order on itunes, comment on facebook about, or order copies of for their needy friends. (Don’t ask me on what.) If not a seminar, a book. But not one published on a solid-color, home-bound, with 1970-ish font. No, no, no. A REAL book. With my picture, or an artsy looking one, with a catchy title below and separate shiny jacket to match. It’d be a big seller, somewhere. I’d settle for an honorable mention in World Magazine, or on some reputable underground Christian blogs or something. But big. You get the idea. Or maybe a project that I start. Again, don’t ask me what for. Just a project, that solves some big problem, with me leading everyone while I’m holding a clipboard talking into a microphone wearing some new classy yet unassuming outfit I’ve bought with royalties from something.
I go back and forth. Some days I give me a lot of credit for my ambition and dreams and high hopes, but others, I think my self-image is a little skewed. Maybe there’s a little less Laura Bush, Beth Moore, and Pioneer Woman in me and more, um, normal people I see pumping their gas or buying toilet paper or loading their three kids in the car while the dog tries to escape and someone drops a popsicle on the ground and tries to eat it still. Maybe I’m…normal.
I don’t mean to insult the Popsicle lady or buying toilet paper, but I do think I’d feel a crushing disappointment if my life is never more than that. Is my thinking wrong? I think so.
The other day I was reading a book that made me list out five people I respect. Wouldn’t you know it, Beth Moore didn’t make the list (there are other reasons, if you want to know them later.) But not even the wonderful Laura Bush. Nope. It’s normal people. The ones who’ve changed my diapers and made me macaroni and cheese too many times to count, and who don’t always wear new clothes and won’t ever have their name on a book or in a brochure or give an interview with Larry King. Not that I really understand what it means to be a hero like these people are, because I’m still very bad at it, but I do know this: the little guy who ate the noodles and corn I made for dinner has no idea of my failed dreams and how I’m not famous to anyone or that that book is not even conceived, nonetheless started. I don’t think he cares. He likes the way I read Me And My Mom in the morning and how I point out bulldozers and that I let him make the toaster go “pop.” And it’s enough to him. I want it to be enough for me, too.

Praying the Promises of God

2010-08-02T16:28:00.000-07:00

This post is totally copied from some guy I heard on the radio. And I only heard about three and a half minutes, so that makes it worse. But anyways, to paraphrase someone unknown for 1/15 of his lecture, here goes:
The best way to pray is to pray God's promises. We can of course always ask for specifics in our life, but we're not always promised that outcome. The best prayers come when we open up God's word and ask Him to do what He has said he would. Here are a few promises I could think of:
- That he would give us wisdom for a situation (James 1:5)
- That he would be with us (matt 28)
- That he would give us peace. (Phillippians 4:7)
- That he would work all things in our life for good (Rom 8:28)
- That he would comfort us in our suffering (2 Cor. 1:1)
- That he would give us power, love, and self-discipline instead of fear (2 tim 1:7)
- That if we seek Him, he will give us what we need (matt 6:33)
- That no one can snatch us out of God's hand (John 10:29)
- That we can be content, with his strength. (Phil. 4:13)
- That he will complete the work he started in us (phil. 1:6)

There are many more! But that's a good start!

2010-07-21T16:25:00.000-07:00

It dawned on me recently how often verdicts are passed on your kid. Not like in an official way, but casually. Like when I was in the doctor recently, and the friendly nurse said, "We don't see you in here too often! That's a good thing...Sam is pretty healthy!" She said it as a compliment, and I took it as one, and puffed up like someone had told me they liked what I'd done with the living room, or for the marinade on the chicken. I remember thinking scornfully and a little pitifully about those other moms, the ones with the kids who are always sick. Poo. Even before the kid is the size of a walnut, we breathe a breath of relief when the heartbeat is good, and then when the organs are developing nicely, and when it looks like he's coming on time, etc. etc. And of course now I love hearing the doctor tell me his lungs are clear, and his teeth are coming in nicely, and he's staying perfectly on his growth curve. Secretly in my heart of hearts, if I fantasize about the doctors and nurses discussing us, they nod their heads, and their eyes sparkle, and they smile a little. What a perfectly developing little kid. She's doing something right.
So later that week, (as I was blow-drying my hair, of course) it hit me. My thinking is way screwed up. And not just because it's incredibly immature and superficial. You see, if I follow my logic out, the error becomes more obvious. What would a "successful" Sam look like, in the way I'm programmed to think? People would stop me, you know, in grocery stores, and tell me they can't believe he knows what bananas are already. They'd compliment me on his motor skills, and he would always pass his hearing tests, and never get the diseases they warn you about, and always weigh the right amount, and eat five servings of vegetables (with a normal amount of distaste but then obedience). Later, his handwriting would be above average, and teachers would discipline him occasionally, but always smiling. He'd be good at sports, maybe break a bone or two while climbing a tree (like a finger, that would heal easily). Later he'd be the above average group in school. Probably a boy scout. He'd go to Chapel Hill, and enjoy it, but not too much. And then make something nice of himself, coming home frequently to see his wonderful mom.
That's it. What I'm hoping for all these doctor visits, and everytime he falls down, and when we read alphabet books together. It's not only ridiculously impossible, it's deceptive. Would I really feel happy with that life? Is that my highest hope for Sam? I tremble a bit as I realize, no.
And a verse comes to mind. It's not really a favorite, in the sense that I'd write it on an index card to pull out for comfort. But it's good.
"For what will it profit a man if he gains the whole world, and forfeits his soul? Or what shall a man give in return for his soul?" (Matthew 16:26)
So there it is. Those nurses will tempt you, but health and beauty and brains and safety home from every soccer game...well, I guess that's not my highest ambition, really. I trust my little boy to his real Father, and hope that above all else, come what may, he will love Him. I hope he does.
But also, I REALLY hope he still wants to visit good old mom when he's bigger. Is that too much to ask? :)

more on death.

2010-07-15T17:23:00.001-07:00

I'm not a freak, I promise. I can't help it that I've been gifted.
It's kind of like my sister. She has a gift. Tell her that you just found out you're pregnant, and she can tell you within thirty seconds your due date. My gift is kind of like that, only not at all. You see, if you give ME fifteen minutes, I'll tell you everything and anything that could possibly go wrong in your little old life. Beautiful, isn't it?
So here we are, with another death post. But it gets better, trust me.
You see, it dawned on me the other day. I'm going to die. Why do I fight it? So I immediately did what I always do when I am determined to conquer something by ration, reason, or force. I research, and I organize. I wish it were sexier, that I were one of those people who conquer their devils by running fifteen miles, or hiking a mountain, or even concocting something new in the kitchen. No, for me it's always been: read everything you can on a subject, and then make color-coded index cards and a spreadsheet to give some poor soul a presentation on something they never wanted to know.
And thus it was with death. And where, persay, do I go if I want to learn about death, and slay the dragons of fear thereof? The Bible, of course - that's where I went. The whole thing, actually. Well, okay, I skipped the Old Testament for purposes of time. But I started with Matthew determined to write down every single reference to eternity, dying, or heaven. Cure it with research, right? (I do realize that this whole post is casting a rather unflattering self-image, but in my determination to be honest, and - more importantly, helpful - on I go. :)
Well I have to be honest, the first couple books were a little more bleak than I had hoped. I felt like from an initial skimming that I had been called "a brood of vipers" one too many times. I wasn't quite feeling the hope. Until John.
The Gospel of John is my new. favorite. book. Did you know there are over 31 references to eternal life, just in the FIRST HALF of the book? It's always Jesus talking, and according to John he mentions the word "LIFE" about every time he ends a miracle, or story, or lesson. It's incredible, if you're looking. Man, I felt better reading those. And incredibly, not so much with "eyes on heaven" that I wasn't any earthly good. On the contrary, I can tell you that I sliced the dinner sweet potatoes with a new enjoyment, attention, and joy. It's odd, but true.
The big question, though, is, does my new knowledge cure me from those awful death fears? Well...those who saw me dash all of the sofa cushions in the pantry to escape the impending "tornado" that occurred, or was predicted to occur, three hours later, might probably assume no. But it's a start. I thought I might share a little of my hope, but you should really go read the whole book. This is just one verse, the first that really hit me. It's familiar, but I can tell you it had new meaning for this little researcher, scared to death of death.

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

Finally, I watched it

2010-07-11T06:49:00.000-07:00

Confession. I have not actually read any of The Lord of the Rings. Additionally, until recently, whenever I watched any of the movies, I fell asleep. People are horrifed at this, me being a literature teacher and all. And I'm not proud of it. I just can't help it. As soon as I read the words "troll" or "goblin," or "middle earth," something happens inside of me and I check out. I am well aware that this tendency exempts me from a large amount of the world's beautiful literature, but I can't help it.

Usually my husband shares this predisposition against fantasy-land, but he has been nagging me for years to watch The Lord of the Rings. Which I didn't understand, until now.

There are bookstores written about these stories, and I'm not going to attempt to add to the discussion after one skeptical viewing of the movies. But I do get it now...and one thing in particular stood out to me.

They are not scared to die. Not at all. They're not even scared of pain. In fact, they run to it. You watch it and just baffle. At least I do. I'm trying my darndest to prevent, avoid, predict, and flee every hardship my mind conceives. But to these characters, struggles, death, and pain are - not merely accepted - but chased after.

There's one scene where Gandoff is encouraging a little dwarf, Pippin, before the big battle. The dwarf is more like me, gulping at the battle, grimacing at death. He says, "I didn't think it would end this way." Gandoff responds: "End? No, the journey doesn't end here. Death is just another path, one that we all must take. The grey-rain curtain of this world rolls past, and then we'll see it." Pippin: "What? See what?" Gandoff: "White shores, and beyond. A far green country with a swift sunrise." Pippin: "Well that isn't quite so bad." Gandoff: "No, it isn't."

There's one verse I've been thinking a lot about. I like to think Tolkien thought about it too:

"Since the children have flesh and blood, he too shared in their humanity so that by his death he might destroy him who holds the power of death, that is, the devil, and free those who all their lives were held in slavery by their fear of death." (Heb. 2:14-15)

On Discipline

2010-07-10T17:45:00.000-07:00

Formerly in my mind, there were two types of moms. Good moms, and moms who let their kids chew on the car keys in the grocery store line. If you have ever been one of the latter, I apologize for judging you. Oh, how I judged you.

It was so simple then. Dude. Get the keys out of that kid's mouth. Who cares if he freaks out. HeLLLLOOOO, GERMS!!!!

I have since learned - or rather, felt - the pitiful, carnal, desperate fear of being "the mom with the screaming kid." NO ONE wants to be that mom, whether they are merely petty and immature, weak and submissive, or prideful and haughty (like me). We all have our reasons. Simply put, I am trying to be consistent. If eating car keys is yucky in the living room at home, well darn it, it's yucky during the prayer at church or, yes, while there are three people standing behind me in line and one impatient cashier watching me search for the missing coupon for the waffles. Come what may, I am trying to be consistent.

And I'll need it. I've heard that Dr. James Dobson states in the book The Strong Willed Child that 75% of kids are "strong-willed children." This is a fancy way of saying if you take the car keys out of these kids' mouths, it doesn't matter if they were getting bored anyway, or how decisively you say "no," or how quickly you can insert a stuffed giraffe in their place - they will scream BLOODY MURDER, simply because their will has been foiled. He doesn't address the scenario of a strong-willed mom having a strong-willed child, but that makes things doubly interesting. It's oh-so-tempting to want to "win" the battle of the pureed sweet potatoes, but sometimes, I am learning, winning is losing. This is what my mom is teaching me. If it's not important, don't make it important. Some kids love hearing "no." So even though saying it comes as natural to me as breathing, eating french fries, and straightening pictures that are crooked on the wall, I try to resist. We are early in this game, but I have had a few victories. I'm thinking I probably better get my hands on that book sometime soon, though. :)

A Shout-Out

2010-07-10T16:56:00.001-07:00

It's gotten to the point where I think my husband groans when he hears me say, "Dr. Gordon says...." I think he is intimidated by the man, which is ironic since Todd is literally two feet taller than Dr. Gordon. His official name is T. David Gordon and he was, hands-down, my favorite professor at Grove City College. He wore suspenders and smiled all the time and fought cancer the last semester I had him. I'm pretty sure he didn't miss more than a month, and when he returned he dragged his chemo behind him on tubes and wheels. He was my favorite because he was the wittiest person I've ever met, spiced everything with humor, used unconventional language (cough cough) to make a point, and above all, he was kind. I recently saw that he has had two books (at least?) released since he taught us Greek five years ago. The one that caught my eye was Why Johnny Can't Sing Hymns: How Pop Culture Rewrote the Hymnal. It's way radical. I mean, who doesn't enjoy singing "Light the Fire"? This guy, evidently. But from my talks with him about the subject in college, I have a lot of respect for his opinion. The basic point is that our generation has, for the first time in history, disregarded the worship of the past. He says it's generational snobbery at best, destructive and sinful at worst.

Anyway, just thought I'd pass along for people interested in worship or, like me, in Dr. Gordon. :)

A Book Review and a 40-Day challenge

2010-06-25T07:33:00.001-07:00

Generally, I skim books. It's very obnoxious, but most books deserve it. After a twenty minute or so perusing, you've got the main idea and spared yourself 150 pages of redunduncy. Now, if I read a book - well, that book is pretty. darn. good.

This past week, I read a book. Actually, I re-read two chapters, so there. Furthermore, I have been so touched/motivated/impressed that I am embarking on a 40 "program" to change, well, me. What needs changing? Just my basal ganglia and cingulate gyrus, that's all!!! And don't be so judgemental; chances are 1 in 10 that something's ascrew in your pre-frontal cortex!

As you've guessed probably, the book is about the brain. Life and the brain. Actually, joyful life and the brain. But I'm making it sound wordy and scientific. It's the complete opposite. For everything from anger to ADD to worry to sadness, he gives hilarious, practical, common-sense suggestions to combat the brain issue. For example.

If someone, persay, struggled with anxiety (ahem), he lists not only supplements and diet changes that help, but also smells to smell, music to listen to, movies to watch, books, exercises, and Bible passages, catered to you! Then he even lists famous people who have your, um, tendency, so you don't feel like a freak. The whole time he is comical, lighthearted, encouraging, and hopeful. I have already put some things into practice. And yes, when I am stressed and open up the bottle of vanilla extract, I DO feel better. :) So go read it! Join me on my challenge! There even is a helpful "questionnaire" in the beginning which helps you pinpoint the area of your brain that needs a little work, in case you're in doubt!

overheard

2010-06-15T14:18:00.000-07:00

A blog I saw recently had a "overhead in my house" post. I thought that was clever, and decided to copy it after a conversation last night. I don't know how it's happened, but I've kind of become a hypochondriac. Todd is my default "doctor" to help me determine the best course of action for my condition(s). Here is a transcript from the other night.

me: "My ear is doing this weird ringing thing. Like I'm on a plane everytime I talk."
Todd: (not looking up from computer.) "Did you swim today? You probably have water in your ear."
me: "No, I didn't. That's not it."
Todd: "I guarantee you'll wake up tomorrow and it will be gone."
long pause.
me: "I'm afraid it's a tumor in my head."
Todd: (finally looks up from computer. smiling. sort of.) "Everyday there's something different wrong with you. Tomorrow it will be something else. Relax."
pause.
me: Also, my toe is numb. Do you think they are related?
Todd: (gets up. long look. starts to go to the kitchen.)
me: Is that a no?
Poor guy.
ps. my ear is STILL ringing. weird!

Foods for Babies

2010-05-19T13:28:00.000-07:00

This post has been in the mental works for a while. Just about the time I was ready to write it and share all my wisdom with the general public, Sam went and humbled me: spat out everything with texture, whined through dinner, and all I could get him to eat was orange pieces. Babies.
But I thought I would share some foods that Sam likes as we both charter our way through the fascinating transition from drinking all his nutrients to getting them all from food. My mother-in-law just gave me an interesting book called Top 100 Finger Foods that I can't wait to begin using. It's got some very unique ideas! Please comment with YOUR baby's favorite foods! We all need new ideas!
First, my babyfood philosphy. As you read don't go assuming I am a health nut. Rest assured, I love a good Wendy's Single with cheese every now and then, and if I saw a Schwan's man, I would probably flag him down for a catalog. But again, with Sam, it's different. That's probably partially because it is easier to shove lentils down someone ELSE'S throat than eat them yourself. But regardless, my thoughts:
1. Avoid anything processed. No preservatives, organic or farm-raised meats, fresh fruit over canned, whole wheat over white, no high fructose corn syrup, no food colorings, and limit things from restaurants.
2. Cook fruits and vegetables as little as possible. See ("Frugal Megan"s posts on raw food for great info!)
3. Formula is a necessary evil. The more Sam gets his protein, fat, and carbs from other sources,
the better. (Breastmilk if you can do that is different.)
4. Speaking of, whenever I plan Sam's meal I try to think about where he will get his protein, his carb, and his fat in that meal.
5. Babies need lots of fat (yes, even Sam needs more fat, although by looking at him you may doubt it :). My preferred source of fat is olive oil and real butter. (For Sam, this is a vegan oil butter. But no margarine or partially hydro-whatever-the-word-is fats.)
6. Spices are GOOD! Some have food value and all help him to get a diverse palate. I use whatever I would like!
So here it is. Some delicious and nutritious finger foods for Sam:
- VERY overcooked pasta spirals - whole wheat - with EVOO
- apple and pear bits, cooked on the stove with a little bit of water until soft. I sprinkle with cinnamon.
- fruits: grapes peeled, orange slices (total fav), banana bits, cantelope, pinapple, strawberries, blueberries, tomatoes.
- carrot pieces cooked in a bit of water on the stove. I add brown sugar and butter (vegan) sometimes :)
- toast pieces with butter and cinnamon and sugar.
- baked sweet potato fries or homemade oven fries. He LOVES these.
- spaghetti. Yes, a mess. But delicious.
- tortilla with refried beans, cut up in little pieces. Again, QUITE a mess.
- canned chicken breast shreds. (There are a few companies that don't add anything to the chicken.)
And here are some meals I prepare (cook and puree) and keep in the freezer in ice cube size. I "stir-fry" them with EVOO on the stove before serving.
- Baked sweet potato with lentils, or black beans. I saute onions and garlic with the beans.
- Baby "chili" - ground beef with lentils or beans, onions, etc.
- Roast chicken, avocado, and black beans.
- Lentils and baked apples or store bought applesauce with cinnamon. I have been accused of feeding Sam "mush" when people see this, but believe it or not, he loves it. Honestly.
-Roast chicken, frozen spinach, and whole wheat noodles pureed and formed into "meatballs." Again, this concoction is often ridiculed in public, but when I top it with spaghetti sauce, Sam actually makes that "mmm" sound. So there.
- Roast chicken, canned peaches, and brown rice. Not my idea. See here.
Lastly, here are some general feeding observations to end this book of a post. :)
- When the item in question is nutritious but deemed not so delicious, do not be afraid to sing, read a book, watch TV, or utilize that annoying but rarely used noise making toy as methods of distraction. Many an unsavory meal was downed in the Smartt household during a few rounds of "I've got the joy joy joy joy."
- Also, in moments of desperation, I have coated bites of a meal in applesauce. I am not proud of this. It's hard to believe shepherd's pie would be better smothered in applesauce, but somehow, it is. Desperate times.
So there are the foods Sam likes. What about your baby?

2010-05-12T16:01:00.000-07:00

Some people might say I'm a germ freak, but that's not true. Sometimes while shopping I forget to bring hand sanitizer. Also, I love McDonalds, and have even eaten at ones with a 92 or below in Sanitation Score. And I'm not afraid of a cookie on the floor. I follow an amended "10 second rule," which, in addition to time on the germ surface, also factors in level of hunger and how many of them are still left. If you compare me to other unnamed relatives (ask me if you're one of them) I am practically a slob. So see, not a freak.
But when it comes to Sam...well this is different. Call me a crazy new mom, call me OCD, call me psycho, but it's just different with Sam. I feel it is my God-given responsibility to raise a child who, next to loving the Lord and doing his homework, is clean. Am I right? I think I am.
Apparently God thinks I need to explore the radius outside my comfort zone. Maybe He is preparing me for school buses or sandboxes, or even those bacteria-infested vats of colored ballsI'm sure Sam will jump in one day. Apparently I need to be stretched. Because I have recently learned that soon - this very next month in fact - we are taking Sam to...drum roll please...A HOTEL. Yes. That's what I said. It may even be a MO-tel. I don't know yet. Yes, I have seen the 20/20 specials, and yes I have read the MSN articles. But we have no choice. Family reunion leaves no other option. I have determined it worth the cost.
But in foresight I have prepared a short list of things I plan to do in the hotel room, after we getthere and I quarantine Sam from the room. I share this list for two reasons.
1. Some of you will think it's funny.
2. The rest of you can a) give me other tips or b) use these when you travel.
My plan.
- Bring a spray bottle with half-alcohol, half water to spray on the carpet and everything about, oh, 26 inches high or so.
- Immediately remove the mattress, sheets, and pillows and replace them with the ones I brought.
- Remove anything unnecessary from the room, i.e. dim lamps, knick-knacks, phone, etc, as these are useless carriers of germs.
- Take Lysol wipes along and wipe down everything else.
- Keep a pacifier in Sam's mouth during key intervals of exploration when he might be tempted to instead gnaw on curtains, legs of furniture, or the trash can.
So there's my plan. Any other ideas? (Serious suggestions only please. ;)

the love song i won't ever write

2010-05-09T17:38:00.001-07:00

Sometimes I want to be a cool mom, so I listen to pop radio. Some of it's not that bad and I kind of like it. Every once in a while I hear somebody I watched on American Idol, so that's kind of fun when I actually know who's singing the songs.
I'm not picking on these people, because I'm sure they all have very genuine, real romantic relationships. (?) But I do get the feeling listening to the "love songs" on these stations that they and I live in very different worlds. I mean, I guess it would be nice to be someone's "soul sister," to have someone watch my dance moves across a smoky club, and make someone so crazy in love they can't breathe/sleep/be with their other woman (?!?!) without thinking of me, etc. etc.
But seriously people. seriously. Maybe it's just me and my lame married love. Maybe we're boring. But I don't remember the last time I felt overwhelmed with millions of fireflies because of love, or drugged with love, or heart-broken when Todd leaves for work. Maybe it's just me.
I guess that's why I like country music. Say what you may about rednecks and lost dogs and trucks. At least in their world it's okay to mention coffee and gas stations and laundry and - I don't know - things I actually see in my day-to-day life.
That's more along the lines with what I'd write if I wrote a song. Which I won't because no one would ever buy it. And this is why. If I wrote a love song these would be some of the words:
~Thanks, baby. For not mentioning it when my eyebrows need plucked, my mascara is gloppy, and my hair is greasy. Thanks for always putting the toilet seat down. I didn't even need to train you. Thanks for greeting me every morning with the same chipper kiss and "Good morning, baby," no matter what bratty thing I've said to you the night before. Thanks for remembering birthdays and mother's days and all the important days, and forgetting my PMS days, all the things I've said to you when you're late, and how hard the first year of marriage was. Thanks for happily eating the same boring turkey cheese tomato sandwich 365 days a year without getting sick of it, and for gushing over store bought meatballs and canned tomato soup like they're culinary art. Thanks that I've never had to switch a light bulb, read an instruction manual for anything, or replace an air filter. I think it's so sexy when you dry dishes, sing in church, and put away the baby toys. I promise to love you forever even though you don't always brush your teeth when you go to bed, even though fifteen minutes is thirty, and even though you're lame on Friday nights, because we all know you put up with way worse. I look forward to more romantic moments in our future, like the three times we had dinner this month together after Sam was in bed, and when we fell asleep watching the NASCAR race. Yes, Todd, I love you, and our lame, boring, old people married life.
~So there's my song. But that's not very "hot" now, is it. Oh well... who needs smoky clubs and firefly feelings anyways..:)

Encouragement for stressed moms: Mommy Advice Contest Winners!

2010-05-07T04:27:00.000-07:00

You know the feeling you get when you realize, wow, they DO make chocolate covered rice crispy treats, or dental floss on a pick??? Those wonderful I-found-it feelings are sort of to how I feel getting all this good advice. It's like my new Bible verses to memorize, only not quite. I think I will probably print off a few I love to put in the places I see most often, like Sam's forehead and the refrigerator. I hope that you read and enjoy all of these as much as I do. They're gems. But first, the winner. I knew the winner the minute I read it, and days after. It did everything good writing should - it made me cry, it made me grateful (to be a mom) and it made me inspired (to be a better one). Congratulations, Kelly. You are a wonderful mom. Maybe you should revive "Baby in Mars" to share more of your wisdom :)
"Jessie....After much thought I've come up with an answer to your blog question: PHOTOS: Sounds simple.... But taking pictures of Josephine has been a big part of what keeps me going. Photos help me in the moment ( while I'm taking them ) and also later on when I look back at her as she has grown. Still to this day I can't look at the picture of me with tears in my eyes and my 1 minute old baby on my chest without getting choked up. I don't consider myself an overly emotional person. But looking at that picture brings me back to that moment....the happiest and proudest moment of my life. It makes me appreciate the fact that God has blessed me with an amazing gift to take care of here on earth. How lucky I am to have that beautiful healthy baby. Taking pictures helped me when at 2 weeks postpartum, Nick was going back to work and Mom was leaving....it was just me...and her. All day, all night. I think the minute Mom walked out the door I just grabbed my camera and started taking pictures of Josephine to keep myself from losing it. Distraction works. Taking pictures distracted me from the fact that I had a baby who didn't sleep more then 5 hours in a row until she was 5 months old. It gave me something fun to do and when I was frustrated and tired and didn't know why she was still crying. Looking at those pictures helped me. It made me happy. As she got older looking back at her pictures made me want to live in, and really appreciate the here and now with her. Because in a couple days, a week, or a month or so....she would be totally different. Josephine will never be a newborn again. She will never be 1 month, or 6 months again. Pictures make me sit down and say to myself....enjoy that little girl because soon you will be picking out her outfit for the first day of school. So on good and bad days, since she was born and up until this point....pictures have helped me immensely. I never thought I'd say that the one baby item I couldn't live without would be my camera....But turns out it is. Love, Kelly."
Here are more responses. I was very tempted to pick a 2nd and 3rd place, but then there were a few more that were so good, and a few more worth reading...I couldn't choose! Hope you think so, too.
From Sylvia: "Hi Jessica, here is the best advice I have EVER received---Do the next thing. For example, on the mornings that by breakfast I am overwhelmed thinking about getting to morning nap as well as lunch, afternoon nap, the rest of the week, 3 months from now, and when my youngest leaves for college, I try to refocus and DO and THINK about the next thing---getting the cheerios off the floor before Annabelle drops them all down the air vent. By the time I finish with that task Marcus has brought me a book---I try to DO and THINK about reading to him. I sometimes say out loud, "What is the next thing?". You see what I am saying? Nothing super spiritual. However, Jesus tells us not to worry about tomorrow and my tomorrow is often 10 minutes from now. Now, can I say that I have completely achieved this doing the next thing--no, because my children are 3 and 1, I am 7 months pregnant and hormonal, and I am a sinner. I am trying my best to allow the Holy Spirit to retrain my thinking to be more focused on doing well what is at hand. I think there should have been a comma somewhere is that sentence but I am not sure where. I have really poor grammar skills. I hope that you have a wonderful Mother's Day!"
From Emily: "3 things: 1. Do what is best for you/your child. This may go against all logic, all experts, all your friends, your mom, your MIL, the books, etc. I was a basket case in the early days because (among other things), I felt pressure to conform to what worked for everyone else. And I failed. Babies/kids are weird and we had to figure it out OUR way. And I reckon it will be this way for as long as we're parents - trying to figure something out. We'll want to see input from others, but ultimately, we need to be confident about the way we raise our kids. 2. Antidepressants are sometimes necessary. 3. Develop special rules with your spouse when it comes to communicating during stressful baby/child situations. I could strangle Ben when he did something as innocent as ask "where are the keys" during A's screaming fits. The rule now: don't try to talk over screaming. WAIT."
From Tabitha: To me raising children is kind of like labor. During and after labor all you can think about is how much pain you were in, how difficult it was, the sleeplessness, the pushing, not eating, the baby not cooperating...all of these things are so important at that very moment, but with each passing day they become more and more insignificant. Until eventually one day you wake up and think, that wasn't so bad, I could do it again! The daily trials of mommyhood are the very same. The sleepless nights, teething, the tantrums, picky eaters, the potty training, the near death experiences:) All of it seems so important at the moment, but with each passing day I think more and more... that wasn't so bad! Motherhood is a process to me, and it gets better every day. My sister-in-law told me something when Coen was three months old when I was really emotional about him getting older too fast that has really stuck with me. She said she used to get that way too (she had two at the time, now 3), but each age brings new adventure, and there's something to love about your kids at every age. So i try to think of it this way- In the midst of all the chaos that my days are often filled with, there are lots of giggles, hugs, and kisses in the in between that make me grateful. Because when I'm old and gray, and my kids have grown up and are living their lives, I'll have the giggles, hugs, and kisses, and everything else won't seem that bad!
From Tina: On days when Dani (2)is in overdrive, Collin (1)is teething, Collin's little brother (due in September)is in there partying like its New Years Eve, Brian is out of town working, the house is a mess, the laundry isn't done, the dogs won't stop barking, and every other one of Murphy's Laws is in full affect I stop and remember that out of every mother that has ever lived and will ever live God decided that little old me is the mother He custom designed for my family. Realizing that He believes in me like that helps me to believe in myself.

From Lauren: "Well I'm not a veteran mom or anything, and most of my advice has to do with caring for multiples (if you need to know how to nurse 2 babies at once, I'm your girl!)BUT I would say that when things get hairy, Jeff & I constantly say to each other "you gotta laugh or you'll cry!" A sense of humor has really helped us - and just having the right attitude. I can choose to have a quiet time before I start my day with my boys, and I can choose to stay calm and laugh or freak out and cry. Sometimes that's HARD to do but I'm learning every day... and every day we enjoy our twins more & more! Putting things in perspective helps too - I know there are those who can't have children who would kill to have a crazy day with 2 babies... and watching a good TV show about triplets, quads, or quints always makes my life seem blissful. ha!"
From Jenny: "My mommy advice is whenever i am getting frustrated with jack or im tired or cranky i just tickle him- as silly as it sounds you can not stay stressed mad tired cranky or whatever with your little boy giggling :)"

From Julie: "First, thank the Lord that 99.5% of the time, Owen is such an easy baby. :) Seriously though, I just remind myself that whatever I'm going through - no matter how scary, stressful, exhausting - will only happen once. Good or bad - I don't get to re-live any of these moments (sometimes hours...) with Owen. I try to just enjoy what I'm going through as much as I possible can. According to Sheila, Uncle Jerry used to say, "These are the longest days and shortest years of your life". Yes! So why not enjoy them?" ~ Julie Chittock
From Aunt Rebecca: When I think back on those seemingly never ending, exauhasting days of child rearing , priorotizing if I recall, was one of my most helpful coping mechanisms. As an "empty-nester" let me remind you how short life is and how very quickly your children grow up. Choose wisely what you do with your time and consider the effects it will have on you and your family. For example: Which is more important a homecooked meal or a clean kitchen?
I can tell you from my experience that they don’t usually happen on the same day, so opt for the homecooked meal. The dishes can wait your families health can not! Oh, and by the way, no matter what you’ve previously been told, "Hamburger Helper", is not a homecooked meal. Ok, let’s look at another common scenario and see what kind of choice we should make here. Things have been crazy. You and your children are feeling frazzled. Do I, A: Give the children a bath tonight? or B: Simply wipe their faces, put on some clean pajamas and spend a little extra time reading their favorite books? Well let me answer this with a story about my own mothers’ childhood. Mom was a farm girl, from the little town of Arapaho Nebraska. The whole family worked long hard hours on the farm and , I am assuming, got pretty dirty. They took a bath once a week and all seven siblings shared the same bath water! Everyone survived. So,.... back to your dilemma. I say, get a nice warm face cloth, gently wipe their sweet little faces, put on clean pajamas, (if there are any), and spend that extra time reading. Now some of you may be murmuring under your breath, "Really ,Rebecca, might this just be a clever way of justifying your constant struggle with procrastination?" Well, umm......yes, I suppose you could say,..... alright, alright, often times that was my reasoning. However I have no regrets about the times when I should have been wiping, washing, sweeping dusting, fussing, fumming, and running here and there, and chose to take a walk with my children instead.

From Melissa: " I have no clue what I do in those stressful times :-) It is challenging for me at times as I am often trying to cook dinner while my toddler is going through cabinets and wanting to eat too or wanting to be held. One day it took me a span of 2.5 hours to cook a meal thar should have taken 30 minutes. Somehow I just kept going. I stopped when I had to to feed M and bathe her and get to bed and then finished. How I didn't give up and throw something I am not sure. Then I decided not to even cook dinner until after M was in bed. So sometimes I eat late. Then some days my dogs are really bad on top of all of this. What do I do to keep going strong? I wish I knew. It is all worth it. I get the sweetest hugs and smiles. If M wants to read 15 books, I do it. We talk and sing a lot. That's the good stuff. I'm fortunate that M has been a happy baby that likes her sleep. I do make sure to have "me" time every night. Mostly its just watching a show and too often eating icecream. But I feel guilty I'm not cleaning or something else. So, I have no answers. Maybe I do but just don't know how to articulate it. But Id like to hear advice because I think I will need clear tips if we are blessed with another little one because that will take everything to a whole new level!"

From Lesli: The thing that has kept me sane through the 4 years so far of motherhood has been my "playgroup moms." There are 4 of us total, and we became friends when our oldests were all in the 3-6 month range and now have 9(soon to be 10) children between us. In the early days, it was our weekly time to talk while the babies laid on the floor. Now that the... See More actual playgroup is slightly controlled chaos, we meet for "dinner" about every 3 weeks. We go out after the kids are down and have stayed at the restaurant as late as 3 am before. It is time for us just to sit, talk, and have ADULT interaction. We've discussed everything from potty training to weaning, to when to have another baby, etc. I honestly don't think I could do this without knowing they are there!!
From Sheila: What gets me though are the moments before and in-between the exhaustion... the arms wrapped around my neck when I pick him up in the morning all the way down the stairs...the sloppy kisses and belly laughs and games of hide and seek... When I'm in the moment of 'tired suck' there is no magic thing that helps... but thinking of the good stuff keeps me slightly sane:)
From Megan: For me, my sanity rests primarily in knowing that God is in control, that he loves my son more than I can (so I can relax) and that he loves ME more than I know! I try to keep verses that remind me of this not only on my mirror, but in the places Caspian frustrates me the most- Above his changing table, on his high chair and on the bookcase (which is OFF LIMITS!).
Also...I really like to know in those moments that I'm working toward something specific with my son. I thought this might answer a question you had a while back too, about what activities you can do with your kids. My sister did a blog post (theblessedcountrymom.blogspot.com) about what she did with her son this week. She is putting him through 'tot school'. Its a blog site where moms with different aged children post what they're doing with their kids. This really helps me, who can be creative but not for long~! LOL. It's nice to see what other moms are doing for their kids and use their ideas. Check it out!

Mommy Advice Contest!

2010-04-26T07:17:00.000-07:00

I have LOVED the first year of Sam's life. I was warned, and they were right. You start looking at your twenty-five pound (yes!) "baby" and yearn for the firsts again. You get the itch. But I have to admit, while thoughts of another little Smartt excite me, I also get very, very. . . tired. Literally, I want to take a nap just thinking about those long nights again - WITH ANOTHER CHILD to boot. There is no question in my mind that whoever said "mothering is the hardest job in the world" was something near to prophet. Sure, there are other workers on call twenty-four hours. But how many of them need the skills (thirty seconds from waking up) to promptly recall the words to "This Little Light of Mine" and sing it in a tone so soothing, confident, and loving that a screaming newborn is induced from hysteria to calm, contented sleep? Not many. And I'm not bragging. If I could be fired, I probably should have a few times. It's just tough.
And then I think of others - you know who you are - who do this thing called "mothering" against harrowing, dangerous, and indomitable odds. Some of you carry, rock, and nurse a newborn with one, two, or (gasp) more running around. Some of you have endured sleep deprivation at levels resembling military torture techniques. Some of you do it alone - no mom around, husband busy, little fellowship. Others are exhausted, hormonal, and overwhelmed but always seem to care more how I'm doing. Others have more reasons to worry than I'll ever have - but don't.
I have always respected good moms; today, they are my heroes. I think of my own (four under the age of four!) and my grandmother, who raised seven (wonderful) kids with virtually no money, no help, and no fellowship. She is amazing.
It becomes evident that this thing - this mothering thing - it is an art. I submit that contrary to Parenting Magazine and Redbook you can get it wrong. I want to be somebody's hero. I have so far to go, but I'm open to learn. I know there's no vitamin combo, no secret mantra, no deep breathing exercise that manufactures naps or patience or the ability to go to the bathroom when you're rocking a baby. I get that. But my question is this. When you are exhausted, overwhelmed, and out of strength - what helps you keep serving? Maybe "serving" is too ambitious. Surviving, even? In those difficult moments - the days that start unexpectedly at 5:13 with a gassy, teething, or energetic baby, those days where naps are miracles, where dinner hasn't even been imagined by 6:30, when your husband is late and your patience is thin and your arms are tired - what helps? Please don't ignore that silly little thing you do/think/say because you assume we all do it. Perhaps what is instinctive to you is brilliance to another. Share the wisdom! No minimum length - new or veteran moms encouraged! I'll be posting as many responses as I can in the next few weeks. AND, (because rewards are nice), it's a contest. The most helpful/insightful response will be awarded with a small gift (I said SMALL, people), lots of fame and honor, and, probably, because you're such a wonderful person, jewels on your crown in heaven. (I'm just guessing here.) Thanks in advance for the help and can't wait to hear!
*You can post your response as a comment or email to jessicasmartt@gmail.com.

i heart quotes

2010-04-22T17:11:00.001-07:00

Today I got the privilege of observing my friend Rachel in her A.P. Literature class. My grad class requires these observations every now and then. I do enjoy the chance to get out and use my thinking mind more than my dish-washing hands or very-big-baby-holding arms. However, I do not enjoy leaving Sam for the day and MAN is it exhausting to be up and out the door with two of us ready for the day so early! Yuck! On the bright side, Rachel's room was pleasantly full of insightful quotes. I copied a few down that I liked to share with you.
- "There's only one corner of the universe you can be certain of improving, and that's your own self. So you have to begin there, not outside, not on other people. That comes afterwards, when you have worked on your own corner." ~Aldous Huxley
- "Wash what is dirty. Water what is dry. Heal what is wounded. Warm what is cold. Guide what goes off the road. Love those who are least lovable, because they need it most." ~I forgot to copy down who wrote this
- "Finish every day and be done with it. You have done what you could; some blunders and absurdities crept in; forget them as soon as you can. Tomorrow is a new day." ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson
:)

things I want to write down or else I'll forget

2010-04-21T17:04:00.000-07:00

1. You have the fattest, most beautiful little bouncy tippy-toe legs and toes I've ever seen.
2. Your first words, in order: Mom. Jack. Dog. Dad. and "oval." I'm pretty sure, oval.
3. The word you say the most, although we have no clue to what it refers: "Dadda-do. Dadda-do." Door? Daddy? Uh-oh? Who knows. We're pretty sure it means something to you.
4. You took your first steps last Saturday. Walked straight to Dad - we didn't even try to make you - you just went!
5. The way you jump up and down, laughing and squealing when I come in to get you in the morning.
6. You got your first big bruise when you tried to hug Jack and he moved. Poor little forehead hit straight on the hardwood floor.
7. You love hearing the phonetic alphabet or numbers to ten. I'm pretty sure you're a baby genius.
Your favorite things, in the order we experience them daily:
- SamMule.
- Hugging SamMule.
- Bouncing down the stairs in the morning for the first time.
- Cheerios - more the anticipation than the eating. You get VERY excited to see them, eat about five, and throw the rest on the floor to enjoy later.
- The bottle, of course. Even the word gets a giddy laugh.
- seeing Jack.
- "doggies." the word, a picture, the plastic one with a red string, mean-looking unfriendly ones on a walk, tiny little ones that look like wet cats - they are all beautiful and hilarious to you.
- the song "Baby Beluga." It is the weirdest song but apparently Raffi knew what he was doing, because it, to you, is wonderful.
- crackers and Popsicles, your junk food.
- seeing your Daddy walk through the door. Hands down, the best moment of the day.
8. "Hug" was the first word you understood. Since about month five, you slowly and affectionately lower your nose into, and wrap your arms around, the nearest object or person when you hear the word.
9. Everyday we fight sin and temptation in the form of the lemon tree, the cabinet with the spaghetti sauce, computer keys, berries on the holly bush, the cords on the VCR, and the china cabinet with the bowl of fake pears. Need to move that thing. Seriously.
10. Your first tricks were: "clap, clap, clap", "How Big Is Sam?", high five, pointing at Mommy in pictures (and Daddy, although sometimes Daddy is other random males in pictures, much to the concern of the aforementioned), and waving (which currently signifies not only bye-bye but also "I want that," "Move Me" "I am Angry," and "Thanks, this is delicious.")
11. You hate getting your diaper changed, nose wiped, face cleaned, or leaving the bathtub.
12. You are happy, passionate, curious, determined, and make our lives so much better! We love you :)

In Defense of Calvinism

2010-04-06T15:48:00.001-07:00

I have a pair of roller blades in the back of my car. I think the last time I used them, George W was in his first term. Also, there's some knitting needles in a bag in my closet. I can't bear to part with them, or the beautiful half-completed "scarf" from senior year. And that reminds me. I'm writing a book. At least I was in seventh grade. We'll see what happens.
In the whole scheme of things, I really don't consider myself a fickle person. I mean, I definitely wasn't the girl who had a new boyfriend, hairstyle, or group of friends every other week. I'd say I'm fairly stable, pretty solid considering the mass of humanity. But then again, I was thinking the other day that for a fairly predictable person, I make an awful lot of "I'm going tos" that, well...fizzle.
I'm going to run everyday. I'm going to scrub the floors on Thursday. I'm going to use my special moisturizer every night. I'm going to take B-12. I'm going to stop gossiping. I'm going to carry a planner, and keep in touch with my grandparents. I'm going to turn off the lights when I leave a room. I'm going to keep my toenails painted and my car cleaned. I'm going to save receipts, workout my abs and take more pictures. I'm going to study Greek. to recycle. to start a book club. to start a prayer plan and a cleaning plan and a learning plan.
Honestly, sometimes I get exhausted and a little discouraged with me and my lack of follow through.
If I could just stick with something.
It's then that I marvel. As I look back on my life, there is ONE thing I've managed to do, that hasn't fizzled or been given to Goodwill or left underneath the bed forgotten. There is ONE constant. It's him. it's God. How thankful I am that I am not holding on to him, but He is holding on to me. If things were reversed, who knows how long ago my faith would have been forgotten and maybe remembered again, or stopped and perhaps restarted. I found this theology from the Westminster Confession of Faith. It's old wordy language, but what a wonderful thought!
Perseverance of the saints: "They whom God hath accepted . . . can neither totally nor finally fall away from the state of grace, but shall certainly persevere therein to the end, and be eternally saved."

2010-04-01T16:37:00.000-07:00

Most of you in my world have probably heard by now about Ava, a four-year-old little girl who has been diagnosed with an inoperable, aggressive brain tumor. I don't know Ava - I don't even know her parents - but the sheer horror of the story has captured my thoughts over the last few days. A week ago, they were a normal family. Now, they have little more than hope and prayers to cling to. Not that I underestimate the prayers...if there's one thing I've learned from re-reading the Old Testament, God Is Powerful. He is certainly able.
But as a parent, I find myself mulling over their tragedy for more reasons than one. And I'm not alone, I don't think. Of course, your heart breaks for this family. But also, when I pray for Ava, I pray for Sam. for other kids I love. and others I want to love someday. The thought HAS to come... if God could allow this to this beautiful good happy family...then who is safe? No one, of course. So somehow I am glued to this story. I want to know Ava will make it, that she will grow up and be happy and safe. But I want more than that. In my heart of hearts, I want God to save this little girl to prove to me and everyone that He will save every little girl. I want to know that no one will suffer that horror - not them, not me.
Of course, we have no such promise.
But I did have a thought...some song lyrics that returned at the right time. It's the kind of song where I remember the tree I was driving by when I heard it, and even now have to stop what I'm doing to listen when it comes on. The part that makes me cry goes like this:

You see the question isn’t
Are you going to suffer anymore
But what will it have meant when you are through?
The question isn’t are you going to die,
you’re going to die
But will you be done living when you do?

I cry because it's true. Sadly, death is real. Pain is real. But there is meaning. I trust in the God who makes it mean something.
By the way, the next set of words is good, too.

So run till you cannot take a single step in strength
Then crawl on your hands and knees,
till your hands and knees they ache
And when you cannot crawl
It will be me you call to carry you back home again.

Justin McRoberts, Done Living.

Life hurts, but I'm going to keep loving, keep hoping, and keep working. There is an end, a beautiful end.

Money Saving Tips

2010-03-28T07:52:00.000-07:00

Every time I pray, I can't help but give thanks for being able to stay home with my little Sam. I consider it the most amazing blessing of my life to be able to do that. I am so grateful! When Todd and I looked at our budget two years ago, staying home seemed an impossibility. God has provided in so many ways, and we have figured out more ways to save money than I ever thought we could! I am indebted to many different people and websites for some our ideas.
Here are a few easy things we do now that I should have started a long time ago!

Home make laundry detergent, household cleaners, chicken broth and baby food (stay tuned for an entire post on this!)
Use cloth napkins instead of paper, and stop buying paper towels, plates, cups, and toilet paper (JK on the TP!! haha).
Coupons! Coupons are the new black. Or something. I used to think cashiers made fun of people who use coupons. Now I think they make fun of those who don't. It's way popular. As evidenced by the fact that it took me five visits and three stores to find my $.24 turkey bacon. What the heck people!!!?!! Who is it out there who is obsessed with bacon?? Anyways. The link that helps me the most is here. I purchase the local paper (Sunday only because I HATE the Charlotte Observer) and the rest of the coupons are printable.
CVS shop. I am indebted to my two friends Libby and Sylvia who embedded me with enough courage to learn the "ECB" system (extra care bucks = free money) at CVS. No lie, it took me about three hours to figure out what I would buy the first visit and if it would save me money. It does though. As an example, this week I spent $8 and got two packs of diapers, toothpaste, shampoo, and a $6 ECBs. WHAT??? Crazy, right.
consignment sales for Sam's stuff. Hello.
air-dry clothes. Yes, I am that tacky neighbor who drapes the sheets on the porch for a few hours. Luckily my Gestapo-like HOA has not discovered my green practices yet.
meal plan according to the Harris Teeter specials. I signed up for EVIC and when I receive the week's deals on Wednesday, I plan our meals for the next week.
produce co-op - have yet to start this but can't wait. You can get so much more produce for so much less! (Thanks Megan!)
make a monthly and yearly budget and track purchases accordingly. Like Dave Ramsey says, budgets give freedom and not constraint. We use the program Microsoft Money, but many people I know use the free mint.com and love it.

Here are things we got rid of that we don't even miss:

going to the movies. That's a lie. Todd probably does miss this. I, however, who think that theaters are germy and most movies are trash, do not miss this. (Wow, do I sound like an old person or what.) Luckily for Todd, people who feel sorry for us have given us movie money quite often.
Magazine subscriptions, new music, new books. Whatever. There's always the library.
Name brand products. I have found Harris Teeter products to be satisfactory in most every category I have tried. Exceptions: baby supplies, oats and honey cereal (weird, I know) and hot dog rolls. Just FYI.
Going out to eat a lot. You deal. And there's always in-laws.
Wireless internet. I mean, what did we do in the old times, people!?!?

Things we got rid of that we do miss but it's worth it.

cable. Todd and I both agree DVR is the biggest loss. We press the "pause" button a lot and mourn the loss. But I say, if you can still watch "The Office" and NFL, rabbit ears can't be all that bad.
Expensive dates. Oh for the days when you could order an appetizer (gasp) and dessert. Or wine instead of water. Or when Panera didn't count as a restaurant. But whatever, small price.

So there's a few of my tips. I'd love to know some of your tips or resources!

Changes

2010-03-10T17:37:00.000-08:00

My life has changed quite a bit in the last two weeks.
People used to say, "Don't be in a hurry for the crawling. Things get a lot harder." I smiled like I agreed, all the while silently hoping for this oh-so-significant milestone. Yes, I admit I would prod him along in secret, placing him in limbs down position and applauding any sign of forward (okay, or backward) movement.
Well, you people were right. Although crawling, and moving, and lounging, and grabbing, and clawing, and reaching, are all quite adorable in their own rights, I AM EXHAUSTED.
In the last two weeks, I have saved Sam from: licking the television outlet, grabbing a light cord, doing a pull-up on the MOVING cabinet shelf, and eating a combful of hair, dog food, and my shoes. I have turned around just in time to see him: standing up backwards in his high chair, gleefully nuzzling the vacuum, and sprinting - not crawling - towards the bathroom with a firm-eye towards the toilet. He has attempted unsuccessfully (there are angels) to pry open the freezer, get into the trash/cleaning cabinet (I do have SOME things baby-proofed!), grab a hold of the stake near the sidewalk (a.k.a fire hydrant for the dogs in the neighborhood!) and stand assisted with the prop of his cousin Jack. I have realized my sad attempts at babyproofing need also to include: all smidgens of dust, dirt, and food smaller, larger, or same-sized as a pea sitting on the carpet, everything under the bed and inside of drawers, and anything that looks dangerous and movable, because it will be used to pull oneself up within 25 seconds of sighting.
In all of the madness, I am thankful for a few things. One, the pack-n-play. Two, extra chances to burn calories. And, of course, a healthy little boy. Sam, you are tiring, but you are perfect. :)

It's official...

2010-03-03T07:36:00.000-08:00

I'm a mom. a woman. a grown-up. here's how I know.
- I lather on hand lotion religiously, trying to avoid those scary moments where I look down at the dry and wrinkled hands and think, "Are those MINE?"
- Getting the mail is an outing.
- I confess to pulling my jeans UP, not down. It just feels better that way.
- I find myself deliberating whether tankinis are really as bad as we thought they were.
- Dinner is never complete without, in those haunting words of my mother, "a little piece of chocolate."
- Chapstick is makeup, right?
- The words "Express: Two Day Sale" don't excite me nearly as much as "triple coupon week."
- Just as I feared, I eat my lunch at 10:30, my dinner at 4, and eat as many chocolate chips, Cheeze-its and bagel bites as I want in between.
- Life genuinely looks better after coffee.
- My feigned excitement for the trash truck, getting the mail, the vacuum cleaner, the shower, and the singing duck is so authentic that these things have actually become highlights of my day.
- Going to the bathroom is kind of an enjoyable break in the day.
- Someone actually told me (as a compliment) "you smell nice, like baby lotion."
- In public I'm tempted to eye down "the teenagers" to see what's in style. And I hate what I see.
- I have no idea what songs are on, clothes are in, movies are out...and I'm okay with that.
- There's still the same amount of me as before, but parts of me moved from places I wanted it to places I didn't want it.
- I still can't make it 9 hours without waking up to check on someone's breathing.
- My life is more lame, less social, more tiring, and less glamorous than it ever has been, and I love it more than ever :)

I am an Israelite

2010-02-07T07:51:00.000-08:00

Update on our resolution. Many, many thanks to Melissa Gibbs and her invitation to read through the Bible in a year. It's February 6, and I'm happy to say both I and my hubby are back in the word (most days anyway:). I think - for me anyway - it started out as an obligation, and a bit of drudgery. But God's word is a story - the best story - so we now meet the task not so much like a runner to the treadmill but more like (forgive my sacrilege) a Jack Bauer fan to a Sunday night. It's interesting, exciting, and inviting.
Today was a big day. First, God parts the water of the Red Sea so the Israelites escape Egypt, and then, the waters pound back down to bury the Egyptian army. Of course the story is amazing, but what always gets me is those dumb Israelites. Three verses after a miracle, they're complaining to Moses about bad-tasting water. After all they've seen, complaining. They're just idiots. Stupid, bratty, forgetful idiots.
Of course, I think about this story for two seconds, and then the conviction hits. I quickly remember my own complaining. and worrying. and doubting. and the miracles I stubbornly forget. Everyday there's some common annoyance, something lacking, something worrysome, something just as selfish and petty as yucky water, that has me grumbling to God.
I heard some guy on the radio recently say that faith is a function of memory. I had always thought of "faith" as some irrational but godly surrender of everything potentially awful in the future. But I think he's right - that faith is more like forcing yourself to remember the acts of God in your past.
My little miracle is one room away, taking his ten o-clock nap. He's not our miracle baby like most mean it, with hopeful praying month after month and finally those cheerful pink lines. No, when I think of our miracle, I remember standing in the nursery, holding him sobbing, wondering if he would ever look us in the eye or play normally or laugh and smile with us. I remember Todd and me on our knees in our living room, begging God to give us wisdom and heal our little Sam. I never want to forget. I want to remember my miracles. Forgive me, God, when the worries of today make me doubt.

"In your unfailing love you will lead
the people you have redeemed.
In your strength you will guide them
to your holy dwelling." ~ Exodus 15:13

Perspective.

2010-02-01T11:27:00.000-08:00

First, a story. Sam now hates his bouncy seat. I don't know how it happened, but the place that for months brought so much laughter, entertainment, and joy (and that's just to us) has become a downer. He cries even at the sight of it, his little legs kicking in defiance as you hold him above it. I guess it's like the junior-higher whose stuffed animals get hidden when friends come over, the eight year old who stops playing Candy Land with mom...It's inevitable, but sad. To me it was a lesson. Sure, they grow up so fast, blah, blah, blah, but more than that I was embarrassed - embarrassed of how seriously I took myself during those first hard days of motherhood. I think I really thought it would last forever. That I would never get a shower again, that I would rock a crying baby to sleep every two hours the rest of my life, that I would never again have five hours of sleep in a row. And yet (sadly I realize), it's not true. People told me over and over, but somehow the neglected farm animal Fisher price bouncer brought it home. Life FLIES.

Second, a quote. We are watching "The Purpose Driven Life" as a family, and in the first video he says, "Imagine that eternity is a measuring tape from New York to Tokyo. Your life on earth is a few millimeters of that tape." Again, embarrassment. My tears and worries and work seem to be about all the wrong things.

Third, a tragedy. The day after watching the video a fellow teacher and friend died in a car accident. Same age as me, driving the same road I would drive, the same time I would drive it. Gone. Luckily for Aimee, her funeral was a celebration. She spent her life caring about Jesus and others and all the right things. No, my grief (aside from the heartbreak for her parents) was selfish. Am I ready like she was? I want to get it right, want to care about the right things, want to leave here unashamed...
"Lord, teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom."

Stay eight and a half months old forever.

2010-01-21T16:22:00.000-08:00

Never grow up. Always laugh hysterically at the vacuum, the word "doggie" and your daddy going down the stairs. Always be just the right size, small enough to hold on my hip and cuddle your head into my neck. Always say "dada" and "oh oh oh" when you wake up in your crib. Always laugh at your face in a mirror. Always scream at the top of your lungs, for no good reason except that you just learned how. Always need me to pick you up when you fall backwards and unclog your bottle when it gets stuck. Always sing to the music with "ah"s and "mmm"s. Always get Cheerios stuck to your chubby little hands when you're trying to jam as many as possible into your mouth. Always cry when you need me and stop when I hold you. Always sleep two doors down and don't ever go anywhere I don't take you. Always gibber and babble and giggle. Always be ticklish and curious and perfect and mine. Don't ever, ever grow up.

Today I Am Thankful...

2010-01-18T17:18:00.000-08:00

- for long naps (his, not mine)
- for summer in winter
- for the ability to run, even if after nine minutes I was sure it had been forty
- that I am a student again...go niners :)
- for Harris Teeter, and that I make delicious meals but spend way less than I ever thought possible
- for a husband who loves his job, and coming home
- for football, even though I still don't know what "secondary" means
- for vowel sounds, the squinty smiles, and separation anxiety
- for the privilege of being the first person my baby sees every time he wakes up
- for a good eye doctor, accountant, conscience, skillet, and pastor
- that I finally fit in jeans (I got new ones, that's how.)
- that I am finally sleeping, cooking, exercising, and reading the Bible regularly
- for technology, because I don't care what anyone says, it makes me feel less lonely
- for answered prayers
- that I get far more than I deserve.

The New Todd

2010-01-17T16:40:00.000-08:00

I think it started when I asked him what he ate for breakfast. "A pack of crackers and a coke" was the answer, and something inside me died. No husband of mine will EVER eat crackers and coke for breakfast, I informed him. And that was the beginning.
We have always packed Todd's lunches to save money. I am embarrassed to say that cost was the defining factor, and as anyone knows, eating crap is much cheaper than eating healthy. But as of Jan. 4 I decided (much to my husband's dismay), Cheetos, Coke, Little Debbies, fruit on the bottom yogurt, cheese nips, doritos, yes, even "granola bars" (more sugar than granola) were a thing of the past.
I am excited about my revisions. And so far, so is Todd. Lucky for me, what he lacks in nutrition he makes up for in tolerance. Translation: After five years of bachelorhood (pickles and cereal for dinner - no lie), he eats anything I put in front of him with relish. (Not the pickle relish anymore, but the you-are-amazing-these-are-the-best-meatballs-ever relish.)
And in all honesty, who wouldn't prefer homemade mini banana bran muffins with side of cheese cubes over those greasy crackers? And that fruit-on-the-bottom yogurt, that is an imposter! Healthy my eye!! Modified food starch, careegan, high fructose corn syrup, red dye #5...are you kidding me??? Now we eat PLAIN vanilla yogurt with frozen fruit on top and a splash of honey. Yum! Of course my hubby still likes a crunch with his sandwich. We comprimise. Turns out Fritos and plain Lays have no preservatives, so I'm okay with them... Eventually I will transition him to a fist-sized serving of walnuts, but don't tell him yet. Baby steps. And dessert? The biggest problem with dessert is that I keep eating them. I've frozen "peanut butter chocolate monster oat cookies" in the freezer. I would literally eat them for breakfast. And come to think of it, so does Todd now. Oh well. You can't win all your battles. :)
I'd love to hear some of your healthy lunch options!

2010-01-03T08:54:00.000-08:00

I remember hearing the name "M.O.P.S" in my childhood, and two things always struck me. First, what a dumb name. Could a group of adults not invent an acronym more appropriate than probably the grossest household device there is? (besides the plunger obviously.) Secondly, I thought, what's the point? What in the world do these moms find do talk about?
Well I still think the name is dumb. But I have to admit I've been tempted to google it more than once in the last few weeks...and, heck, give it a try.
Lately motherhood has been overwhelming. The house is a wreck. There is homemade baby food stuck to the cabinets. And the floor. And my slippers. There are Cheerios, wet ones, lodged in the most minuscule crevices of the high chair and smushed inside baby toys. And really, I must ask, is there a more revolting smell than wet Cheerios? I submit that there is not. The naps have been short, the worries have been big, the cries seem louder, the laughs briefer...Two things have encouraged me.
1. From my mom: "Just because it's hard doesn't mean there's something wrong with you or with Sam. Mothering is hard, hard work."
2. From God: "When I am weak, then I am strong."
:)

A Resolution

2009-12-15T12:26:00.000-08:00

I think I'll really do it this time. My friend Melissa, whom I know from Young Life, is challenging many to read through the Bible chronologically in 2010. She has set up a blog ( http://chronologicalbiblein2010.blogspot.com) so that people can comment and interact about what they are reading.
I was much more dedicated in high school and college to my daily Bible reading, but need it even more today. Apparently the Chronological Bible is unique in that it, well, arranges stories and books in order of time. You will read, for example, the Psalms at the same time as David's story in I Samuel. Neat idea.
I plan to purchase the Bible and read through it, and I'd love to know some of my friends are joining me! Let's do it!

On Marriage.

2009-12-14T17:14:00.000-08:00

For much of my adolescence/early adulthood I had an unhealthy obsession with "finding a mate." Not necessarily my own (although that was intriguing too) but just the whole science behind finding the perfect "one." My shelves were stocked with courtship/ dating/marriage books. I loved personality tests; give me ten minutes and I'd tell you what animal you are, and which character on "The Office" you should marry. I made my lists and questioned everyone I could on their opinions. I remember one time asking a 50-something friend what she thought the most important quality in a spouse was. I got a 50-something answer: character. Blah.
But I do seem to remember, a few months after rings and vows were exchanged, a telling moment when I began to understand. I have a theory that all marriages have that moment. You're in the middle of an argument about something - could be sushi menus, could be finances - and suddenly, you get it. You realize in one fell swoop that it matters oh-so-little what fraternity he comes from, how perfect you look in your wedding photos, or how attracted you are to him in his pajamas. It suddenly becomes deathly, painfully, uncomfortably obvious that your happiness lies - so to speak - solely on whether or not he has some, well, un-sexy character traits. Things so boring and ancient you really don't read much about them these days, unless it's in that thousand-page book on the shelf. Things that probably didn't make it on any list or in any romantic conversation. Things like patience. Honesty. Integrity. Willingness to forgive.
I picture this moment happening between Brad and Jennifer, and my neighbors: Marriage doesn't discriminate. Its success requires these virtues in the most beautiful and the most wealthy. Considering how relatively little I contemplated these things, most days I think I lucked out. I think I'm realizing how sexy some good old fashioned holiness is.
So here's to you, honey. Let's keep working out those character muscles. I love you, and all those beautiful fruits of the Spirit. :)

Mommy and Me...thanks Jenny

2009-12-02T17:26:00.000-08:00

I wish I wasn't making that face. What's up with that?

The White Flag

2009-12-02T16:50:00.000-08:00

The first week Sam was born someone gave us a present. I can't remember the gift or the giver, but I remember the bag. It was a cheery blue with sparkly glitter and it said in red writing, "Welcome to Parenthood: Home of Sleepless Nights." I hated that bag. It tormented me. I wanted to smash it, to burn it, but either due to motherhood busyness or a self-inflicted torment, it stayed on the counter for a good week.
If I were to make a bag, it would be a peaceful blue with little teddy bears cooing at you and happy clouds and rainbows. It would say in cutsy handwriting, "Parenting is God's way of teaching us we have no control." (And the little baby in the bassinet would be sleeping with a smile on his face.)
For the past six months, I have interviewed, read, analyzed, charted, petitioned, and predicted, searching for the keys to make Sam do what I want him to. At times I thought I had it. If I...give him the blue pacifier instead of the green one/get organic sheets/put him to bed earlier/put him to bed later/use a humidifier/rock him to sleep/don't rock him to sleep/dust the room/eliminate bananas/use a rubber spoon/heat the bottle 29 seconds instead of 25/get a glow worm/etc., then he will _________. But alas, babies do not obey agendas or conform to formulas. People say, "Every baby is different." They are being sweet. I will tell you what they are trying to say. They mean, "That's cute of you to try to figure out Sam. But there is no possible way he will ever do what has worked for any other baby, including himself, more than two times." You do get glimpses of it...a good nap, a happy afternoon, a neutral-smelling diaper. But these are merely taunts, teases, vague reminders of an ideal, like a leftover candy cane in a coat pocket.
I am being funny. But it's not always funny. The thrice-interrupted nap, the bad mood during a holiday dinner, the scary realization that despite avoiding malls and sanitizing hands, there is no way to avoid the diseases I am fleeing, or any other calamity. Being out of control is no fun, especially for a ducks-in-a-row everything-in-order kind of person like me. It's a big step, but Sam/universe/God: you win. I give up! I will roll with the punches! (Just as soon as I figure out how to get rid of this 4 am wakeup call...)

Christmas Time

2009-12-01T16:30:00.000-08:00

I Love...

2009-11-29T11:53:00.000-08:00

I love
- the high-pitched squeal of delight you give when you jump in the jumpy chair for the first time all morning.
- the way you love being tickled more than any other baby
- how excited you are to see your daddy, even when we have had the worst afternoon
- your chunky legs
- the way you do the breaststroke with your feet because you're so excited to be in the bathtub
- when you laugh and scream just because you know people are watching you
- the way you look in your pajamas
- how bottles, SamMule, dogs, and the Baby Bjorn are so funny to you
- that Jack is your best friend already
- your contented sleepy sounds as you fall asleep
- that you give hugs
- how you chug your bottle and scarf down your food...you are your mother's son
- the way you light up when you see the "spring" page in the seasons book, the part about the dark in "Green Eggs and Ham" and the color blue in every colors book
- the way you try your best to like carrots but dry heave them up
- how you "sing" in church
- that you know your name
- how you love doggies, walks, and food as much as I do
- the way you squeal when you first see me in the morning
- being your mommy.

I've got the soy soy soy soy down in my heart

2009-11-18T17:15:00.001-08:00

For those of you who have been sitting on pins and needles wondering how the story "Sam and the Search for a Formula" would end, relaxxxxxxx. Here it is! I'm not super excited about soy formula - never was - but Sam is chugging it like a champ and doing great! (I've added it to spiders, mice and Boss the bulldog in things we pray God will protect Sam from.)
We have been so thankful for the progress Sam has made since the big scare in July. A few weeks ago we realized truly how much that behavior WAS milk allergy. We tried Sam on Alimentum, which is milk broken down into very basic parts. It's supposed to work for milk- allergic babies, but after a few days, our happy little guy wasn't so cheerful...tired, not wanting to interact, a scary deja vu.) A switch back to soy, and he is happy!!!
I think this is interesting to note. When I think of allergic reactions, I think of epi pens, puffy eyes, spitting up...I don't think of lethargy, inactivity, and autistic symptoms. But for Sam, this was his reaction. I have heard that gluten allergies produce similar things. One group claims to "cure" autism with diet changes, in fact. I am so thankful we discovered it so quickly with Sam! No milkshakes anytime soon! It is possible he will grow out of it. (I did.) One final tidbit...Food allergies are highly genetic. If you have/had an allergy, your child has a 25% chance of having it. If both parents have it, 75%! Not that we needed it, but there's another good reason to avoid getting a cat as a pet in the Smartt household! (Cats are so lame anyways...:)

My One True Love

2009-11-03T16:03:00.000-08:00

I have a crush. A big one. (It's okay, my husband knows.) I am passionately in love. . . with Harris Teeter, our grocery store. More than once I have been moved to tears while browsing the shelves at that store. "But, Jessica," you say, "you were pregnant when that happened. Pregnant people cry at anything." Yes, that's true, but months after that I've almost cried. And this is no school-girl young love type of crush. No. This is a mature, reasoned, intellectual, marry-your-best-friend type of passion. (Those are my favorite ;) . Through the years, I've come to respect my Harris Teeter, and this weekend my crush proved yet again how wonderful he (?) is.
I did feel a little odd in Walmart with a spreadsheet, calculator, and clipboard. But that's what it took. I am a nerd. I admit. In my quest to cut every unnecessary cent spent, I made a list of 103 items I buy regularly. Then, you guessed it, compared prices of the two stores. It was kind of like, as a teacher, watching the cute shy kid compete against the big school bully in board races. You can't help but pull for your favorite. But I determined to be completely honest. And . . . horray for Harris Teeter!!!!! 63 items were cheaper there than Walmart!! Armed with my information, I've determined to do the following:
1. Keep track of the cheapest times and places to buy each item.
2. Make that dreaded trip to the W every 3 months to get the items there.
3. When something at HT is the lowest price, BUY THREE OF THEM.
I LOVE LOVE LOVE that even as a poor stay at home mom, I still get to rub elbows with the snotty yacht club women at the best grocery store in town!!
ps. If you are a nerd like me and interested in the list, I'll share my cheat sheet :)

2009-10-20T16:22:00.001-07:00

You. You in Target last Saturday with your workout capris and your frappachino. You annoy me. I'm not envious of your 45-minute cardio workout, your leisurely picking out of the bathroom towels, your last-minute stop to Starbucks. I used to be. Back when I was new at this, I grieved over lost Saturdays, leisure time, and uninterrupted sleep, thinking these the biggest losses of mothering. I started out selfish with a growing love. Now, I know the deep curse of parenting. It's love.
Unfortunately for us humans, grown-up love isn't pink and sparkly like a Valentine's card. It's painful like an amputation. It bloats with huge hopes, deflates with fear, and gets choked up with worry. And parenting? It's love times 1000.
The former Jessica had more time, money, and muscle tone, but more significantly, her heart was smaller. Her life was easier; her thoughts simpler. I know now that parenting this little guy is overwhelming, not for lack of love, but because there is so much. His hurts are mine, along with ten thousand more I fear for. And he's only five months old!! As far as I can tell, there is no remedy, only the prayer: "Lord, he's yours. I trust you..."

To Pop-Pop

2009-10-20T09:11:00.000-07:00

Thank you...
for remembering the things that went on in our lives
for laughing genuinely at all my jokes
for taking us camping
for reading Garfield with me
for raising my Daddy

I'm glad that we shared...
the love of good books
curiosity about the world
our faith in Jesus

I love that...
you loved Nana so much
you read every book I gave you cover to cover
you were excited to meet Jesus

Donald George Hawk Sr.
May 5, 1926 - October 18, 2009

Help Wanted

2009-10-15T16:26:00.000-07:00

I heard recently that tanning beds rival cigarettes in the cancer-causing category. Darn it. Especially for me and others who suffer from S. A. D. ("seasonal affective disorder" = bad mood when it's winter), this is a true loss. And I must admit, this whole January invades October thing is starting to wear on me. Winter stinks, but especially when it stomps out fall and immediately proceeds August.
So Sam and I will spend the next 4+ months cozy, indoors, and homebound, avoiding the flu and all you germy people. Here's my question. What creative INDOOR winter activities are there for a mom and her baby? I'm running out of ideas!! Here are a few I have thought of, just so you know convention and dignity are out the window.
1. Dance to country music with SamMule for a show. (Sure the neighbors enjoyed that one.)
2. Fill the sink with water and let Sam splash.
3. Have Sam play the piano with his feet.
4. Okay, last resort in moments of desperation, usually used around 6:45 p.m. if Daddy is still not home: Cuddle up and watch SportsCenter.
I'd LOVE to hear your ideas! PLEASE! You can comment or email jessicasmartt@gmail. Thanks so much!

To Brad, and the rest of you

2009-10-08T17:00:00.001-07:00

I think the world of Brad Paisley, and he will never know. He will never know how I respect that he plays guitar, piano, writes all his own songs, and draws. He will never know that I think his lyrics are GREAT examples of concrete language. He will never know that I "get" his witty jokes and think he's so creative.
This sad thought hit me during a windows-down drive the other day. Then I started thinking, for some reason, of all the other people I respect, famous and not famous, who don't know that little (or big) aspect of their personality that connects with me...The things that I love, am amused by, envy, or praise God for - they will never know. I thought of the way my dad makes me so proud when he talks because it's so captivating, even if he's describing the new car wash. I thought about how my cousin Rebecca amuses me every day with her comical facebook updates, and how sister-in-law Julie asks the best questions, and really listens to the answers... as I thought, the people and traits became more and more random.
Two convictions developed out of this...One, realize it's possible there are people out there who appreciate more in me than I know of. Keep on keeping on, because you just never know. Two, start telling people the random, the meaningful, and everything in between. Heck, if I ever meet him, I might even start with Brad, too. :)

My little pumpkin with some pumpkins

2009-10-07T17:12:00.000-07:00

We were blessed to have my wonderful friend Janie take some FUN fall photos of our fam. And get this, she's not even a professional (yet)! You can view her photos from the link to the right of the page ("Janie's Photography"). Thanks, Janie! (I think she will be adding some more later!)

Thank you to you

2009-09-30T18:02:00.000-07:00

Just wanted to write a quick note...I haven't figured out a good way to respond to the comments and feedback that is posted on the blog...but if you are reading this thank you for the messages, emails and comments about the blog! I so enjoy sharing and it always means so much to know someone has read what you write! So thanks!

Eyeore Cheers Up

2009-09-30T12:18:00.000-07:00

As I was telling someone this week, my spiritual gift is pessimism. I have a beautiful knack for seeing the tunnel and not the light, the cloud and not the lining. My friends and family are blessed. I feel badly that it's probably filtered over the blog, so today instead of analyzing or complaining, it is sunshiney optimism day! I LOVE the four-month age. I have to admit, when I posted a poll about the funnest age and "birth to age 1" won, I was a little skeptical and, well, terrified. If THIS is the best, then what the HECK is coming next. But I think I get it...Things are getting fun :) Now at four months, Sam laughs with recognition at the bath, Bjourn, and bottle, enjoys tickle fests, and LOVES the Johnny Jumpup, which right now is the highlight of my life. In case you are unaware of the Johnny Jumpup, it's a baby-bungee-jumping contraption that looks like it was created in the back of a garage by two dads. Obama will probably outlaw it next, but until then, what fun!!
Also exciting this age is the sleep schedule. Most days - the mind reels - I turn Sam on his side, turn on the mobile, and voila - he falls asleep. It's like your wedding; you never thought the day would come. But the days that doesn't work, then...we dance. If you know my dancing you're laughing, but it's a beautiful thing. We start with Miley Cirus and by 30 seconds into "Whatever It Is" by Zac Brown he's out. (If he's still awake by BarlowGirl, by the way, it was merely mom and not Sam who was tired. Oops.)
Anyway, these moments are just precious. I am enjoying them while they last!

The Cleaning Plan

2009-09-28T18:46:00.000-07:00

In my family, cleanliness is next to godliness, and I often feel like the black sheep. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I don’t want to be orderly, vacuumed, and disinfected. I think I’m ADD. I start scrubbing the toilet and remember to pay a bill. Then the rice boils over and it’s all downhill. I say all this as a preface, in hopes that you will take the following post with a rather LARGE grain of salt. This is the blind leading the blind here. But I THINK I’ve stumbled on a lifesaver. Basically, it’s called “the cleaning plan.” Previous to this plan, I had a very effective system for cleaning. Basically, I didn’t – until something annoyed me so badly I knew it was time to clean it. Now, I don’t have to wonder when the guest toilet will be cleaned. I know - Friday. Anyway, here are the steps:

Make a list of every job in your house, specifying which are daily, weekly, or monthly. (You can add “yearly,” but I didn’t want to be over-ambitious.)
Make a rough schedule of your week.
Assign a specific time in the day to do the “daily” tasks. Seems obvious, but it’s been a big help because now I ALWAYS take my shower during Sam’s first nap, and start dinner during the second…
Divide up the weekly tasks amongst the days. I always do laundry on Monday and Friday, plan my menu on Thursday, and pay bills on Tuesday.
Assign a day to do each monthly task. (I have jobs for each Saturday of the month.)
If you want to include yearly tasks, a good variation I saw had a list of, for example, jobs that needed to be completed in February, like cleaning blinds and organizing the pantry.

This little system, while completely simple, has totally transformed my life for the last 16 days – because without a vision, the people perish, especially when the people take care of a four-month-old. It has accomplished two miracles: 1. For once in my life I have gotten everything done. 2. For once in my life I don’t feel guilt/annoyance when I see dried frozen peas on the kitchen floor. I know they will be gone by Wednesday.

As Promised...the New Sam!

2009-09-24T13:06:00.000-07:00

More to come very soon! (computer too slow!)

My Rats Are Disappearing

2009-09-24T09:26:00.000-07:00

I had a moment last night. Sam had gas, hunger, stuffy nose, and then playtime – two hours total. The moment was when, rocking him and letting him hold one of my hands for comfort, I thought, “Where else would I really rather be?” And I meant it. This is a big deal, because honestly, this mothering thing has not been easy. It’s a very, very hard job. But not “hard” like you think. Actually anyone could do the work, which is why you can pay $10 an hour to most any teenager to do the job for a few hours. In fact, it’s largely mundane, repetitive, menial tasks, if we’re being honest. Mostly, I wash dishes, read kiddie books and change diapers. Not Einstein.
No, the “hardness” of mothering, I realized, comes not in the quality but the quantity. It never, never stops. From the moment they set your precious little bundle on your chest, every, single minute will be different. Sure, you still enjoy a nap, cup of coffee, conversation with your husband, REM cycle of sleep every once in a while, but each is enjoyed tentatively, with the knowledge that at any moment you could and probably will be called out of yourself for another job. I find myself holding my breath a lot. But I don’t just mean in a bad way, of course. For the whole time your heart is also bigger, filled with more love, worry, and depth than it ever has been. But it is constant.
I’m not good at that kind of love. I’m more used to the love that shows up during a pre-planned week of June in Peru, from the hours of 8-3 in a classroom, or momentarily after a convicting quiet time. This every minute kind of love I can’t do. C.S. Lewis has a quote about rats in the cellar that keeps coming to mind…When you turn on a light, that’s when you see how many rats are there, just like sudden disruptions reveal our character. Hopeful thinking, maybe, but I’m wondering after last night if some of my rats are disappearing….Is it possible the cute little guy in farm animal pajamas is chasing them away? :)

From the Future Jessica

2009-09-17T17:23:00.000-07:00

This post started out (in my head) as some helpful advice to you single and childless people. It was titled "To My Single Friends" and it was filled with little tidbits of advice, straight from me to you. Things like, go out and enjoy a jog. Treasure your full night of sleep. Realize as busy as you think you are now, it's nothing. Relish in the freedom of a lazy afternoon, etc. etc. It would have been good, but it backfired.
As I thought about it, I remembered that I ALWAYS look back on each stage of life I pass and berate myself for not enjoying/treasuring the unique blessings of that stage. (Except for high school. I really think I enjoyed high school as much as one could possibly enjoy high school. Which, let's be honest, is not too much.) Anyway, it hit me. Is it possible I will look back on THIS stage - with its exhaustion and feeling cluelessly over my head - and feel I missed something? The answer comes as soon as the question is finished. "This stage goes so fast," Mom says. It's cliche, I've heard it again and again, but somehow today it clicked. I looked at Sam in his Bumbo seat with his burped on bib and little sweatpants and...Enjoy this. I was SO sure that teaching and coaching was the hardest my life would ever get. Ha. There seems more at stake here. I'm choosing to listen to the warning now and not feel the guilt later. Tonight's 3 am feeding will be treasured!

Wonderful Day

2009-09-15T17:55:00.000-07:00

Today was Sam's evaluation with the publicly-funded early development screening board. Basically, three people came to our house to watch Sam play. Although the actual "recommendations" won't come until later, their feedback was AMAZINGLY positive. Really, they didn't say anything negative. They were impressed that Sam smiled and "talked" with them, grabbed for toys, liked being on his belly, rolled over, was aware of his surroundings, etc. I don't think I'll ever forget the look on the lady's face as she got up to leave. "You have a beautiful little baby."
Honestly, there wasn't nearly as much weighing on this meeting as I three weeks ago would have thought there would be. But while I wasn't surprised, I don't think the joy will ever go away...every time I get a smile, a laugh, a look of recognition, I thank God for his gracious and abundant joy. He gives us so much more than we deserve.
I realize it's been WAY too long since I've posted pictures...especially since the little guy is changing so much! He wakes up cuter (and fatter) every day, and does so many wonderful things. STAY TUNED for some pictures. :)

Got Milk?

2009-09-13T18:42:00.000-07:00

Got milk? Don't be mislead by the upbeat title. I'm overwhelmed. The dilemma is complex and probably boring to anyone who hasn't breastfed a baby. Oh, how crucial all the boring facts have become.
So Sam is allergic to milk. That leaves three options. Soy formula, nutremagin (rice-based formula, which contains MSG!), or me resuming breastfeeding and omitting dairy from my diet.
Two weeks ago, when the question was presented, I chose the soy formula. Today, I considered titling this post "Soy Formula Is the Devil." Maybe I should have. Don't get me wrong, aside from some VERY painful BMs, Sam is doing great. Here's the problem. After reading this, go google "soy formula." Just do it. Read all of the horrifying, back-woods, unfounded but terrifying blogs, forums, and chatroom hysterics about the dangers of soy in babies. Boy babies in particular. Here's your science lesson for the day: soy produces estrogen. (Who knew?) I've read about 8 times that a baby eating only soy formula consumes FIVE BIRTH CONTROL PILLS A DAY????!?!? What??? True or not, I'm done with it.
The issue would be over except for one, measly, annoying problem. Have you ever heard the word "relactation"? Me neither, but apparently it refers to the ability of a mom to resume breastfeeding, and apparently, it is about as possible as getting rid of wrinkles: once in a blue moon, it might happen. Nurse or pump 23 hours a day for 3 weeks and, who knows, you might get some milk. So here is my task, the one I have chosen to accept.
1. Say farewell to pizza, cheese, yogurt and ice cream indefinitely, and hope that all the small amounts of dairy in everything else won't bother Sam.
2. Spend most of the next few weeks trying to "relactate." (Isn't the term already getting on your nerves?)
3. Do this all while continuing to be energetic, attentive, and focused on improving little Sam.
The funny thing is, even though in my head, I feel as if I just finished a marathon and someone said, "Great, now turn around and do it again," in my HEART, I am not worried. God has already given so much, and shown us so much. I know he will provide. It just may be interesting in the meantime...

hysterical

2009-09-09T17:51:00.000-07:00

I owe my friend Katie for this one...she forwarded to me. I literally laughed so hard I was crying, and then when I tried to share with my family I couldn't finish it. Enjoy!

http://www.momaroo.com/662080039/15-steps-before-having-kids/

So Grateful

2009-09-05T16:43:00.000-07:00

"In bitterness of soul Hannah wept much and prayed to the Lord. And she made a vow, saying. 'O Lord Almighty, if you will only look upon your servant's misery and remember me, and not forget your servant but give her a son, then I will give him to the Lord for all the days of his life'...So in the course of time Hannah conceived and gave birth to a son. She named him Samuel, saying, 'Because I asked the Lord for him.'...After he was weaned, she took the boy with her...and brought him to Eli, and she said to him, 'As surely as you live, I am the woman who stood here beside you praying to the Lord. I prayed for this child, and the Lord has granted me what I asked of him. So now I give him to the Lord. For his whole life he will be given over to the Lord. Then Hannah prayed and said: 'My heart rejoices in the Lord, in the Lord my horn is lifted high. My mouth boasts over my enemies, for I delight in your deliverance. There is no one holy like the Lord; there is no one besides you; there is no Rock like our God."

i samuel 1

"How great is your goodness, which you have stored up for those who fear you, which you bestow in the sight of men on those who take refuge in you."

psalm 31:10

I'm Back

2009-09-03T09:48:00.000-07:00

I realize it's been a while... Unfortunately, I have a good excuse. The last two weeks have been some of the most challenging of my life. At times I wasn't sure the blog would make it, not for lack of time but because it seemed everything I would have to say would be so different from what I had planned. You see, my goal for the blog has always been to express things that all moms, all people, could relate to.

But not all moms realize their baby isn't making eye contact. Not all moms hear the doctor say, "I see your reason for concern" and schedule appointments with scary places you thought other people visited. Not all moms avoid the computer like it's a sin because of the irresistible urge to google "autism" and increase the terror.

It's a unique situation, but yet, as my mom told me in the midst of a trying moment, "Jessie, this is parenting." Hmmm. I thought about it and - scary to admit - but embedded in my unexpected scenario are some common, unavoidable lessons that, like it or not, we ALL have to learn. Things like: Realizing life doesn't look like you thought it would. Loving someone who might not always love you back the way you hoped. Pouring out your life for a totally unselfish cause. Giving the most precious pieces of your heart and hopes to God, and believing He will take care of them. Enjoying today when tomorrow seems scary.

God has been so good and gracious to me. While these last few weeks have been hard, they haven't been fruitless. Sam is growing, changing, and responding to our "treatments." In short, God is working a miracle in little Sam. It's not the raising Lazarus from the dead sort of miracle, though. It's more like the flood waters drying up miracle. A little here, a little there. It's fascinating to watch. I've charted little Sam's milestones by the day: looked up to find Daddy when he held him and talked, smiled at Grampy, laughed at me while "standing," loves peek-a-boo and the dog... I just can't wait to get up in the morning to see what he'll do next.

Logistically, we do have appointments scheduled for eye doctors, specialists, and therapists. While we are interested to hear their feedback, it almost seems irrelevent. (Almost.) Two things I know:

1. Parenting in any dimension is hard, hard work.

2. Sam is in the hands of a generous, loving Father.

I will continue to post updates and am so grateful for the prayers.

Prayers I Have Prayed

2009-08-12T13:26:00.001-07:00

Soon after Sam was born I sent out an email to some of my friends asking for their prayer requests. I said I would spend some of my time nursing praying for them. I think they thought I was pretty holy.

So I feel the need to make a confession. Don't worry; if you were one of those friends your request DID get covered. But I realized recently that since Sam MOST of my prayers have been for selfish, ridiculous, or outlandishly insignificant things. I'm not sure if anyone can identify, but here are some of my prayers...

1. God, please let me finish this spaghetti before Sam gets unhappy in the bouncy seat.

2. Please keep me from tripping over the laundry in the middle of the night when I'm walking the halls with Sam like a zombie.

3. If in the middle of a chaotic moment I realize I can't keep hold of both Sam and my ice water, help me remember in time which one to drop.

4. Help Sam to not be allergic to peanut butter since my hands were full of it before I gave him his pacifier.

5. Please let Sam get this poop out. (If you're confused on this one, see previous post "Things Babies Hate," number 5.)

6. Please keep Sam safe from spiders, child abductors, and snakes (yes) in his crib at night.

7. Make the lightning stop so Sam can sleep.

8. Help me not be a flake and walk away from the grocery cart when Sam is in it.

9. Please keep Sam from screaming bloody murder in Birkdale.
and, here it is...the most-prayed prayer of all...

10. PLEASE LET SAM FALL ASLEEP! (I thought I was a horrible mom until I read this quote by Ralph Waldo Emerson: "There never was a child so pleasant but that that his mother was happy to see him asleep." :)

Sam is a Big Boy!!

2009-08-11T18:23:00.000-07:00

He loves sitting up by himself!

He has a new friend...his blankee!!

He gets REALLY excited about the ceiling fan.

He loves getting dressed up for church.

Bath time is the best part of the day!

Can you find the baby? (Get it? Camo? Hidden??? :)

Inspiring

2009-08-11T18:03:00.000-07:00

I found this in the very early days of being a mom. It's in Dr. James Dobson's book Bringing Up Boys (which is great). I don't think it was coincidence that this paragraph found me then. I really, desperately needed it. In those difficult first few days home, when it felt like adulthood and sacrifice slapped me in the face, it encouraged me.

"Your task as a mother, in conjunction with your husband, is to build a man out of the raw materials available in this delightful little boy, stone upon stone upon stone. Never assume for a moment that you can "do your own thing" without serious consequences for him and his sister. I believe this task must be your highest priority for a period of time. It will not always be required of you. Before you know it, that child at your feet will become a young man who will pack his bags and take his first halting steps into the adult world. Then it will be your turn. By all expectations, you should have decades of health and vigor left to invest in whatever God calls you to do. But for now, there is a higher calling. Raising children who have been loaned to us for a brief moment outranks every other responsibility. Besides, living by that priority when kids are small will produce the greatest rewards at maturity."

ONE OF THOSE DAYS!!

2009-08-10T08:03:00.000-07:00

You know the bumper sticker that says, "A bad day at golf/fishing/etc is still better than a good day at the office"? Today's the first day of school, and I'm home. I'm not a teacher anymore. I'm a mom. But I guess mine would read, "A bad day at home is still better than a good day at school." This is a big deal. I have cried - literally - everytime I passed the school since knowing I'm not going back. I LOVED teaching middle school. But as I bounced Sam on the yoga ball this morning (trying to get work out his gas) singing "You are my sunshine" as the sun came up, I just had to smile. It was funny. And I guess it was fun, too.
Unfortunately things didn't get better for Sam and me. I spilled shredded cheddar all over the floor, found the weekend laundry that didn't ever make to the dryer still in the washer, found the melted ice cream Todd left ON the refridgerator this morning (don't ask). And by the way the gas episode started after the 4:15 feeding, which means I got...let's see...22 minutes of very interrupted sleep since then.
And I haven't even gotten to the worst part: the nap. Sam and I are trying to master the nap. At 10:00 he went down. I was proud of myself because he was a little tired but not asleep. I gloated a little as my little angel drifted off. What a sweetie. Promptly twenty-five minutes later (while I was stirring the boiling macaroni) he woke up. Crying. I waver between thinking I am a) a wimp or b) a really good mom but golly, I just don't feel right leaving him cry when he wakes up. He's three months old and needs a little help. I gave him the pacifier (aptly named) stroked his head and - success - he fell asleep!
For six minutes. This process repeated itself three more times. I'm embarassed to admit how quickly, for me, anger can enter the picture. JUST TAKE A NAP. I'M TRYING TO HELP! Eventually I had to resort to my most desperate, humiliating means. I held him, bounced him, sshhed him, swaddled him. Any pretense of teaching independent sleep was gone. In my arms he managed to get two minutes of sleep (once I got the smiling giraffe on the mobile out of sight...rookie mistake) when, hello, it's time to eat. I think some days you just ditch the book and shoot for sheer survival. This Monday, my friends, is one of those days. :)

Calling All Mothers - Update

2009-08-08T08:05:00.000-07:00

Wow! I have already received so much encouraging and helpful advice on the issue of sleep! THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU!! Stay tuned for some snipits of this stuff...really great things! In the meantime, thought of two additional questions.
1. Babywise says, "You (Mom) decide when the nap ends." What the heck does that mean??? Isn't "Don't wake a sleeping baby" one of the cardinal rules of life?? What if he sleeps through an eating time? How do I know he's had enough sleep?
2. Right now I rock and "shh" Sam to a drowsy/beginning sleep stage, then put him down. Should I be putting him down wide awake? If not now, when? How do I know he's ready for that?
THANKS AGAIN!!

Calling All Mothers

2009-08-07T12:05:00.000-07:00

I have never been so interested in sleep my whole life. I don't mean just wanting it, but curiously, ravenously interested in how the whole thing goes down (pardon the pun). Initially (during the days of holding your sleeping newbie in your arms trying to determine whether or not to make the precipitious transition to the crib), the questions are something like these: Is he going to scream bloody murderwhen I put him down, is covering up his left toe really worth it, if I don't end this four hour siesta will he be partying hard into the wee hours of the night, and, is he really sleeping when he does that creepy eyes-rolling-into-the-back-of-the-head thing. I've learned a lot, but find Sam's new stages bring new questions. (He is about 3 months now.) So here they are. I'm petitioning YOU for help. What worked, what didn't, what resources are good, etc. You can comment or send a lengthy email during the spare time I know you have to: jessicasmartt@gmail.com. I will be posting snipits of your advice so everyone can benefit. Thanks!

1. Okay, this is the biggie. I realize that napping and crying are the "politics and religion" of the childrearing world; everyone has her own hard-headed opinion. The thing I struggle with is this: how much do I let Sam fuss/cry/struggle to fall asleep on his own at this three month stage? I realize I can't rock him for naps when he's 12, so it has to start somewhere, but at times he seems utterly incapable of getting himself soothed.

2. Related, Sam wakes up frequently during a long nap. What's the best way to help him get back to sleep?

3. How long should a nap be? Sometimes he "catnaps" and seems happy after waking up. Is that okay?

4. Will too much daytime sleep interfere with night sleep?
Thanks so much for any help you can give!

Things Babies Like

2009-07-30T16:11:00.000-07:00

I admit it - I'm a list person. I think, act, and speak in lists. This is evidenced in the fact that about 33% of my spoken sentences begin, "First of all..." There usually isn't a second and rarely a third, but no one really calls me out on it. Anyway, this list has been formulating in my mind for a while. It's two lists actually: surprising things babies like (or, "don't mind"... In my book, not screaming baby = happy baby) and surprising ones they don't like.
We'll start with the list of likes/don't really mind. (First of all.)
1. ceiling fans. WHAT THE HECK IS UP WITH CEILING FANS? It's an infant addiction. Is it me, or does looking at one for longer than seven seconds give me a swirling dizzy headache? Not sure what the deal is there.
2. being naked. His eyes get wide and there's something in the look that says, "I'm free!" But then again if I lived in diapers 24/7 I'd be pumped too.
3. drool gushing from the mouth. There are sundry reasons for infants crying, but I've never heard of "need to itch saliva dribbling from mouth but cannot" as one. Amazingly. Would that not drive you crazy? Someone told me their sense of touch doesn't develop there yet...sounds sketchy but who knows?
4. being outside. Maybe it's my little future landscaper, but it doesn't matter that our backyard "view" is a vinyl garage, or that he was just screaming bloody murder. Just take him outside and all is well.
5. striped shirts. Must be the contrasts.
6. the vaccuum. This is of course well-documented, but still fascinating. The same machine that sends cats and dogs fleeing for dear life puts hysterical babies to sleep in mere minutes.

Don't like :
1. any of the above objects listed, once an amount of time has passed (varying). In baby books it's called "overstimulization," but what it means in layman's terms is that an object that has just been a profound sense of enjoyment and fun can very quickly and dramatically become terrifying. You're tempted to think, "Well, just stop looking at the ceiling fan/smiling giraffe, etc." But as I told Todd it's sort of the equivalent of the infant car accident: you just can't look away.
2. the ice machine. Since baby Sam, the ice machine (used at the wrong time) has been the cause of more marital fights than anything else. I think he feels like the walls are crashing down on him.
3. silence. Confession: I've been tempted to keep the shower running after I got out to prolong a nap. Don't worry, I didn't.
And the final few, in no particular order.
4. getting burped.
5. pooping. It is VERY hard work!
6. garbage day.
Now, admittedly I have one (1) child and I have been his mother for two and a half months. This list may be somewhat specific. I'd love to know some of yours!

Survey Says...

2009-07-28T09:36:00.000-07:00

Results of the last poll are in. Looks like babies and pre-schoolers are the most fun! Both were tied for first place. In a close second was the next youngest age of 5-7. Poor middle and high schoolers didn't even get one vote. As if those ages weren't rough enough already.
For the next poll only the married population can respond. I want to know, "Where did you meet your spouse?" But look at it this way, singles, you can see a highly reliable and far-reaching sample to show you where to spend your time! (That was sarcasm. Only 8 people answered the last poll question. I'm just going to assume the other hundred of you readers don't like kids.)