tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-90448641462943082892024-03-06T03:44:33.972-05:00Just Outside the Loop...celebrating NOT having it all togetherLinushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17339454960906632924noreply@blogger.comBlogger175125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9044864146294308289.post-82218331941714544072013-05-12T02:04:00.000-04:002013-05-12T02:05:36.533-04:00Not Another Christmas LetterI am a competent mother...I am a competent mother...I am a competent mother.<br />
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If I repeat this enough times, my wish will come true.<br />
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The last eighteen months were rough. The never ending pregnancy. Three heartbroken endings. Finally, a perfect child to hold in my arms. And he was beautiful, sweet and perfect, I couldn't have asked for more.<br />
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But.<br />
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Enter a whopping case of postpartum depression. A husband who works a lot and travels a lot for work. Here is newly outnumbered me, not coping well, starting a lot of conversations with my husband with "I <i>know</i> this is hormones and completely unreasonable, but I need you to humor me..." He is really an amazing man.<br />
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By the time I was coming out of it, winter was setting in, bringing with it Gus's winter psychosis. I can truly appreciate just how bad his cabin fever is now that he's outside for 8+ hours a day and is a mostly happy, well-adjusted three year old who sleeps and eats and plays.<br />
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I told myself I would write Christmas letters once we had children and had something to talk about other than our boring grown-up lives. Yet at Christmas time, I was too ashamed at having spent most of the year in the dumps emotionally. My children are great! bright! beautiful! it's me who can't get a grip...<br />
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Then at some point, everything just clicked. I could handle it. I'm spending lots of quality time with the boys. They are friendly and well adjusted. My marriage is doing well. We've finally settled in and formed relationships with people up here. My house still is never clean for a week solid, but the laundry and dishes are caught up. I haven't forgotten an appointment in six months. I feel this qualifies me for super-mom status.<br />
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I even made cookies twice in the last couple weeks.<br />
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So, God, where's our next baby?<br />
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We dreamed of a large family, but here we are 29 and 30. Two kids. Teddy is 14 months. When can I have another baby? I'm doing a good job now!<br />
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Now obviously I know that I'm not going to prove to God that I deserve another baby by keeping my house clean. Here comes the part where we have to live what we believe. We said we would trust him to give us the children he wanted us to have. I'm realizing now that not only does that mean the number of children, but accepting that he might want them further apart than I do. Not rushing his timing for our family.<br />
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While I was busy wrapping my head (and heart) around that little nugget I realized that Teddy is a gift from the same God that is not giving me another baby right now. Maybe Teddy needs me more that I realize. Maybe he needs to be my 'baby' for a little while longer. Maybe Gus needs his mommy not wrung out from another difficult pregnancy. It's obvious that both of them are thriving with the attention they've been getting lately. Maybe those three miscarriages were because my body needed more space between pregnancies. Maybe God is protecting me from that heartache again.<br />
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I have had a very hard time letting go of the image I had of our family of lots of children one after the other. (Also, I never pictured blond-haired, blue-eyed babies.) It's been a very slow process learning to trust God in all things, not just children, everything. The children have just always been the thing about our family closest to my heart, and having the control issues that I do, the hardest to leave to someone else's plan.<br />
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Around Mother's Day (and, I suppose, the rest of the year) I always drive myself crazy with second guessing myself and hyper-analyzing everything I'm doing right or wrong with my children. This time I think I'll just say, "Thank you God, for my wonderful little family, for these little boys, for their love and their hugs, for their sturdy little bodies. Thank you for the relationship they have with each other and with us. Thank you for their health. Thank you for trusting us with their souls. Thank you for giving me such a fine father, provider, partner and friend as my spouse. Thank you for this new peace that I've found with my life just the way it is."Linushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17339454960906632924noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9044864146294308289.post-59127120605000680392012-11-03T00:42:00.000-04:002012-11-03T00:43:20.924-04:00Conversations About God: Part OneRocking with Gus: always a bewildering experience.<br />
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Gus: "There ghosts."<br />
Me: "There are? Where?"<br />
Gus: "Ober there. In the dark. They scary."<br />
Me: "Ghosts aren't scary." (absently, not really paying attention)<br />
Gus: "Ghosts scary. I scared."<br />
Me: (oh. hmmm) "You know what to do when you see a ghost?"<br />
Gus: "Uh-huh."<br />
Me: "You look it in the eye and say 'In Jesus name, go away!' Here you try it!"<br />
Gus: "JEEMUS DAY BYE!"<br />
Me: "Did it work?"<br />
Gus: "Yeah, ghost gone."<br />
Me: "Do you know why that works? Jesus's name is very powerful because Jesus is the Son of God. Whenever you need him, you can call him and he will be right there with you, even if mommy and daddy aren't. Jesus watches over you and takes care of you."<br />
Gus: "Jeemus jump?"<br />
Me: (huh?) "Does Jesus jump? I suppose he can."<br />
Gus: "Yep, Jeemus jump high! And slide!"<br />
Me: "I suppose he could slide if he wanted to."<br />
Gus: "Yep, he slide down the big, big slide! Jeemus like ice cream?"<br />
Me: "I would imagine that he does."<br />
Gus: "Mommy, I like ice cream."<br />
Me: "Me too baby, me too..."Linushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17339454960906632924noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9044864146294308289.post-43559681751434136442012-06-30T23:46:00.000-04:002012-06-30T23:46:52.148-04:00Love Means YellowWe have some fun conversations while we are rocking at bedtime. Sometimes, if I'm really lucky, I just get to listen to how his little mind works.<br />
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Me: Gus, I love you<br />
Gus: Momma, love you!<br />
Me: Do you know what the word love means?<br />
Gus: Yes! No!<br />
Me: It means that you care so much about someone else that you try to do as much as you can to make them happy.<br />
Gus: Yeah! Love! Yellow! Big bird, momma. See his head? (Big Bird was rocking with us) Oh! That's daddy! Daddy drink pop! Daddy cooking?<br />
Me: No, daddy's getting kitty his medicine.<br />
Gus: Daddy feed kitty now mommy, oh! there water! Daddy play in water! Feed kitty and play in water daddy, good daddy (I find it fascinating that the kid can narrate daddy's movements downstairs when he 'can't hear me' say his name in the same room). Hans nigh-night momma? All friends nigh-night? Trains nigh-night? Need eat? no...Speecee (Spencer) in mud momma, Hiro helper! Hey momma?<br />
Me: What baby?<br />
Gus: Love you momma. Night!<br />
Me: I love you too baby.<br />
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<br />Linushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17339454960906632924noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9044864146294308289.post-72783013087667232212012-06-29T01:44:00.000-04:002012-06-29T01:52:13.004-04:00Humiliated? Or Humbled?"They are so darling!"<br />
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Checkout ladies love my boys. </div>
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I HATE that by the time we reach the checkout, it's all I can do to grit my teeth and growl "Thank you," and listen to the cashier and patrons behind me in line coo to Teddy. "Oh you were an unhappy boy weren't you! I could hear you two aisles over! There, there now, dry those tears, aww, there's a smile! You're a happy baby aren't you!" And to Gus (as he adoringly strokes the top of Teddy's head and helpfully loads the conveyor belt): "What a good helper you are! Are you a good big brother? So handsome!" And to me: "Oh I remember these years. This is such a great age, cherish every minute, they grow so fast. You have some really great kids, you know."</div>
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Rewind a few aisles...Gus is throwing stuff out of the cart. I tell him no. He smashes chips or bread to let me know he disagrees with me. I tell him to stop and move yet another item to the overflowing bottom of the cart. Helpful patrons point out the stuff falling off the cart as I trundle down the aisles at warp speed. To express displeasure at being thwarted Gus reaches over the top of the baby seat and pokes Teddy's eyes (or hits him on the head, or pulls his arm, or something else guaranteed to provoke screams from the baby and wrath from mom). I give the whole if you want to ever want to eat ever again spiel...he may or may not get disciplined...usually I have to abort the shopping trip and leave immediately. When we get to the checkout, Gus is pretending he can behave for more than 12 minutes at a stretch if only I'll reconsider and not make us leave because he LOVES grocery shopping and it's SO MUCH FUN!! ("Store! Not bye-bye! Fun! Store! NO GO HOME!!! MY fun store! I be nice! Puh-LEEEEASE!")</div>
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And now, we get to go grocery shopping AGAIN in two days because I didn't get everything we needed.</div>
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That night, while rocking Gus for the second time because, "Need more rock, more hold, mommy PLEEEASE!" he begs to pray again. </div>
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"What do you want to tell Jesus?"</div>
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"Tell Jesus I sorry."</div>
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"What are you sorry for baby?"</div>
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"For poke Teddy's eyes and make him owwies."</div>
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Wow.</div>
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So this is me.</div>
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Cherishing every minute. Crying. Laughing. Rocking as many times as he wants it because he's rapidly outgrowing my lap. Leading him through repenting the first time. Repenting myself for not showing the same patience with him that God has shown to me time after time. Awed that our two-year-old desires to "Not make Jesus sad." Rejoicing over one less time-out a day. Thankful for the many, many opportunities to teach him how to behave in grocery stores.</div>
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They are pretty great kids you know...</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Whosoever therefore shall humble himself as this little child, the same is greatest in the kingdom of heaven. -<i>Matt 18.4</i></span></div>
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<br /></div>Linushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17339454960906632924noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9044864146294308289.post-89447309337576039832012-06-06T20:28:00.001-04:002012-06-06T21:12:21.007-04:00Come Join the Pity PartyIt's just one of those weeks. The kind you have to write about or you'll cry... One of those weeks that even though you manage to take a shower every night, you still smell like you haven't bathed in a week by 10.30 a.m. The kind of week where every time you put the baby down he screams like he's covered in fire ants. The kind of week where your kitchen floor smells like baby vomit and oranges. One of those weeks where your husband brings home his ear plugs from work.<br />
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What is this? Teething? Even medicated, he's completely miserable. And then I looked in his mouth and it's completely white. Thrush? That's not an emergency. So I'll wait till tomorrow to get him looked at. So 14 more hours of dealing with a squalling 12 lb. bundle solo. The other boy is covered in a "heat rash" (says the allergist) that gets worse every day. Heat rash? It's been anywhere from cold to downright beautiful here. Is that worth a doctor visit?<br />
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Where is this stuff in the parenting books?<br />
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My industrious two year old has taken advantage of my somewhat distracted state to teach himself advanced climbing, beginner lock-picking with a twist-tie and fastball pitching with oranges and tomatoes.<br />
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At least one of us is having a productive day.<br />
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I need a high five. Or an expresso. Or a massage.<br />
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<br />Linushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17339454960906632924noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9044864146294308289.post-80815482071393485812012-05-15T16:50:00.000-04:002012-05-15T16:56:38.050-04:00Just 'Happy Mother'<div>
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So much has happened this year, but these two pictures sum up the best of what has happened to me between last Mother's Day and this one:</div>
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My first-born brought me my first mangled dandelion. I've been trying to think of a clever title for it. "Mangled Love" or "The Thought That Counted" or "Sob, Sniffle, Choke." Or how about just what he said when he handed it to me... </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikk1VBsyVm_ORqvFsKXzEy2veZSLZ5wsVlOR9gFv3tZ7MRfH-TU-t3QRQUWVI06_Ejo2dcjt6k6v1FvzbzDeaAY9487gdnoiHER3AD3jNptJ0IXsJfWVk5OjYMvkeKbVNy_duZ7pPMNBI/s1600/First+Dandelion.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="310" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikk1VBsyVm_ORqvFsKXzEy2veZSLZ5wsVlOR9gFv3tZ7MRfH-TU-t3QRQUWVI06_Ejo2dcjt6k6v1FvzbzDeaAY9487gdnoiHER3AD3jNptJ0IXsJfWVk5OjYMvkeKbVNy_duZ7pPMNBI/s320/First+Dandelion.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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"Here Mommy, I Bing You Frower!"</div>
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What a smart, <i>calm, </i>fascinating child Gus is turning into! I love that he genuinely seems to delight in my company (most of the time). What a joy this little person is that God sent to me to teach and mold.</div>
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The second wonderful thing that happened to me this year:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgocFEpaKnmTaNpwuMe2r1J6FLSjplGIJ3tlwAIBLpa6mhkXH3gv8z-ehlhQCOVlgA7FfALksF8U49kWLRqgD-2sX-VgMVwxsavJqVa5OCG2yPMRWUJ4h87KN5zdnMZdYTCxtplSxjBWj0/s1600/5x7wide+mat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="233" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgocFEpaKnmTaNpwuMe2r1J6FLSjplGIJ3tlwAIBLpa6mhkXH3gv8z-ehlhQCOVlgA7FfALksF8U49kWLRqgD-2sX-VgMVwxsavJqVa5OCG2yPMRWUJ4h87KN5zdnMZdYTCxtplSxjBWj0/s320/5x7wide+mat.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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A long awaited child. Our answer to prayer. Our sweet, snuggly, charming, happy little boy. </div>
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My heart is full.</div>
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I am so blessed.<br />
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<br /></div>Linushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17339454960906632924noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9044864146294308289.post-10367361229344912922012-04-28T21:00:00.000-04:002012-04-28T22:44:51.903-04:00Outnumbered Party of OneDepending on the age of your kids, this post will make you laugh, cry or be very very glad your kids or grown. Or you will think that I am extremely disorganized which means that 1)You are correct 2)You are a better person than I am 3)I'm not having the type of week that I can be happy that you have it all together so I don't want to hear about it. 4)I'm still new at this being outnumbered thing and the only way I'm not losing it is by telling myself that it (and I) will get better in time (like when the last one leaves for college...)<br />
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Some mornings make me want to cry...or nap...or never EVER leave the house ever again.<br />
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Here is an example of what might happen on any given morning that we have to leave the house early in the morning (before say...10 am).<br />
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Probably somewhere around 530 or 600: Teddy wakes up and wants to nurse. He is too tired to do an effective job, so he keeps falling asleep, and waking back up outraged and 'starving.' By the time he is actually done eating, it's 30 minutes before I have to get up and I'm so stressed about getting every possible minute of sleep I can't fall asleep until 5 minutes before the alarm goes off.<br />
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Alarm goes off. For a more concrete example, we'll say 700. I get up trying very hard to not wake the baby sleeping on my arm. I get dressed very quickly, use the toilet and sink two floors down so I don't wake the kids before I get a chance to get coffee made. The flush of the toilet wakes Gus. C'MON! I hear his door slam. I race up two flights of stairs to head him off. Too late! He jumps into my bed with the baby. "Hi baby!! Mommy look! Baby is awake!!" He gives him a germ laden kiss and a pat on the head then runs downstairs yelling "EAT-EAT!" Now the baby is screaming, but if I don't follow Gus immediately, half my fridge will be on the kitchen floor by the time I calm the baby and Gus will have picked out breakfast, whether that's strawberries and yogurt, or pickles, or raw eggs (apparently, eggs are "ucky" when eaten raw with shells on...). Why don't we lock the fridge? Well, that would require remembering to do so before bed...and knowing where the lock is at any given time.<br />
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I get Gus settled with an appropriate breakfast, dress the baby, nurse the baby, clean Gus up and get him dressed shoes and all which will hopefully stay on. It's probably somewhere around 740 by the time all this is done. My coffee is cold and untouched. I have not eaten. I give Gus a coloring book or other task that were I not trying to go somewhere would keep him occupied for an hour and put the baby in the bouncer. I start packing a diaper bag. I'm interrupted about 6 times by requests for food, Gus messing with the baby, Gus messing with the cats, random tantrums, wanton stuff scattering just to make me crazy, or going to the bathroom to eat toothpaste or "warsh hands" (and face and hair and shirt and floor). I'm trying so hard not to plop him in front of the TV all the time, partially because he becomes a miniature zombie, but also because if we have to leave before he's done with his "show," it will be a screaming, physical wrestling match to get him in the car. I digress...<br />
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I lose my sense of humor about the delays and strap both kids into car seats so I can finish packing. It's probably 830 by now and I'm still hungry and caffeine deprived...and LATE!<br />
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I do a once through the house. Do a cat head count. Double check that I have spare clothes for both kids and plenty of diapers. Make sure I have Blanket and Paci and 'Warter' (that's water for those of you whose toddlers don't have southern accents). Grab a granola bar and a Pepsi for me. Turn the car on. Remember that I forgot to give the cat his medicine which reminds me that I forgot Teddy's medicine...and oh, yeah there's a load of laundry in the washer that will be mildewed if I don't switch it before I leave but there are clothes in the dryer, where's a laundry basket to put these in!<br />
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Run back in two or three more times to get so-and-so's casserole dish or that shirt they left over here the last time they were here or the paperwork for the doctor's visit.<br />
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Leave. Maybe make it out of the neighborhood or even to the toll road before I remember what else I forgot. Decide if it's worth going back for. Look in the rear view mirror. That's right, I was interrupted getting dressed. I forgot to comb my hair. AGAIN.<br />
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This last part usually has pieces that get missed. For example Thursday when I went to Michigan for the day (I was gone about 15 hours) I came home to find 5 trains in the toilet upstairs, the water in the downstairs sink running full blast, the cats completely out of food not that it would have mattered because one had been locked in the office and one was in the garage because SOMEONE opened the garage door into the laundry room. Once last week Gus went with no pants while his dried in the dryer because he soaked through his diaper and I didn't bring a spare. On a different day he went without a shirt while I hand washed it because an aunt spoiled him with chocolate...while teething...in a white shirt. (Chocolate is horrible to get out once it's set). Gus had to wear one of Teddy's diapers when I forgot to bring enough of his. If I forget the blanket or paci and we are going to be out of the house for naptime...oh man...<br />
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I feel that I am really at a disadvantage here because the same kids that make getting out the door so hard also stole pieces of my brain in utero. I pretty sure at my pre-children intelligence level I could have handled getting in a car and leaving even with two midgets in tow with a lot more efficiency (or more importantly, dignity).<br />
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I caught myself daydreaming on the drive to Michigan. In my fantasy world my morning looks like this.<br />
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My alarm goes off, I get dressed, grab my coffee and have a bowl of cereal that is NOT soggy from sitting for an hour while I'm constantly interrupted. I grab my keys, my phone and my purse (which has NOT unpacked itself while my back was turned and distributed it's contents to different parts of the house).<br />
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Then I LEAVE. Period.Linushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17339454960906632924noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9044864146294308289.post-81932831234331814662012-04-12T18:28:00.001-04:002012-04-12T18:30:57.558-04:00Move Over Brother<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We brought it on ourselves really...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Since before Teddy was born we have been promoting what an amazing helpful big brother Gus was. We may have to scale that back a bit...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"How nice of you to give brother gentle kisses."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Thank you for bringing mommy brother's diapers! What a good helper you are!"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Oh, that's so nice of you to give brother his paci when he's sad."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We were trying to avoid Gus getting jealous of the massive amounts of time and attention the baby would inevitably require, especially at first. We were completely successful. Other that getting mildly annoyed when Teddy nurses for more than 30 minutes ("Baby done eat-eat, no more milk, all done"), he seems to absolutely adore his little brother. Considering what a rough and tumble little boy he is, Rob and I are very relieved that he doesn't seem inclined to hurt him out of malice.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Gus tries very hard to help whenever Teddy cries. He would first find me and announce that "Teddy sad!" I would reply that I could hear that and thank him for telling me. Then he would offer me suggestions for fixing the situation. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Baby shooeys?" </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Baby need milk?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Baby need paci?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">...Until this week. Apparently proud of what a great big brother/helper he is, he decided to help even when Teddy wasn't crying. Rob and I are a little worried (read: terrified) that he is going to love Teddy to death (or a broken arm). "Brother need eat-eat!" Or at least that was the explanation I got for why he fed the baby a peanut. Every morning this week he has woken the baby up with the comment "Need brush hairs in morning! Make brother look nice!" And then there was the heart-stopping few seconds it took me to cross the room when the baby started crying on the couch and Gus tried to pick him up to hand to me...by his arm.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Yesterday I had laid the baby down for his nap in a little Moses basket sitting next to the couch. What this picture doesn't tell you is that the baby was sleeping just fine on his own. Gus climbed off the couch, shoved the baby to the edge of the basket, said "Move over brother," climbed in with him (waking the baby), put his arm around the baby, informed me that "I help brother sleep. Shhh...shhh...shhh...baby. Need go night-night"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://distilleryimage0.instagram.com/7145ae1e83fc11e181bd12313817987b_7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://distilleryimage0.instagram.com/7145ae1e83fc11e181bd12313817987b_7.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Oddly enough, the baby nuzzled up to him and went right back to sleep. What a good big brother he is!Linushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17339454960906632924noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9044864146294308289.post-28278753282511619562012-03-31T17:05:00.001-04:002012-03-31T17:05:45.254-04:00Mr. MomHow 'bout something different? <div><br />
</div><div>This week was horrible. Rob was out of town for a budget meeting in Missouri leaving me home alone with two sick kids all week. I've barely learned to juggle two kids when they are healthy. Two <i>sick</i> kids? No one can help because we are highly contagious? I'm sure it's not that big of a surprise that Rob came home to an exhausted wife who hadn't showered in three days and two screaming kids. Welcome home honey! Yes we all stink, yes we missed you, oh, and I'm pretty sure there's leftover meatloaf in the fridge-help yourself! What? I can't hear you...how was my week? Seriously?</div><div><br />
</div><div>Thursday night my phone disappeared. I found it Friday morning, checked my messages and discovered that we had dentist appointments that morning. We had already missed Rob's but I could make mine if I left immediately. Rob yelled "Just go, I got this!" I threw on clothes and left. I went to the dentist and then took the opportunity to go to the grocery store (I haven't been to the grocery store for more than milk and eggs since the baby was born). </div><div><br />
</div><div>I wasn't even gone two hours.</div><div><br />
</div><div>I walked in the door to two screaming kids and an exhausted husband draped in stinky burpy cloths. He expressed wonder at the amount of poop an eight pound baby could produce and seemed annoyed with Gus's new charming habit of only needing things when the baby needs attending to. After professing my sainthood and apologizing in advance for having to leave me part of next week he politely asked me to wipe the grin off my face or at least stop giggling where he could hear me.</div>Linushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17339454960906632924noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9044864146294308289.post-42878994612282867272012-03-30T20:24:00.000-04:002012-03-30T20:24:52.173-04:00Six OuncesA year ago today, we had the second of three miscarriages. It was harder than the other two because we were 16 weeks along, had shared the news with more people, were a week from the "big" ultrasound. We were out of the first trimester, miscarriage shouldn't have been a concern. Then there was no heartbeat and worse, the baby was big enough that a home delivery was more than I could handle emotionally. Going through labor to deliver a dead child with Rob three hours away, home alone with Gus...I was pretty sure I would have crawled so far into a bottle it would have taken a while to dislodge me. I wasn't willing to test my weak faith in God's tender mercies to that extent. Instead we had him in a hospital and Rob was able to be there with me.<br />
<br />
We named him Leo and he was perfect. So tiny. Six ounces. Ten fingers. Ten toes.<br />
<br />
God was so, so good to us. I have no idea how we made it through that and the next miscarriage without ever blaming God or asking why. Somehow it seemed so foolish to question the plans of the one who made everything. He worked in my heart all through my pregnancy with Teddy, taking away the fear, helping me to rejoice in the life growing in me. He is helping me sort through the emotions and guilt for loving Teddy whom I never could have had if Leo hadn't died.<br />
<br />
Today was a very bad day. Today it feels like I was punched in the throat. Today I can feel an empty place in my belly. But today, I also looked at our two children and I am so very thankful that I will get to hold them tonight as they fall asleep. Thank you Lord for letting me have these. I don't know why you needed them so badly, but take good care of my babies for me.<br />
<br />
Happy Birthday Leo. Your mommy and daddy miss you.Linushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17339454960906632924noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9044864146294308289.post-62442817084191770492011-09-26T15:43:00.000-04:002011-09-26T15:43:32.228-04:00Mothering a GiantMy son is huge. Physically, his so far past his age in development, motor skills, and overall physical achievements it sometimes a little gut wrenching. In some ways, this is nice. I almost never have to carry him anywhere, he helps himself to a good deal of food, he can climb to reach anything he wants. In other ways, it is very, very bad. He can climb to reach almost anything he wants and he outgrows his clothes every two months or so. Unfortunately (or fortunately) his mental abilities seem to have not kept pace with his physical development. While he may look like a three year old, he is very much a nineteen month old. He has no long term memory for what "makes ouchies," his vocabulary consists of "No!" "Mamamamama!" and "I need!" only deigning to use other words if he feels like being charming. Our wonderful child that preferred to be put to bed awake, now cannot be rocked to sleep. Having freed himself from the bondage of the crib, the hours of 9 P.M. to midnight now consist of returning him to bed over and over...and over and over and over. And of course, he has outgrown or outsmarted almost every childproofing measure we installed.<br />
<br />
We have been coping with all of this with a measure of not-so-quiet desperation and extreme exhaustion, until last weekend. It has become rapidly apparent that he will outgrow his car seat in a matter of months. The next size up car seat is the booster with the back...and no harness! I find it very hard to believe that we are the only parents out there with a huge toddler and there is no way it is safe for him not to be in a harness. I'm having nightmares of him undoing his seat belt and climbing around the car. Nightmares of me having to stop every three minutes to put him back in his seat. Nightmares of being pulled over for my kid jumping on the back seat of the car. "Yes officer, I know my kid is unbuckled, why don't you ask him to sit down and stay buckled?"<br />
<br />
We tried plopping him in every other brand of seat at several different stores in an effort to see if other brands ran a little bigger with no success. If "Go back to bed go back to bed go back to bed" takes three hours to be effective how can I hope that "Sit down and buckle up, sit down and buckle up, sitdownandbuckleup, SIT DOWN AND BUCKLE UP" is going to be any more successful?<br />
<br />
Maybe I'll ask the paramedics for a child backboard to strap him to and toss in the trunk.Linushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17339454960906632924noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9044864146294308289.post-19960068061149344382011-08-12T14:24:00.000-04:002011-08-12T14:24:48.577-04:00Budget SmudgetRob and I began working on our new budget this week. We figure we have lived here for three months now so we have a general idea of how much it's going to cost us to live here. I went to update my old budget spreadsheet and discovered that it doesn't exactly reflect our current lives. We have been off budget for about eight months now with preparing to move, moving, and settling in here.<br />
<br />
Our old budget made me want to laugh hysterically, cry, or shoot myself in the head. It had categories such as "entertainment" which included things like the symphony and movie theaters and fancy dinners. "Travel" which was trips to see family and drives under eight hours to friends. Needless to say, we don't drive anywhere more than an hour with Gus right now unless under threat of death and I'm pretty sure the last time I was at the symphony was while pregnant. We haven't gone to a movie since we took him, spent the whole movie in the hallway with Gus and the movie people took pity on us and gave us two free tickets, which we never got to use.<br />
<br />
What was missing was even funnier. No category for buying a new wardrobe every two months for a sprouting weed. No category for a toddler eating us out of house and home. No category for bulk packages of smarties to use as bribes. No reflection of the quadrupled volume of laundry soap we go through now. No budgeted area for toys. No budget for my ruined clothing or shoes that have chunks chewed out of them.<br />
<br />
Do they have boarding school for toddlers? Maybe that would be cheaper?Linushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17339454960906632924noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9044864146294308289.post-85378136693953664582011-07-30T19:41:00.014-04:002011-07-30T23:39:24.674-04:00One Year Pictures<div>Yes, I know they are <i>really</i> late (6 months or so). Thanks Becky for your help with these! </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxsx9bNcP7euRfUvuqdfqep9MQULXSPWHRE1ioPySrpCsdJEbQvSGpZk_MRdJq7tQLOT0W1yWRJx2bbeEGXN_gy671DPztY2FPSmkJRwEUXUVcrQYPyHmq9X7vk6MnX3t0gB7EXAYOsN4/s1600/Winter+2010-2011+190.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxsx9bNcP7euRfUvuqdfqep9MQULXSPWHRE1ioPySrpCsdJEbQvSGpZk_MRdJq7tQLOT0W1yWRJx2bbeEGXN_gy671DPztY2FPSmkJRwEUXUVcrQYPyHmq9X7vk6MnX3t0gB7EXAYOsN4/s320/Winter+2010-2011+190.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5635355156071944786" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvfGcqsRHCF7QKoY7jarFBVooHR0btDFZG7UItiAhqJe6LhfliuC-Pr1QGZyQ5ipK6_CPcgzvcBkHjXudp0EMJVu4_afxFjzMDQzVY3nlmMiog3CwEHIoYHSuz1VhECiyY021c6XMGTP0/s1600/Winter+2010-2011+296.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvfGcqsRHCF7QKoY7jarFBVooHR0btDFZG7UItiAhqJe6LhfliuC-Pr1QGZyQ5ipK6_CPcgzvcBkHjXudp0EMJVu4_afxFjzMDQzVY3nlmMiog3CwEHIoYHSuz1VhECiyY021c6XMGTP0/s320/Winter+2010-2011+296.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5635338823043536402" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKUX9VTUh1z3gQUp4MFFU0kb8BsjuqcZ4Un821ewP6ftVcF7y9UnEuN9LLka7AMpdoA2NsvlJxL8SVHwGfhm7XMJrTo_2yaBwEtP4HrrtolGWDGeKVTo8icYdPgNcBAVQ3eSFx8JxFF70/s1600/Winter+2010-2011+423.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 206px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKUX9VTUh1z3gQUp4MFFU0kb8BsjuqcZ4Un821ewP6ftVcF7y9UnEuN9LLka7AMpdoA2NsvlJxL8SVHwGfhm7XMJrTo_2yaBwEtP4HrrtolGWDGeKVTo8icYdPgNcBAVQ3eSFx8JxFF70/s320/Winter+2010-2011+423.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5635338344431260450" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihZxip8UkcUMUfoWVnb2EfIsj8GvpfpZF1ABx42uMnrwh0D2nc4p3r2yGQx_fQFfysz0OHlZz2XfB7cm8EzoLnsxdcyZ7x8WJlmw7kpZy7dDvogK1KXHpbFVePyzngPDY3xZqpOruO_hA/s1600/Winter+2010-2011+482.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihZxip8UkcUMUfoWVnb2EfIsj8GvpfpZF1ABx42uMnrwh0D2nc4p3r2yGQx_fQFfysz0OHlZz2XfB7cm8EzoLnsxdcyZ7x8WJlmw7kpZy7dDvogK1KXHpbFVePyzngPDY3xZqpOruO_hA/s320/Winter+2010-2011+482.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5635338133760754210" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifgytExxIehswh5Gi18eHzpt6zT65XgV_MzybnoRf9aV5IWEuam5wHKYujn1laKEjABzptHyWDElgTHjzFUhmcnoHnGxrbJxDkJtUkAxf6B0mJFL0nM73owTf8p75Syaz5Eb4Lvx73xP4/s1600/Winter+2010-2011+488.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 227px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifgytExxIehswh5Gi18eHzpt6zT65XgV_MzybnoRf9aV5IWEuam5wHKYujn1laKEjABzptHyWDElgTHjzFUhmcnoHnGxrbJxDkJtUkAxf6B0mJFL0nM73owTf8p75Syaz5Eb4Lvx73xP4/s320/Winter+2010-2011+488.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5635337526519661874" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgcf7dlIvnG1TMXvAm6Rnyd0m7tQbvv3p5mPODzP63HWH0EcZtu4KdEVbUZ8W6LJ2T_JuilrtzBsngrVa4NODCHgwzIEziJLuz5giY9d5rh0vd9OkuKupW0ZYoPgVA5X5E8Vwl_I1mHW8/s1600/Winter+2010-2011+499.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgcf7dlIvnG1TMXvAm6Rnyd0m7tQbvv3p5mPODzP63HWH0EcZtu4KdEVbUZ8W6LJ2T_JuilrtzBsngrVa4NODCHgwzIEziJLuz5giY9d5rh0vd9OkuKupW0ZYoPgVA5X5E8Vwl_I1mHW8/s320/Winter+2010-2011+499.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5635328068344670930" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><u><br /></u></span></div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8orRWCVR8AcBC-t5DQpt7x1ztmK3sHKto2dti12qcC28nxu7O_3A4XEQ6iDA3-YUDmjm04ltwT8S1HoWStqY6gIaTq7MrtQwc_VuBIrnOoIM2JtMnoUTPsGOlAlm2sRmqvH6GzCQnn7s/s1600/Winter+2010-2011+515.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8orRWCVR8AcBC-t5DQpt7x1ztmK3sHKto2dti12qcC28nxu7O_3A4XEQ6iDA3-YUDmjm04ltwT8S1HoWStqY6gIaTq7MrtQwc_VuBIrnOoIM2JtMnoUTPsGOlAlm2sRmqvH6GzCQnn7s/s320/Winter+2010-2011+515.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5635317203118329026" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAgK0rgh_CXdf57fyaOWwmTM0AYh466K4E0ZHSN083oyW8EpIU28mcFh4fNwdmCQX2KVP1GxHy4r1AM92_cPb7p5muTW5tIGCld9cYVsZxaRBSyuVOyMtR2Ed5JlUEC0oCfcfTvhiwbTo/s1600/Winter+2010-2011+521.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAgK0rgh_CXdf57fyaOWwmTM0AYh466K4E0ZHSN083oyW8EpIU28mcFh4fNwdmCQX2KVP1GxHy4r1AM92_cPb7p5muTW5tIGCld9cYVsZxaRBSyuVOyMtR2Ed5JlUEC0oCfcfTvhiwbTo/s320/Winter+2010-2011+521.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5635314609010589618" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyAzdopi_rWCYoSSuTl1-IMPVQDY6TaAiZntw9NRRyOygu8dUEP5C4swZTHFYPqExAjEuHzrk2K2rVCOD9JzsWVdEL_FmDXojW0dV-gxoMRs0SXIyIcPcWmGOm8cuLpDh0c97SdAID7UM/s1600/Winter+2010-2011+522.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyAzdopi_rWCYoSSuTl1-IMPVQDY6TaAiZntw9NRRyOygu8dUEP5C4swZTHFYPqExAjEuHzrk2K2rVCOD9JzsWVdEL_FmDXojW0dV-gxoMRs0SXIyIcPcWmGOm8cuLpDh0c97SdAID7UM/s320/Winter+2010-2011+522.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5635314210286784482" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKsV6-H-tjmxIoiJbYaPMsIhytgdceiQwoT-E5gy7p5dO3PNM5Wr8FLmr-d8NyKcBLmmYn9Dgmr48uZ2XyJIahppULLFFvpYJMz8RdAKK0YJpALtZvkM6faFnW_nr6TmQ65orem2vlByo/s1600/Winter+2010-2011+538.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 260px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKsV6-H-tjmxIoiJbYaPMsIhytgdceiQwoT-E5gy7p5dO3PNM5Wr8FLmr-d8NyKcBLmmYn9Dgmr48uZ2XyJIahppULLFFvpYJMz8RdAKK0YJpALtZvkM6faFnW_nr6TmQ65orem2vlByo/s320/Winter+2010-2011+538.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5635313483263201154" /></a>Linushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17339454960906632924noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9044864146294308289.post-2369714701911375462011-07-29T22:30:00.005-04:002011-07-29T23:40:52.938-04:00ComforterSo many of the people I know that I was pregnant with are starting to welcome their babies. Still others are nearing their final month of uncomfortableness, waiting restlessly to join the ranks of the sleepless and exhausted yet again. <div><br /></div><div>Me? I'm not sure where I'm at. I was warned that approaching the due date, the sharpness of my grief would reemerge and it has. Choking, aching grief. Deep sorrow at never being able to hold my baby, hear him laugh. A brother for Gus that he doesn't even know to miss. Another son for a proud papa. Another piece of our hearts walking around in a scary, dangerous world. Instead, he sleeps in a tiny heart shaped box. Forever safe, forever pure. Leo, we will miss you forever.</div><div><br /></div><div>Through everything though, God has had his hand on our lives. He led us and comforted us through the initial shock and disbelief. To the doctor's surprise we were able to tell he was a boy so we could name him. He healed the raw edge of my grief. He took away my crippling fear over this new pregnancy so that I could rejoice in the new life growing in me. I may not be innocent anymore, but I am joyful over this new life.</div><div><br /></div><div>What I am the most thankful for though, as September 13 approaches, is that there I am already, at nine weeks, visibly pregnant. I'm not sure how how difficult that day would have been without tangible hope for the future. I know that faith is the evidence of things not seen, but sometimes I think God knows that a visual goes a long, long way towards settling our fears. I know it isn't past yet but God is preparing me for that.</div><div><br /></div><div>And then today, when I was laying there being thankful that I could see evidence of the baby, I felt the baby move. Unmistakably. I know it's <i>really</i> early for that, but I did not imagine it and it was exactly what I needed this week to help me through the renewed grief over a child that died while I carried him.</div><div><br /></div><div>Even though Leo's death was God's plan for us, he did not lead us to it alone. He has been with us, comforting us every time grief threatens to overwhelm.</div><div><br /></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: small; ">Faithful friend and father</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium; "><table width="100%" border="0"></table></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: small; ">I've called you through the years.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium; "><table width="100%" border="0"></table></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: small; ">You've been great physician when sickness lingered near.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium; "><table width="100%" border="0"></table></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: small; ">Through distressing moments your name is new and sweet</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium; "><table width="100%" border="0"></table></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: small; ">You've become comforter to me.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium; "><table width="100%" border="0"></table></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: small; "><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: small; "><br /></span></i></div>You are comforter that's who you are to me.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium; "><table width="100%" border="0"></table></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: small; ">Comforter a name that fits so perfectly.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium; "><table width="100%" border="0"></table></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: small; ">Peace that passes all understanding</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium; "><table width="100%" border="0"></table></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: small; ">Comforter is who you are to me.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium; "><table width="100%" border="0"></table></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: small; "><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: small; "><br /></span></i></div>To the grieving family who weeps for loved ones gone.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium; "><table width="100%" border="0"></table></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: small; ">The pain of separation consumes another home.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium; "><table width="100%" border="0"></table></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: small; ">On the waves of sorrow</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium; "><table width="100%" border="0"></table></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: small; ">You walk with perfect ease<br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: small; ">Comforter is who the whole world needs.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium; "><table width="100%" border="0"></table></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: small; "><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: small; "><br /></span></i></div>You are comforter that's who you are to me.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium; "><table width="100%" border="0"></table></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: small; ">Comforter a name that fits so perfectly.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium; "><table width="100%" border="0"></table></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: small; ">Peace that passes all understanding</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium; "><table width="100%" border="0"></table></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: small; ">Comforter is who you are to me</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium; "><table width="100%" border="0"><tbody><tr><td valign="top"> -<i><span class="Apple-style-span">CeCe Winans</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table></span></i></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div>Linushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17339454960906632924noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9044864146294308289.post-47434374084625821302011-07-27T21:55:00.005-04:002011-07-27T22:36:48.791-04:00I Went to School for This?Gus is sick...again. Some sort of generic intestinal distress. Practically this translates into about ten <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">poopy</span> diapers a day and a moderately disgruntled toddler. We've been quarantined...again. Nothing to do in the house but read, and read, and read, and read. Oh! and watch a million episodes of Thomas the Train. I think that the new baby should be one right now so he has another playmate (besides me). On the upside, he is very <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">snuggly</span>. On the downside, he is constantly getting his tears, slobber, milk and other less fun things all over me several times a day. He stinks, I stink. We are both in tears about half the day, him because he's miserable, me because I'm tired, oh...and pregnant and now apparently cry for NO GOOD REASON! I forgot about that part.<div><br /></div><div>Today's schedule: 2 renditions of "How to catch an elephant" 3 readings of "I love you stinky face" One reading of "The lorax" "Sneetches" and "Bulldozers" a couple chapters of "Prince Caspian" and about a dozen times through "Freight Trains." Try to force a toddler to like toast. Change a million diapers. Change both of our clothes three times. Try to convince Gus not to chuck his blocks at my head. Give up on trying to keep him from throwing toys and decide to watch Backyardigans and Thomas the Train till bedtime. </div><div><br /></div><div>Weeks like this make me feel that my education is being wasted. </div><div><br /></div><div>I just keep reminding myself...this is a noble calling, right? RIGHT?!?!?!</div>Linushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17339454960906632924noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9044864146294308289.post-1303782007188197142011-07-21T00:13:00.001-04:002011-07-21T00:15:14.197-04:00Da Da Da DAH!Rob and I are pleased to announce we will be welcoming a new baby in late February, early March.Linushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17339454960906632924noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9044864146294308289.post-62081385653936708232011-07-15T15:40:00.005-04:002011-07-16T13:57:19.217-04:00BrokenYesterday was one of THOSE days. You know, the days where if a miniature person touches you one more time you are going to burst into tears. Gus was clingy, and whiny, and tugging on me, and wanting held, and wanting down, and clumsy then crying every time he fell down. <div><br /></div><div>He's teething. I get it. He's miserable. Three canines making their grand entrance in unison. Apparently the show is more impressive in slow motion. This act has been building for weeks and yesterday, the crescendo peaked and broke. Well...two of them did anyway.</div><div><br /></div><div>I went to the garage to get him a Popsicle from the Popsicle shelf (yes we have an entire shelf for Popsicles) of the freezer in the garage. He followed me out there (because there isn't a way to lock the garage door behind me). My pantry is stashed in numerous places till I get off my exhausted bum and finish the shelving in the laundry room so Gus went through the stash in the garage while I searched for frozen delights. I turned around and saw him pick up a bottle of soy sauce. </div><div><br /></div><div>"Hand that to me."</div><div>"No!" </div><div>"Give it to mommy, now!"</div><div>"No!" and he turned and threw it at the garage door. It, of course, shattered on impact.</div><div>Popsicle forgotten, I yelled "Don't move!" I felt myself morph into my father, screaming at the kid not to move. I didn't understand how he though a teenager was stupid enough to run through broken glass. I get it now Dad...instinct. </div><div>"No!" Gus runs right into the middle of the mess.</div><div><br /></div><div>My garage and child smell like Chinese takeout. Gus is screaming while I'm picking shards of glass out of his bare feet. I'm crying, shaking and a little overwhelmed. I give him a bath, stash him in the crib while I clean up the soy sauce (and a melted Popsicle).</div><div><br /></div><div>Once freed he resumes his drive mommy crazy agenda. Whiny, crying, touching me, touching me, touching me... He refuses to eat anything, is pulling everything off the counters and shelves and emptying laundry baskets, holding down the water dispenser on the fridge. His diaper rash is only marginally better and every diaper change involves me pinning him down by a leg across his chest and dangling him from his ankles while he shape shifts into one of the torments of hell. Spinning on his head and everything...</div><div><br /></div><div>He's been awake for two hours and I'm over it. In the interests of consistent discipline, he has been corrected...a lot.... By eleven A.M. he is in trouble at least every five minutes. I'm furious, shaking in rage, he's angry, hurting and acting out. We are testing each other's wills. I get the brilliant idea that we should go for a walk or something, get out the house, change of scenery and all that.</div><div><br /></div><div>I go upstairs to change my clothes (again) and hear shattering glass. And screaming...</div><div><br /></div><div>I run downstairs and see that he had been banging together little glass ramekins and one had shattered. He has glass in his feet (again) and about twenty pieces embedded in his forearms. We sit in a chair and pick all the glass out of his arms and feet. I strap him into his high chair while I sweep and vacuum. He screams and attempts to shake the booster seat off the dining room chair. In his rage he grabs a bag of potato chips sitting on the kitchen table and pounds it with his fists reducing the contents to crumbs.</div><div><br /></div><div>I. Have. Had. It. </div><div><br /></div><div>We do NOT smash potato chips in this house! </div><div><br /></div><div>I lost my mind. I stood rooted to the spot, clenching the broom. I wanted to <s>chloroform him, put him in a ventilated box and ship him to his dad in Alabama</s>, <s>throw him against a wall</s>, cry. So cry I did. I left him in his chair, sat on the stairs and cried. How did I get here? How could a one year old have enough power that he could completely break me? I was supposed to be a great mom. I have been so patient, kind and firm with discipline up till now. And now? afraid to touch my kid because I don't think I can do it in love. Angry with my husband for having the nerve to have a job. Terrified. What if he gets deployed? This is us after one month of Rob being gone, how could I ever think I could do a year?</div><div><br /></div><div>I called my cousin and told her I was coming over. I needed help. On the hour drive there, I prayed. Gus and I held hands, he sang to me and I prayed for me, for him. I apologized for being angry and losing my temper. I apologized for not being patient and yelling. I explained that his behavior had been bad and that it wasn't appropriate destroy things when you didn't feel good. I promised to do better as his mom, not a perfect mom, but a good one. </div><div><br /></div><div>He just smiled at me, blew me a kiss, patted my hand and made train noises until he fell asleep.</div><div><br /></div><div>I think I'm forgiven.</div>Linushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17339454960906632924noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9044864146294308289.post-10382374817111483002011-07-14T00:00:00.006-04:002011-07-14T00:09:46.455-04:00Man that fish was "This Big!"I took Gus to the botanical gardens today in an effort to get some cute pictures. That was a complete failure. He did, however, really enjoy running around...and throwing his shoe at the fish...and attempting to jump in the pond himself.<div><br /></div><div>Luckily the shoe landed on a ledge out over the pond, but out of reach over a rickety railing. As I was trying to figure out how to retrieve it, a really nice giant wandered up, took off his shoe and sock and retrieved it with his toes. Gus (and mommy) were very impressed. </div><div><br /></div><div>After that fun episode, we wandered to the other side of the pond where Gus dropped to his belly, shimmied under the railing and had his head and arms into the pond before I managed to catch his feet. There I was, holding a squirming, dripping toddler by the ankle and briefly debating if I should hand off my camera to one of the other people there and ask them to take a picture of me and my 'catch.' He sure is longer than any fish I've ever caught! </div>Linushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17339454960906632924noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9044864146294308289.post-61092281974748187392011-07-13T16:30:00.002-04:002011-07-13T16:35:59.831-04:00Look!Gus has a new word--<div><br /></div><div>Look!</div><div><br /></div><div>Most of the three hours back from Indy (in addition to most of the last two days) he tugs my hand points at something "Look!" Then I give whatever it is its name and he finds something else for me to name. I feel like Adam in the Bible.</div><div><br /></div><div>Mama! Look!</div><div>That's a tree...</div><div>Look!</div><div>That's a truck...</div><div>Look!</div><div>That's the carpet...</div><div>Look! </div><div>That's mommy's toe...</div><div>Look!</div><div>That's grass...</div><div><br /></div><div>It's a feeling of great power, being the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">namer</span> of things. The up-to-no-good part of me wants to tell him something incorrect and laugh while Rob tries to figure out why Gus calls shoes flamingos.</div>Linushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17339454960906632924noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9044864146294308289.post-24315596953076505512011-07-13T15:45:00.005-04:002011-07-13T16:21:47.191-04:00The Land of Frozen BountyAs much as I wish it were not so, I do not cook when Rob is away. Not even for Gus. Until he can demonstrate that my cooking can be consumed with as much gusto as <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Desitin</span> or toilet paper, the hassle of attempting to grocery shop and later cook with him underfoot is just not worth it. <div><br /></div><div>After three days in a row of PB&J for dinner I bit the bullet and went to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Walmart</span> yesterday to stock up on staples for bachelor cooking Sarah-style. First, I stopped at the gas station to buy a 16 oz bribe for good behavior. Gus was so proud going through <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Walmart</span> with his blue <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">slurpee</span>. He held it up to show most of the people we passed with a loud declaration of "<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">UMMM</span>!" I was incredibly pleased with how easy his cooperation was to purchase until three blowout diapers later. Apparently blue <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">slurpee</span> doesn't love Gus as much as Gus loves blue <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">slurpee</span>. </div><div><br /></div><div>Anyway, back to the food. My bachelor cooking stock up looks something like this:</div><div><br /></div><div>Popsicles</div><div>Frozen <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">chinese</span> stir fry dinners</div><div>Frozen veggies for easy sides</div><div>Boxed pasta sides</div><div>All the fixings for eggs Benedict (because they are amazing!)</div><div>Frozen waffles</div><div>Fresh fruit for waffles, smoothies and snacking</div><div>Jimmy Deans breakfast bowls</div><div>Breakfast sausages</div><div>Smoked salmon for salmon Dijon butter on Italian bread (yum!)</div><div>Frozen pizza</div><div>Fish sticks</div><div>Frozen lasagna</div><div>Salami</div><div>Cheese</div><div>Pickles</div><div>Frozen chicken fettuccine</div><div>Fresh veggies for <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">quesadillas</span> </div><div><br /></div><div>Add to this my holiday weekend stock up of meats (ribs, pork chops, chicken, hamburger, hot dogs, brats) and little man and I are set till Rob gets home. I plan on not going to the grocery store for anything other than milk for the next month. </div><div><br /></div><div>Ah, elective laziness!</div>Linushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17339454960906632924noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9044864146294308289.post-86802389249004880442011-07-12T01:19:00.003-04:002011-07-12T01:27:22.220-04:00Sarah Vs. the Black Thumb (part whatever the second)After returning from Indy I wandered to my back yard to water my plants that had been neglected for four days. Apparently there was a really windy day at some point because the umbrella from our patio set had been whipped from its stand and the main post wrenched in two. Seriously...the metal just sheared off...I'm amazed. <div><br /></div><div>Anyway, it landed on my garden. My heart stopped when I saw it. Rob has sincere doubts as to my ability to successfully grow a functional garden and I saw another year's efforts flash before my eyes. I peeked under the umbrella and dropped it in stunned amazement. Apparently it acted like a greenhouse. My tomato plants that I purchased at a farmers market three weeks ago at less than six inches tall are over four feet tall. Of course they weren't that big when I left so they are a sprawling undisciplined mess right now. And I have no idea where Rob stashed the tomato stakes and cages post move. Actually I'm not sure I have tomato stakes taller than four feet as it has been years since I had a plant get that tall. </div><div><br /></div><div>So instead of trashing the umbrella or letting Rob fix it, I may mount it on a pole and plant it in the middle of my garden.</div>Linushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17339454960906632924noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9044864146294308289.post-31690714491100245782011-06-26T17:45:00.004-04:002011-06-26T22:26:20.383-04:00Sarah Vs. the Black Thumb (part whatever)My vegetable garden is in! HA! Stop laughing, it's only the end of June and in my family that's actually not half bad!<div><br /></div><div>I am so not going to have vegetables before three feet of snow blows in off the lake in early October...</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm telling myself this is so I can learn how to make seeds sprout (and I have the whole summer to try over and over again until I get it right. By next year, I might know what I'm doing.</div><div><br /></div><div>That sounds plausible right?</div>Linushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17339454960906632924noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9044864146294308289.post-25528540414515277062011-06-26T01:00:00.004-04:002011-06-26T01:15:15.416-04:00Baby-proof? Ha!"Never underestimate the problem solving abilities of those who really do have all day." -Andy Kerr<div><br /></div><div><u><span class="Apple-style-span" >A checklist:</span></u></div><div><br /></div><div>Baby gates-scaled</div><div>Lever style doorknob locks-conquered</div><div>Stove knob covers-mastered</div><div>Oven lock-Mom, this one only kept me out for a day, you're really going to have to try harder than this!</div><div>Adhesive strap type cupboard lock-ripped off (<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">C'mon</span>, I figured this out before I was ten months old!)</div><div>Interior mounted latch type cupboard lock-no problem, get a stick and scoot the chemicals to the opening, reach in and pull them out</div><div>Stuff relocated to higher ground-this only works if you bolt the chairs to the floor and take away anything I could stack and climb</div><div><br /></div><div><u><span class="Apple-style-span" >To Do:</span></u></div><div><br /></div><div>Lazy <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">susan</span> lock</div><div>Doors and cupboards locked with keys </div><div><br /></div><div><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Ahh</span>! So far it's been a very productive month!</div><div><br /></div><div>--Gus</div>Linushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17339454960906632924noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9044864146294308289.post-13685771903455164132011-06-18T15:04:00.003-04:002011-06-18T15:22:45.032-04:00What Goes In...Today is diaper laundry day. Ah, the joy of discovery, consternation and straight up "What in the world?" <div><br /></div><div>Let me back up...</div><div><br /></div><div>Three weeks ago, I messed up and bought <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">waaay</span> too many hot dog buns. No problem, we'll have hot dogs for three or four nights right? Problem was I didn't have them all stashed in the same place so we would be to the last bun or two (and fantasizing about cereal, salad, macaroni and cheese--basically anything but hot dogs) and another sweep of the kitchen would reveal two more packages. If I had known that I had seven packages of buns I would have reversed my position on frozen bread and thrown those suckers in the freezer. To my credit, I did have Gus eat a slightly more balanced diet than Rob and I, even though I'm certain Gus was the one person in the family who didn't mind the "All hot dogs, all the time" state of existence regardless of what they do to his diapers.</div><div><br /></div><div>So after two weeks of hot dogs for lunch and dinner...we go camping! <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Yay</span>! More hot dogs! and marshmallows, and greasy burgers, and massive amounts of fruit and sand and rocks and coins and sidewalk chalk. This kid's digestive system is getting run through its paces. Lucky for me, I had opted for disposable diapers for the trip. If I were smart, I would have used them for the week after we got back while his system was still trying to sift through all that sludge.</div><div><br /></div><div>This week's diapers have been <i style="font-weight: bold; ">by far</i> the raunchiest diapers I have ever seen in my life. If I were pregnant right now, I would have thrown them all away and ordered new ones rather than having to look at a single one for a second time. </div><div><br /></div><div>As if that weren't enough fun...we have had to sift and squish through every <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">poopy</span> diaper this week looking for the coin he swallowed (which I finally found today).</div><div><br /></div><div>Incidentally...we start potty training <i><u>tomorrow</u>!</i></div>Linushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17339454960906632924noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9044864146294308289.post-2437798031617098472011-06-07T18:36:00.006-04:002011-06-07T19:18:42.690-04:00Grasping at Sanity<div>See that crazy lady with two carts? The one who is wearing a blissful smile like she's on a beach somewhere in her head? Don't judge me. Before today, in the last month I had been out of the house for a total of five hours...count 'em...FIVE hours without my child. Do you know what that sort of closeness does to a person?</div><div><br /></div>My pastor's wife took Gus for me today for about five hours...so I could go to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Walmart</span>. I was supposed to go other places. I spent the entire time there. Having recently transplanted from a city with a reasonable cost of living and multiple grocery shopping options I was able to snub the blue and white wonder with all the ferociousness I possess. Now, we live in a place where we can't afford the milk. Seriously. Since I refuse to pay $4.00/gallon for the cheapest milk on the shelf, I now drive twenty minutes to grocery shop and I have a diminutive man on my hands that won't let me make more than one stop (no shopping the circulars or <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">couponing</span> for me for a bit!), I have been forced to choose between abandoning our savings plan or sucking it up and shopping at <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Walmart</span>. <div><br /></div><div>I was shopping for a 20 person camping trip this weekend so I guessed correctly and grabbed two carts at the beginning. Before hitting the grocery section I grabbed a gallon of bubbles and a pack of disposable diapers, immediately announcing to everyone that I was a mother. Probably every fourth person I passed had some sort of comment, either directly to me or whispered to the person with them.</div><div><br /></div><div>"I wonder how many kids she has?"</div><div><br /></div><div>"Boy you sure have your hands full, don't you?"<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>"Now there's a woman on a mission!"</div><div><br /></div><div>"It's difficult for you to maneuver, let me get out of <i>your</i> way."</div><div><br /></div><div>"Mommy! Mommy! That lady has two carts! Mommy! That lady has two carts! She has two carts! Look at how many carts she has mommy! Look! Mommy! She's getting lots of stuff mommy! Why does she need two carts mommy! Mommy! Look at that lady!"</div><div><br /></div><div>"Did you hire a baby sitter or guilt your husband into staying home with them?"<br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Ahh</span>, nothing like making yourself a spectacle. It was almost as bad as the time I bought twenty 100 oz. bottles of Tide at once, also at a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Walmart</span> if I remember correctly... Twenty bottles of Tide and a pack of Gum. $51.00 for three years worth of laundry detergent and a week of minty fresh breath. Totally worth the staring and whispering that followed me through the store.</div><div><br /></div><div>I had so much fun I've almost forgiven <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Walmart</span> for being, well, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Walmart</span>. Go ahead and stare people of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Walmart</span>, you may think I'm nuts but this is the most sane I've felt in three months!</div>Linushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17339454960906632924noreply@blogger.com2