Five Favorites (With a Really Crappy Giveaway!)

Joining Hallie again. If I was allowed to have a sixth favorite, it would be the song she has in her number one spot. So beautiful. I've been listening to it on repeat all week. But I'm not allowed to have six favorites, so I'll just get started with my five below.

-1-

This post by Jenny. Every post by Jenny actually, but especially that one. She has such a knack for writing about living out your pro-life values in an anti-life world. And a knack for writing in general.

-2-

The person who can solve this current parenting dilemma for me. YOU will be my favorite! How do I get Hannah to stop biting her nails and chewing on her fingers? How? I need to know!

"Smile Hannah." "No. I want to be siwwy. Yite dis."

-3-

Sweet Potato Fries from a bag. I love all sweet potato fries, but the kind that I don't have to cut up and stand at the stove frying are the best. It goes against my attitude of "don't spend money on something you can make yourself" and I don't care one bit because they are fast and delicious and oh my goodness I just need food in my body right this second! And when you are making dinner and realize you forgot to make a side....sweet potato fries. When you've run out of options for a quick lunch......sweet potato fries. When the baby wants your food and wont stop grabbing it out of your hands.....broken up sweet potato fries to the rescue.

I buy the giant bag at Costco but I've seen them at Walmart too.

-4-

This homemade recipe for remoulade. Having been dairy free for the better part of three years now, I can tell you that the desire to dip stuff into something creamy does not go away. I just want ranch!!! Or cream cheese!!! Or queso!! So when I remembered that remoulade is mayonnaise based, I whipped up a batch and starting dipping. Mostly sweet potato fries.

I had never heard of remoulade until we moved to Mississippi. On my first day of training at my new job I went out to lunch with a bunch of beautiful, young, Southern gals with thick accents. They looked at me like I was a freak show when I started eating my food before every.single.person had their food in front of them too. Because apparently that's a thing in the South and it's most certainly not a thing in the North. Not when there are more than a dozen people at the table. And food is being brought out one dish at a time. And we only have a thirty minute lunch break.  But I noted their stares and agape mouths and put my fork down and sat and watched my food get cold like everyone else. So later when I asked, "What's remoulade??"they had no trouble just writing me off as a rude Northern weirdo who didn't know her Cajun food.  I think I put my elbows on the table too. They, on the other hand, did not.

Unrelated picture of Paul. Also being "siwwy"

-5-

This book on potty training. Oh Crap Potty Training by Jamie Glowacki. I read it months ago and totally forgot that the author offered to do a giveaway for readers of this here blog. I pulled it back out this week because we are going to start night training Hannah now and I wanted to refresh myself with her tips. For us, her method worked like a charm. I appreciated the wealth of informaiton and the tips on common mistakes. I totally would have said, "it's ok!" every time Hannah had an accident when, really, it's not ok. That's why we're teaching you to use the potty! So instead I followed her advice of just stating the obvious ("You peed on the floor.") and reminding her what to do ("We pee in the potty now.")

I liked that she doesn't use food as a reinforcer and found that to be super successful for Hannah. It was a much more logical approach than the sticker charts and candy and it worked for us.

The most helpful was her guidelines for determining if your child is ready. I wish I had read it sooner because Hannah was definitely ready a few months before we finally started. And if we had read it earlier I would have had a potty trained toddler before the new baby arrived and wouldn't have been messing with potty training while caring for a five week old.

If you want to win it, enter below! And if you don't win, you should just buy it. It was actually a fun read and I read it cover to cover in one sitting and then went back to digest the important parts. Her language is pretty rough, but I kind of enjoyed it. She did use some curse words as a warning for those who may not like that. And God's name in vain a few times, which made me sad. Because there are so many better ways to say things without stooping to that level, ya know?

But overall, good book. Super helpful. Go win it! a Rafflecopter giveaway

Changing the Bar

I always hear moms talk about "lowering the bar". Referring to letting some (all....) of your standards go when parenthood is exceptionally challenging. I've used the phrase plenty of times when describing my parenting style after Paul was born. BP (Before Paul) I let Hannah watch about an hour of TV per week. AP, I lowered the bar to about a half hour a day. Then to two half hours a day. Then to one half hour show and one hour long show. Then the bar just fell through the floor and I stopped keeping track of how much TV she was watching and just turned it on thanking Jesus for the blessing that is Barney.

So I've done my fair share of bar lowering and I've wrestled with the guilt that accompanies it, as I'm sure every mother has. Motherhood for me is like a constant mental marathon. Am I feeding her enough protein? Should I get rid of these baby books so she's more challenged by other ones? Have I been babbling enough with Paul? It seems like he's babbling less than he used to. How can I encourage her to improve her speech without pissing her off? How can I get her to eat more vegetables? Ugh, we can't afford this probiotic anymore. Is Paul's gut going to suffer forever because of me? Am I ruining my baby because of the sucralose in these gas drops that don't even seem to help? Is Hannah going to remember this day when she's older and how much I yelled at her?

And so on and so forth. Despite my best efforts to do my own thing, it's constant comparison around here. And I don't even compare myself to a real person most of the time. I compare myself to "that mom". The one who gets new library books every single week and plays classical music every day and prepares every meal from organic, whole foods and eats off plates that aren't plastic and filled with chemicals and never lets her kids watch TV and instead provides enriching and educational activities every hour of the day and somehow manages to do waaaaay more than I do on our budget and would never dream of leaving the potty chair sitting in the shower for five straight days without taking some serious antibacterial wipes to clean out that poop..... But I've never met that mom. I know she doesn't exist. But she's still in my head. Not so gently nagging me about all the things I'm screwing up on a daily basis.

I do know plenty of real moms who put me to shame with their culinary skills or their educational activities. But they don't outdo me in every area. (Not that it's a contest, blah blah blah, I know and I get it.)  I have my strengths and they have theirs.

And yes, there are legitimate times when the bar of acceptable motherhood needs to be lowered for survival's sake. But instead of beating myself up about letting Hannah eat another chocolate chip or watch a third (fourth, fifth.....) episode of Curious George, maybe I should change the bar completely.

What if I started measuring my success as a mother by how many times a day I prayed with Hannah instead of how many vegetables I can sneak into her food. What if I worried more about getting to daily Mass instead of getting to the library. What if I took the dozen opportunities a day to sit and nurse Paul to pray for him and sing to him instead of closing my eyes and turning my brain off.

I need to hold myself to a very high standard of motherhood. Feeding my kids healthy food and providing them with educational activities is important. Very important. But if they don't know Jesus, then what will it even matter? If I nourish their minds and their bodies with the very best I can give, but I don't nourish their souls...then I will have failed at the greatest task of my life. Instead of feeling guilty at the end of the day for how much the TV was on or the crappy meals I managed to scrape together, I need to reflect on the times I remembered to say morning prayers with Hannah, or blessed Paul with holy water, or made the sign of the cross together as we passed a church. I need to stop yelling at my toddler and pray with her instead. Not because I want to be like other moms who don't yell at their kids, but because my kid is a precious and beautiful gift from God and she deserves a mother who treats her as such.

This new bar is still set pretty low. I'm not shooting for a daily family rosary or Mass five days a week. I just want to weave more prayer into the day. More patience. More peace in my home.

My patron saint for 2013 is Mary, Queen of Peace. I need to look to her as an example of the kind of mother I want to be, not my facebook friends. I still need to set the bar for motherhood and raise and lower it according to our circumstances, but I've got to find a totally different bar than the one I've been using.



Mary, Queen of Peace, pray for me!

Tomorrow Morning

Well, I guess diving it is.

Right now my lunch is packed, my outfit is laid out, the coffee is all set for the morning and I'm about to take a shower even though my last shower was only two days ago. Tomorrow morning is my first day of work at my new part-time job.

If you're keeping track, this will be my third job. I'm adding this in with the one kiddo I see for therapy twice a week and the work-at-home nursery coordination I do for our parish. This is is more legit though. It's an actual job job. I have to leave the house and I can't bring my kids with me. I'll be working ten hours a week doing assessments on 9-24 month olds for Autism Spectrum Disorders. It's at a research clinic associated with the university in town. The test I'll be giving is actually the same one I studied for my thesis years ago all the way back in Missouri. The professor is a professional idol (too strong of word? well, someone I admired in grad school then) and I just can't believe the "small worldishness" of me actually ending up in her town and getting hired to work for her clinic.

Seriously, I feel like I was made for this job.

When we moved to Florida a year and a half ago I left a great job in Mississippi that I loved. And although it was hard to leave, I was beyond excited to get to stay home with Hannah. When people asked if I was going to look for a new job in Florida I always replied, "Not right away. If God wants me to work He'll put something in my lap."

This job could not have fallen more directly into my lap.

So I'm excited. Excited to get back into the world of speech therapy. Excited to have colleagues again and adults to talk to and a reason to put makeup on. Excited to have a little external pressure built into my schedule in the hopes that'll it help me better manage my time. But I'm scared. Scared that my kids will be unhappy without me. Scared that it'll be too much too fast and that I'll buckle under the pressure.

But a lot more excited than scared. It feels right. And, at least for the time being, we have a sweet college student coming to watch the kiddos who is equal parts Catholic and speech therapist in training. She's me...about seven years ago. It'll be the first time we ever pay anyone to watch our kids. And it's weird. It's really weird. I feel like I am a college student taking care of other people's kids. Not the person with the two kids paying the college student. Life happens so fast.

After my initial weeks of training, I'll be able to do about half the hours from home. Which will be great, but definitely a test in self discipline. And I have no previous experience having passed that test. So that'll be interesting. But for now, I'm about to venture outside the walls of this house without my kids for ten hours a week. I will miss them. They'll most likely be fine. And I hope we'll all be the better for it. I hope we'll have a little breathing room in our budget. And I hope that I'll be an asset to families just finding out that their children have Autism and be able to get them the help they need.

It's going to be a big adjustment. I've done working mom and I've done stay-at-home mom. But I've never tried to marry the two. I'll probably lay awake in bed far too late tonight with that first-day-of-school mix of nerves and excitement. I'll probably be completely exhausted at this time tomorrow.

So if you could spare a prayer for me tomorrow, I wouldn't decline your generosity. Pray for Bonnie too, while you're at it. And I have two special intentions that would greatly appreciate your prayers as well.

Here goes nothin'!

Me and Paul

Me and the Paul Man go way back. It's been almost a year since he implanted himself in my womb and make himself comfortable. Eight days past his due date and nine and a half pounds later, we finally met. And I would love to say we had an instant connection and it was love at first sight, but it just...... wasn't. And I've been feeling really guilty about that.

I'll be completely honest and say I was really hoping for a girl (If you ever read this Paul, don't be too offended. I really hoped Hannah was a boy.) It wasn't so much that I yearned for another daughter, but that I desperately wanted a little sister for Hannah. I have two younger sisters, one just three years younger than me. And it's awesome. Sisters are awesome. I loved sharing a room until I left for college. I love doing our makeup together in the bathroom when I'm home for a visit. I love shopping together and doing all the other things sisters do. I don't have any brothers, so I don't what kind of great things can be done with brothers. So I wanted Hannah to have a sister, close in age, to be her sweet friend.

When I got over the initial shock of, "Oh my goodness I have a SON," I had to mourn. And I felt really awful about that. It wasn't until about a week after his birth that I realized I was mourning the loss of a sister, not mourning the fact that I have a son. And the two are very different.

But even as I got used to the idea of a little boy in our family, I had a hard time bonding with Paul. The reasons are many. His birth was quite traumatic. I wasn't filled with the euphoric joy that Hannah's natural birth came with. I was just exhausted and relieved and hungry. On top of that, he screamed for the first hour of his life and was calmed only by Ted. I didn't spend his first moments of life gazing into his eyes while he suckled at my breast. I spent it begging him to stop screaming and finally handing him off before I lost my mind.

I've always heard mothers make comments like, "I just can't remember a time when he wasn't in our family!" and, "He just fits in perfectly!". And I just couldn't relate to that at all. In those first few days and weeks all I could think was, "Of course I remember a time when he wasn't in our family! It was a much, much easier time!" We had lost our groove. The rhythmic flow of our day that I had grown so accustomed to. We had this entirely new person in our lives and he was throwing everything off. And I really had a hard time adjusting.

With Hannah, I was able to rest when she was resting and play with her when she was awake. But when Paul rested I was taking care of Hannah. And when he was awake I was just trying to keep Hannah from getting insanely jealous and angry. So I didn't get to take naps with him. Or spend an hour just staring at him. Or give him a relaxing bath and baby massage and play dress up with him. For those first few weeks, I basically just kept him alive and hoped he slept long enough for me to feed Hannah lunch.

And I wasn't prepared for how hard it would be for me to see how hard it was for Hannah. One night we moved the rocker out of her room and into ours so I could nurse Paul in it at night. At this point, she was still being read to and rocked in it every night before bed. What were we thinking? She set off looking for her rocker and when she found it my room she was ecstatic. But when she realized it was staying in there and she wouldn't be rocked in it, she was hysterical. After I put her to bed in tears, I came out of her room, buried my head in Ted's chest, and just sobbed.

It wasn't the way I had pictured it. I felt like I didn't love my son. I remember telling Ted, "I love him because he's my son, but I don't love him. I don't know him!" And I felt so, so guilty. I said, "He deserves a mother who loves him! He's so cute. Why don't I feel more connected to him?"

Well meaning friends said things like, "Isn't having a little boy the best? Don't you just love having a son?" and I lied through my teeth and said it was wonderful. But the whole time I was thinking, "I just want to send him back and go back to the way things used to be."

I cringe thinking about that now. Because at some point, I have no idea when, I fell in love with him. So deeply and completely in love with him. And it grew a little more each day and I know it will continue to do so until the day I die. He is perfect. He is beautiful. He is my son and I wouldn't trade him for any girl or any daily routine in the world.

I love the sound of his sweet voice and the way he contorts his little face when he's trying to talk to me. I love his smell. I love his fat rolls. I love his easy-going disposition. I love that he lets me know what he needs gently and patiently and looks so happy when he's satisfied. I love the way he looks when he sleeps and the dazed expression he gets when I wake him up. I love his "game face" when he's feeling feisty.

The other night, he started fussing from his cradle when I had exactly 30 seconds of my show left. Rather than letting him fuss until it was over (which I sometimes do) or complaining about having to go nurse him (which I also do...) I sprang up from my chair and practically skipped into my room to get him. The thought of holding his sweet little body in my arms and pressing him to my breast literally made me giddy. I felt like I was in junior high and I was running to the telephone to answer a call from my latest crush.

I am so in love with my son.

Certainly I'm not the only mother who has felt this way. (And if I am, just don't tell me.) Me and Paul may not have hit it off right away, but now I know him like only his mother can. And love him like only his mother can. And now I have an entirely new way to relate to our Blessed Mother. I'm a mother to a son too.

And it really is wonderful.

Blech

and ugh.

And blech again.

Being a mom is not fun. I know, I know. Big revelation I've had, huh? It used to be fun. When I had a toddler who was a joy to be around. But now she's just....two.

I just want to have fun with her. And teach her things. And snuggle and love and play with her. But I'm too busy telling her "no". All the dang day. And yes, of course I try to phrase my constant directives with positive language. But "set the cup down gently please" and "stop banging your cup!!!!!" tick her off just the same. And she only bangs harder no matter how I say it.

I would hate being with me all day if I were her. Constantly telling her what to do. Constantly making her do things the right way. I'm not a fun mom and it's driving her crazy as much as it's driving me crazy. How are we supposed to have fun reading a book together when she constantly flipping pages and taking swipes at Paul's head? Or have fun in the bathtub when all she wants to do is spit water on me and yell?

I realize that "funness" isn't the goal of motherhood. My goal is a well formed child. And right now that means a whole lot of "no". There is no way to avoid it. I have to set limits. Enforce rules. Be the bad guy. And it just sucks. It is no fun to be mean all day.

It's not like I'm trying to be mean. I'd love to be gentle and sweet and always encouraging, but I just don't understand how that is even possible with this particular little monster. It's taking everything I have not to scream at her, so reprimanding in the calmest voice possible (which isn't always calm) is the best I can do.

All day I long I blame her behavior (and my reactions) on anything and everything. If we had a bigger house with a play room. If we had more storage space up high so she couldn't get into everything. If we had a bigger bathroom so she could sit on counter with me. If, if, if. But no matter where we live she'll still crawl up on the changing table and squeeze all the saline out of the bottle. And she'll still hit Paul. And kick him. And try to bite him. And that's with me sitting right there! I can't even attempt to pee or check the oven without bringing him with me to keep him safe (and she inevitably follows. peeing is just the highlight of my day.)

I know this will pass. I know that discipline will pay off in the long run. But in the short term it just sucks sucks sucks. Disciplining toddlers was easy as a speech therapist. Someone else's kid for only 30 minutes at a time? Yes please. But my own? All day, every day? It's completely wearing me out.

I know I'm not the first mom to feel this way. I know it's not the last time I'll feel it.

Ted told me I needed to relax tonight and do something to help me recharge my batteries for tomorrow. Which is a wonderful idea..... except she just woke up screaming. About five minutes after Paul woke up screaming.

Why can't my children sleep???????????

What I Got for Mother's Day

For Mother's Day...

I got to wake up to my little girl being brought into my bed saying "Happy Mommy!" 

I got to go to Mass with my family and snuggle my little boy in the carrier. I got to listen to 3% of the homily while said little boy fussed and cried. I got feel like an idiot for forgetting the pacifier at home.

I got tears in my eyes when I stood for the Mother's blessings. Tears because I felt so honored and happy to be a mother. Tears because I remember the pain of not knowing if it would ever happen. And tears of anger because so many I love are not able to stand for that blessing.

I got to pack for the beach while he played with this

for an hour!

I got to listen to Hannah ask me over and over again if I was ready to go to the beach. "Weady beats mommy?" Then I got to listen to her scream after being in the car for more than 30 minutes. I got a dead arm from holding the pacifier in Paul's mouth so he could sleep all of 20 minutes for the four and a half total hours we spent driving.

But then I got to see this

and the hellacious car trip was worth it.

I got really, really, really frustrated when Ted someone opened our expensive beach umbrella straight into the wind and broke it. Then I got really worried we would have to leave immediately since I couldn't shield Paul from the sun. But then I got to watch someone Ted use pliers and fishing line to tie the entire umbrella back together and get it to work so we could stay and play. I think I fell in love with him all over again.

I got to swing my girl around in the ocean.

I got to relax with my boy in the shade.

Knucks.

I got to breath a sigh of relief every time he caught her. I got to listen to her laughter and screams every time she was thrown.

I got to laugh when she took off running to pet a dog

and laid down in the sand and smiled while pretending to be asleep.

I got to hang out with the girl who made me a mommy

and marvel at how amazing she is.

I got to sing Josh Turner with Ted on the car ride home loud enough to drown out the crying children. I got to laugh with him when they seemed to be taking turns screaming just to be certain that there wouldn't be a moment of peace for their parents. I got really nervous about our 14 (20??) hour trek to Missouri this summer.

I got to do baths and bedtime routine and laundry and dishes all waaaaay past bedtime. Because I'm still the mom, even though it's Mother's Day. And we both decided we had had enough beach with two kids to last us at least six months.

For Mother's Day, I got one of the most exhausting days of my life.

No More Mommy Wars Guest Post

Every once in a while I write some pretty controversial stuff on ye olde blog. Three of my all-time most read posts are about religion, politics, and natural birth. But nothing is as controversial as the guest post I wrote for Sarah today.

That's right. I wrote about babies and SLEEP!

Go read it and feel a little bit better about yourself.

An Outing

I, being the incredibly brave and adventurous person I am, took both kids to the zuseum today by myself. I know I'm still in that postpartum survival mode time, but I was really sick of sitting in the house and only venturing out for a teeny bit of work and the grocery store. So the zoo/museum or bust.

It only took me about two hours to get everything ready. I'm definitely getting faster.

I usually go with a friend and chat while the kids play, but it was really refreshing to just go by ourselves. Despite the fact that Paul refused to sleep in his carseat, even with the paci and the bumping of the stroller, we survived.

No, we thrived. We really did.

Hannah was unusually well behaved (to say it's been a trying week would be an extreme understatement) and enjoyed every second. And I so enjoy her when she is behaving and enjoying herself. The alligator, who is usually "sleeping" and nowhere to be seen, actually emerged from beneath the water, swam to the edge, and then proceeded to crawl into the woods. I had no idea how huge their legs were. Or that they lifted their bodies off the ground when they walked. And I'm fairly certain I'm going to have nightmares. Totally worth it to watch her excited face as her favorite animal put on a show.

And Paul, who was awake an hour and half longer than usual, was still incredibly chill. His usual self. So lovely. And according to the tag, that adorable outfit he's wearing isn't supposed to fit for another four and a half months. Six weeks, six months. Same thing right?

Oh my huge boy. Six weeks old and already thirteen pounds. Not only have you outgrown newborn clothes and diapers, but you're heading right out of the three months and size ones as well.

My big boy and my oh-so-big girl. She ran the whole way...until she crashed and wanted to be held. And just when I was cussing myself for not buying a double-stroll at the consignment sale last week, she grabbed onto the handle and swung from it like a monkey while I pushed. Which totally worked. I'm gonna be super buff if she keeps this up.

My monkey.

Good behavior even afforded us the chance to hit up the playground.

Those new-to-us pumas definitely helped her swing higher. When did she get big enough for a regular swing? Wasn't she just in a bumbo seat?

Hannah and I talked about the buses and the tractors on the road the whole way home. But we had to shout over Paul's screams. Seriously kid, you better learn to love that seat. If you don't, I may have to buy some earplugs.

I tried to get him quickly into his cradle for a nap before grabbing Hannah from the car. And what I thought was a very sweaty back ended up dripping onto the floor and making a nice orange stain. Thanks for the cute outfit Aunt Jackie-it's covered in poop. Two hours! Two hours Ted and I spent last night trying to get the kid to poop. I knew he had to go and the poor boy couldn't sleep at all. But instead he decided to keep that suppository lodged in there for another 14 hours and go all. over. the. carseat. Not so lovely.

A bath and a clean diaper for the baby. Lunch and a clean diaper for the toddler. All by myself. And I didn't even have to yell!

Naptimes even overlapped long enough for me to write 98% of this blog post. The last 2% was written when Hannah found the remote and helped herself to daytime TV and a peanut butter and jelly on the couch. I could take the remote away like I'm supposed to. Or I could let her get bored with Judge Judy on mute after a few minutes and hide it when she's not looking. Picking my battles, yes I am.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have a carseat to clean.

Today I'm Realizing...

...that a morning shower is more important than I ever realized.

...that I'm really, really, really bad at waking up before the kiddos so I can get a jumpstart on the day.

...that rolling out of bed when they both cry from their cribs isn't-gonna-cut-it!

...that a friend calling to tell me that she's bringing me lunch is one of the nicest things anyone could possibly do for me.

...that having babies really makes Lent go by quickly.

...that things are never going to get back to "normal". We just need to find our new normal and embrace it. We have a whole new person in our lives-why would I want the old normal anyway?

Quick Takes

If complaining, isn't your thing-just move along right now.....

-1-

To say that I survived my first week at home with  both kids would be a lie. I survived, yes. I am still alive. But I wasn't exactly "alone". Since it was Spring Break for the schools in town, two of my teacher friends had the week off. At least one of them stopped by every day and played with Hannah while I took care of Paul. And then yesterday was so difficult (even though I was only actually alone for about 5 hours) that Ted took today off work to stay home and help.

First week-kind of a fail.

-2-

If you couldn't tell from number one-two kids is HARD. Like, really hard. How the heck am I supposed to rock a baby to sleep with a toddler yelling at my feet? And oh-my-goodness-gracious I cannot keep up with laundry to save my life. Or feed Hannah. Or even find time to eat something myself for that matter. I thought I had set the bar pretty low before Paul got here. I didn't set it low enough. I was off by about ten miles. The bar just got lowered. And it is loooooow.

-3-

Can I just complain about nursing for a bit before moving on and trying to be upbeat? I hate my overactive let-down. Haaaate it. I hated it with Hannah and it's back with a vengeance for Paul. I'm grateful that I don't have any issues with low-supply, don't get me wrong. But it's so painful to watch your baby choke and gag and gasp for air multiple times during one feeding. And that's with me taking him off every-single-time my milk lets down. Which happens over and over and over again. And then there's the spewing and the squirting and the soaking of all the clothes no matter how hard I try to contain it. It was the same with Hannah and it never really got any better-she just eventually grew up enough to handle it. But that took months and months and months. So nursing in public is pretty much impossible. And even in the confines of my home, it is really difficult. Feel free to leave advice for getting my chest under control-but I'm pretty sure I tried absolutely everything last time around to no avail.

-4-

Although the week has been incredibly difficult, it hasn't been without its blessing. Like Hannah asking to "hold baby Paul", kissing him on the cheek, telling him to "be happy Paul" when he cries, and then lifting up her shirt in an attempt to "nurse" him.

-5-

Is it morally permissible to create an unlimited number of email accounts so that I can get everlasting free trials of Netflix?

I'm thinking....not.

Damn.

-6-

Speaking of damn, Hannah repeated her first bad word today! I've managed to shout things like "shoes!" instead of cussing when Paul latches on. But something happened this morning that caused me to shout this particular obscenity and I can't even remember what it was now. But it was bad. My fingers are crossed that she won't remember it.

But she'll probably remember it. That's just the way it works, right?

-7-

I'm so tired. He's so cute.

But I'm so tired.

Thanks Jen-for trying to help out this procrastinator! Even if it didn't work.

In a Cruel Twist of Fate

I now have insomnia.

That's what I get for complaining about being tired I guess. After laying in bed wide awake for an hour and breathing through seven or eight too many Braxton-Hicks, I decided to give up and seek solace in the internet. But not before trimming my toenails and making popcorn on the stove. Which are apparently the loudest possible things a person could do in the middle of the night because I woke my sweet husband up and he was not so happy about it. Sorry dear, I'm not used to this whole being-awake-while-you're-asleep thing. I normally fall asleep within about three minutes of my head hitting the pillow (not just while I'm pregnant either-it drives Ted crazy) so laying in bed for an hour was pure torture.

Lucky for anyone who enjoys reading this blog-it means you have a rambling post to waste about ten minutes reading. You're so welcome.

So here, in no particular order, are the thoughts in my head and the happenings in my life tonight:
*
In twenty short minutes I will be 36 weeks pregnant. That's pretty dang pregnant. Time is both flying by at warp speed and standing as still as a statue. It's strange to be soooo ready to meet this little baby and just dying to not be pregnant anymore...but at the same time hoping that s/he just stays in there forever because I-am-not-ready! And when the baby is born, then I won't feel these sweet kicks anymore. And that's a little bittersweet. Except when they're in my rib cage-then it'll just be sweet.
*
For all those wondering minds who care about effacement and dilation and that good stuff-here's the report from the doctor yesterday. Absolutely, positively, not-even-a-little-bit effaced. Baby's head is high high high in the pelvis. And I was dilated "maybe a pinky?" "Is that about a centimeter?" I asked, "Oh no," he chuckled, "That's barely a half." He ended the exam with, "Nothing is happening with this baby any time soon!" Then proceeded to measure my fundal height and tell me that-for the first time-I'm actually measuring slightly behind my due date! His interpretation is a small to average size baby.

So take that all those people who tell me that my baby is huge and there's no way I'm gonna make it to my due date. Which is every person I know.
*
I think Hannah is going to miss our regular OB appointments. She loves going to the "dah-tor" and gets so excited when I tell her we're going. She loves listening to the heartbeat and tells me "boo boo boo" when I ask her what it sounds like. She loves coloring on the paper that covers the exam bed. And she loves that she can get away with murder while I'm lying on my back and talking to the doctor about our birth plan. Open an entire bottle of hand sanitizer and rub it all over your body? Of course you can.

Her favorite part of the adventure is definitely watching me pee in a cup. She knows the routine. She grabs a cup from the little shelf and hands it to me with a label. After I write my name on the cup she closely and carefully watches me try to aim my stream of urine into this tiny cup while barely being able to reach around my giant belly. When I'm done she points to the cabinet that I'm supposed to put it in and then smiles at me as if to say, "Way to pee in that cup mom!"

We were in the office for a full two hours yesterday, so naturally I had to go to the bathroom again before we left. She tried to hand me the cup and label and again and was not too happy when I told her I didn't need it. So what does she do? Dips the cup into the (flushed-thankfully) toilet while my back is turned washing my hands. Clearly-she knows better than I do about what is supposed to go in that cup.
*
Hannah learned her first color today! Purple. A very fine color for her first if I say so myself.
*
She also saw me mop our kitchen floor for the first time ever and was quite impressed. What's not impressive is that this is a pretty good indicator of how many times I've mopped in the last two years. And before you go patting me on my back and telling me that I shouldn't work so hard when I'm pregnant-our kitchen is all of 4x5 feet. It literally took me less than two full minutes-start to finish-to mop the entire thing. But don't worry-I'll be sure to wait at least another eight weeks or so before mopping it again.
*
I should post more often about having crappy days. I got way more comments on that post than I do on a normal one. And I looove getting comments. Little treats throughout my days of talking to no one but Hannah.
*
We had our last meeting with our doula tonight. If you're pregnant-do you have a doula? You should. We are two of the cheapest people you will probably ever meet, but when it comes to hiring a doula-we find the money. Non negotiable.
*
Still not tired.....
*
We had a playdate at our house this morning with all my Hannah's friends. Four moms, six kids, and three more in bellies. It was chaos. It was loud. It was glorious. There's something so great about having playdates in someone's home. It much easier to actually talk to the other moms when you're sitting on the living room floor than it is when you're chasing your toddler across the playground and hoping they don't jump to their death before you can make it. And nothing beats sitting outside on my back-porch with a cup and coffee and some good conversation. We're trying to make these dates an every Friday morning thing-so refreshing to my soul.
*
I'm now officially 36 weeks pregnant.
*
I'm going to be really, really tired tomorrow.

The Beginning of Advent

I'm re-posting an oldie today to go along with the Little Holy Days Link-Up at Carrots for Michaelmas. I wrote this post on Christmas Eve, two years ago. We were 34 weeks pregnant with Hannah after dealing with two years of infertility. This Advent, we're again in our third trimester with a sweet miraculous child. And, as the last line of my reflection states, these last two years with Hannah (not quite two yet!!!!!) really have been an Advent, a preparation, for the little sibling that grows in my belly. If you take the time to read it, I hope it helps you prepare your heart for Christ's coming this Christmas in your own personal and unique way. And, if you are dealing with the pain of longing for a child, know that I'm praying for you in special way this Advent.

I realize that today is the last day of Advent, as we will celebrate Christmas at 5:00 pm Mass in just a few hours. Even so, I find myself reflecting on Advent's beginning. No, not November 28-just four short weeks ago-but Advent's real beginning-thousands of years ago.

Ted and I read a passage about Advent by Scott Hahn the other night and something dawned on both of us as we read it. I couldn't even tell you the line or phrase that jolted our thoughts, but we both had the same thought at the same time:

Advent didn't begin with the Annunciation. Mary's "yes" didn't put Advent into play. Advent marks the time from the beginning of history up until the moment Christ took His first breath. The entire world was in "Advent" for thousands of years as they awaited a Savior.

Yes, that may be strikingly obvious to some, but I had never really thought about that. I always thought of Advent as beginning when Jesus was miraculously conceived and ending at His birth in Bethlehem. But Advent is about waiting for our King and the waiting began long before Mary ever walked the earth.

It made us think about the events of history that brought us slowly out of Advent and into the time of redemption. The prophets of the Old Testament telling of the coming of the Messiah. Mary's immaculate birth and life spent preparing herself to be Christ's mother. Her visitation to Elizabeth and the leaping in the womb. The long, arduous walk to Bethlehem. And, of course, the silent and holy night that Mary gave birth to our Lord.

I've reflected often this Advent season on my own Advent, my own waiting period for my baby to be born. I've tried to prepare myself to be a worthy mother for this wonderful child. I've changed my eating habits, exercised more, taken my vitamins, and studied until I couldn't study anymore. In the same way, I've prepared my home for Christmas by decorating a tree, thawing out a turkey, and setting up our Nativity scene. But I've also been preparing my heart. Even if the baby blankets aren't washed and the crib isn't ready, it's my heart that really needs to be prepared for what's about to take place just six weeks from now. And so it is with Advent, it's much more important that my heart be in tune with Christ's than my tree be the prettiest on the block. It's much more important that my thoughts be directed towards thanksgiving for my Savior than my turkey coming out perfectly.

One more thought flowed out of my head when I first realized that Advent didn't really begin with Jesus' conception. My Advent, my time of waiting and preparing for my precious baby to be born didn't begin with her conception either. I've been waiting and preparing for this baby long before s/he was ever nestled in my womb. All the months of negative pregnancy tests, the surgeries, the medicine-these were all physical preparations, little Advents, bringing me closer to the birth of my baby.

But it goes back even further than that. If I really reflect on my life up to this point, I realize that my entire life has been a preparation for this little one. Whether conscious or subconscious, deliberate or passive, I have been waiting and preparing to mother this child for 25 years. Ted said that the studying we did in high school in order to get into college, the work we did in college in order to get a good job-all of this was preparation to be parents, whether we meant it to be or not. The years we spent dating, engaged, and married were strengthening the bond between us, preparing us for the difficult moments that surely lie ahead.

I remember the very first time I went to Ted's house the summer after we started dating. He was so excited to show me his collection of fishing rods that he had stored in his dad's garage. He had entered (and won-obviously) a local fishing contest for at least the last five years and the prize was always a fishing pole. He didn't need the poles for himself (he had plenty!) but he saved them and imagined giving them to his kids one day. He was just a kid himself and he was already thinking about his future children.

The time I spent playing sardines in my backyard with the neighbors. Summers spent taking bike trips to get Pepsi slushies and laffy taffy. Every childhood event and memory will serve to make me a better parent. Hopefully a parent that remembers what it was like to be a kid and encourages my own children to spend the entire day on their bikes and gives them change for Pepsi slushies, even though I know it's incredibly unhealthy.

My Advent is finally about to culminate with the birth of our first child. Hopefully, even the time spent raising this little one will be its own Advent for future siblings still to come.

Check out Haley's blog for more Advent posts!

My Heavy Heart

Oh so much to say. What really needs to be said? What should I just keep to myself? Who is even reading this blog anyway? Are all those family and friends who disagree with me gone-did they leave long ago?

I don't want to write about the horrible election results. But I don't want to not write about it and go on blogging as if nothing has happened. Something has happened. Even if that something is just a continuation of the crappiness we already had.

It's an understatement to say that my heart is heavy. My spirit crushed.  Not just because Obama was re-elected, but because people actually wanted it to happen. I'm sad that people actually voted for him. Put their stamp of approval on a man who is bringing such serious evil to our country. Even one vote for him is too many. This is the direction our nation is choosing-the Democratic platform of abortion, euthanasia, gay "marriage", perpetual welfare. How can my country desire these things? Where have all the Christians gone?

A friend on facebook (a liberal friend who I really get along with) posted on my facebook wall: Lets work together for the good. Take a positive approach and lets make progress. Don't give up.

And I know she meant well, but all I could think was, "Work together for the good??? How is that possible when we have completely different ideas of good?"

No, we cannot work together with people whose goals are completely different from ours. We cannot work together with those who desire a completely different nation. I see talk of "compromise" and "why can't we all just be purple instead of red and blue" and it's just such total crap. Compromise? What's the compromise between wanting abortion to safe, legal, celebrated, and paid for with my money and wanting abortion to be non-existent? How do we work together for the good when I value religious freedom and you value free birth control? There is no working together with those who do not truly desire good, but only what they perceive as good-which is clearly and absolutely evil.

So work together for energy independence, immigration reform, rebuilding our economy-yes of course.  But if you think those things are what this election was about you are sorely mistaken.

But I will listen to part of my friend's advice. I will not give up. Ever.

I fear for our country. I fear that Hannah will never grow up in the Christian nation that I knew as a child. I fear we will never go back to that country and our rights and freedoms will continue to be stripped away in the name of "tolerance" and "choice".

I fear that I'm inadequate to raise children who are capable of withstanding the assaults that are ahead. Can I truly raise martyrs? Am I even strong enough to be a martyr myself? Maybe not to death, but to jail? Or to joblessness? What will I be asked to sacrifice for my faith? And I'm sure some will read this and think I'm being melodramatic and that it can't possibly come to that. I hope you're right. But I believe you're wrong. It's already happening.

Yesterday was a very hard day. I fought back tears in the morning and let them go in the afternoon. I hugged Hannah and told her I loved her ten times more than usual. I was blessed to participate in a woman's night with our Families Following Christ group. We didn't have to skirt around the issue-we dived right in. We knew that not a single one of us voted for Obama and his agenda of lies. It wasn't  what was best for our families or for following Christ. And the wisdom of these beautiful woman helped me greatly.

As Catholics, we welcome the suffering. The persecution. The attacks that lie ahead. Saints will be made. Families will be divided. But God's will will be done.

My goal hasn't changed just because half of our nation chose death Tuesday. Half of "Catholics" chose death Tuesday. And half of my gender "voted with their lady parts" instead of their hearts and heads. My goal is still heaven. And Obama is probably doing me a real favor by making my path to heaven a little easier. Because everyone's path must involve suffering. And we're going to get our fair share.

Some have said that we can "turn it around" at the midterm elections. That we just need to "get through these next four years" and it will all be ok. But electing a Republican president in four years is not the answer. My hope does not, nor has it ever, lied in the Republican party. They are far, far greater than the Democrats that is for sure. But they will only slow down the train wreck that our country is headed for. My hope must lie in Jesus. I must conform my heart to His. And I have Obama to thank for renewing my conviction to my Church,  my God, and my love for this country. But also for my heavy, hurting heart.

My Toddler's House

I have greatly looked forward to the toddler years. I LOVED having a baby. Loved it. But I'm loving having a toddler even more. The wonder. The excitement. The amazing way her little brain works. It's the best.

And I love the daily, usually hourly, reminders that I have an energetic, fascinating little toddler roaming around my house.

The kleenexes wadded up in their box after being taken out and put back in a hundred times.

The clean silverware that I found in the hallway inside a bedroom trashcan after only stepping in the bathroom for a second to blow my nose.

Finding a golf ball tucked beneath my pillow when I pull down the sheets.

Little reminders that Hannah is here.

And yes, sometimes it's frustrating to miss a call because my phone was buried in a basket of plastic fruit.

Or put the cotton balls back in their dish for the millionth time in an hour.

Or clean up a spill because she crawled on the table and dumped my water out.

But mostly, these little glitches to my "perfectly" clean house make me smile.

They remind me that I'm a mommy.

That I have a toddler.

And that this is her house too.

Memorable Moments

On March 31, 2012 this was my facebook status:

Tonight, while rocking Hannah to sleep, she stopped nursing, stood up on my lap, gave me a big kiss with a loud "muaah!", then sat down and went back to nursing.

She is the greatest blessing I could ever imagine.

Several of the commenters said something along the lines of, "You really need to write that down and remember it!"


And I agreed-I didn't ever want to forget that sweet, sweet moment. So I decided to write it down, but didn't really have anywhere to write it. I'm horrible at keeping journals. Her First Year Calendar has passed its date. I know myself enough to know  thatI wouldn't keep up with any kind of cute scrapbook notebook of cute memories.


So I decided to write it down on here. And I plan to write other things that I don't ever want to forget. Simple things about this moment. Because I've learned in the last 14 months, that this moment changes in a moment.


Today, May 2, 2012, Hannah and I went to Mass. She was excellent except for her usual singing and jabbering and demanding that I take her over to see Mary AT ONCE in the middle of Mass. At the end of Mass Father said, "If anyone happens to know the song that Hannah is singing feel free to join in!" To which a few old ladies responded, "nah nah nah nah."  :)


After Mass we played on the playground outside of the church. She climbed up the stairs to the big kid slide all by herself (yes, I was right behind her) and was so excited to go down the tunnel with me. I got her on my lap and noticed there was a lizard sitting in the tunnel! I tried to turn around and take Hannah back down the stairs but she wouldn't have it. Who could blame her? She was so proud and just wanted to slide with me. I turned toward the slide and couldn't see the lizard anymore-which could only mean he was hiding around the bend.  I banged my feet hoping he would run away and told myself I would slide slowly so we wouldn't run into him. 


Slowly. Not so much. I couldn't catch myself and we raced down the slide. The lizard fell in our laps halfway down and I started screaming and flailing to try to get him off. Then we reached the bottom and my butt landed in the giant wet spot at the bottom of the slide. I was still screaming from the lizard. Then laughing from the water.


Hannah ran into the open field next to the slide and I was worried I had scared her. She turned around to  look back at me, pointed at the slide, and then broke out in the biggest belly laugh you've ever heard come from someone so tiny. She threw her head back and just chuckled and chuckled. 


Oh if only I could have gotten a picture of that laugh. It would have been the kind of picture that would have been displayed until the day I died. I would have never been able to take it down. But I knew I couldn't snap a picture fast enough-so I just watched her and enjoyed her and thought, "I have the best life in the world."

Update: Read the link provided by Elizabeth S. in the comment box about the dangers of toddlers sliding with adults. Who knew??

Daily Mass with a Toddler

First it was the hymnals. Pulling each of them out one by one and throwing them on the floor.

Then the squirming.

Then the jabbering. The loud jabbering. The jabbering that didn't quit when I walked to the back of church and tried to distract her. The jabbering whose volume seemed to be positively correlated with the importance of the Mass parts. The jabbering that just echos endlessly in a church when there are only 14 people in the entire congregation and they're all over 60.

Then it was my soaking wet feet from the entire bowl of holy water she managed to rip off the wall and throw onto the floor.

And just when I thought I couldn't take it any more.....

She pointed to her head and smiled when she heard the priest say "head" in the homily.

And she gasped when the priest elevated the host. All on her own. And smiled when I said, "That's Jesus."

And the cute way she bowed her head in embarrassment when she received her blessing that made it seem like she being reverent.

And the comments.

"My goodness she just sang like an angel today!"

"I needed to refill that holy water font anyway sweetie."

"May God bless you sweetheart," as the priest makes the sign of the cross over her head.

And the spontaneous kiss she blew Mary on our way out the door.

Sigh.

I guess we'll head back to Mass tomorrow and do it all over again!

Maternal Guilt

Instead of reading my quick takes today, you should immediately go to this article and laugh your butt off.

You're welcome.

Our Dream Home!

Welcome to our dream home. We've recently renovated our expansive 889 square foot apartment. I think you'll like what we've done with the place.

Come on in. Try to find room for your coat amidst the collection of tiny hats, jackets, and baby carriers.

Our living room features a deluxe entertainment center-handcrafted by somebody on an assembly line who sold it to somebody who sold it on Craig's list. We think the pink blanket and million tiny toys are a nice touch.

And in the kitchen we just installed a new island. It comes equipped with wheels and a cut out for your butt.

The liqueur cabinet is stocked with our favorite drinks-tequila and frozen breast milk. It also has plenty of space for important gadgets like a wine bottle opener and boob squeezing tubes.

The antique dining room table was a gift from my parents....who bought it when they got married 28 years ago. We didn't have to worry about scratching the chairs with this lovely plastic high chair, they're already ruined from years of misuse and booster seat scratches.

We made some changes to the vanity. We just love the beautiful teal of the plastic bumbo seat, don't you?

And we turned our one shower into two with the simple addition of this garage sale bargain.

Our guest bedroom serves as the the office, changing station, and storage room all in one! What could more functional?

And the overstuffed closet has plenty of space for trolling motors and teeny little dresses, all we have to do is strategically rearrange every single item every two months.

We added this beautiful glider in the only possible space we could fit it. Perfect.

And we opted to trade out our four post bed for a nice, secure bed rail. Just right for those sleepless nights.

And on the rare chance that all three of us decide to sleep, this beautiful pack-n-play works wonderfully in lieu in a real crib.

Yes, we really like what this space has become.

Our dream home.