Life in the Land of Burps and Farts

Because We All Know If I Try to Write This On An Actual FRIDAY It Will Take Three More Weeks To Post.

2011-03-08T16:00:00.000-08:00

That said, let's have a little bit of Tuesday Quick Takes, shall we?

ITEM ONE:

Lent starts tomorrow. Hmm. Let's talk about that tomorrow.

ITEM TWO:

I have been promising this recipe to people left and right, but never actually giving it to them. So, FINALLY, here it is: Italian Sausage Soup. (Oh Yes. It Is Delicious.)

2 cans chicken broth (low sodium)
2 cans stewed or diced tomatoes
1 yellow onion
2-3 zucchinis
1 lb Italian sausage (spicier the better) sauteed (buy the uncooked kind, remove the skin & Saute in a little olive oil)
Few cloves of garlic
Some basil or Italian seasoning
1ish cup pasta or barley

1. Brown your meat, drain fat
2. Saute all the veggies & spices
3. Throw all in pot & let simmer at least 1 hr
4. Add pasta last 20mins or so

I just made another pot tonight and I LOVE THIS SOUP. it's definitely better with some kick, though. I've found that using a mild sausage makes it just kind of meh.

ITEM THREE:

Have you ever heard of Our Lady, Undoer of Knots? Me either. Well, not until recently, that is. You should check her out. I have been appealing to her in prayer over the last couple of weeks for some "stuff" that has been weighing me down, and you know what? She is a powerful pray-er, that Mother of God. Go read about her. Ask her to pray for you. No one is closer to the Son than his Mother.

ITEM FOUR:

Speaking of things "weighing me down," (or not, in this case) Biggest Blogging Loser is racing toward its final weeks. I think we only have three to go. Thus, the Month Two Update: (Month One Update here.)

Jan 3, 2011 Feb 3, 2011 (-17.2lbs) Mar 3, 2011 (-28.2lbs)

ITEM FIVE:

I have been a little, shall we say, irked lately with some of these social networking sites. No. Excuse me. It's not the websites that I have a problem with. It's the people who use them. Facebook. Twitter. Comment boards. Let's just say this: just because you have a forum wherein you can say ANYTHING publicly does not mean that you SHOULD. Some conversations are meant to be private! Remember that "All I Need To Know I Learned In Kindergarten" poster? It's one of those kinds of things. You would think that being kind and courteous and sensitive to the feelings of others is common sense, and yet the fact remains, common sense just isn't so common anymore.

"If your brother sins against you, go and show him his fault, just between the two of you..." (Mt 18:15)

ITEM SIX:

The other day, when I went to pick up Chris from preschool, I stood outside the door to wait until I could hear that the teacher was at a break in the lesson. They were talking about the weather. It was a cold, rainy day. So, they were talking about the rain and about what happens in places where it's even colder than it was here, and Miss Bonnie asked if anyone had ever been to the snow. And then. Then! Do you know what I heard then? MY SON raised his hand and told a whole story about how he went to Tahoe to the snow. MY CHILD. VOLUNTEERED TO SPEAK. This is the child who has to be forced to say hello and goodbye to the kids in his class each day. I was so proud of him. So. Proud.

ITEM SEVEN:

So. I'm ten days away from finishing the 30 Day Shred entirely. This is deserving of its very own post, which it will get in due time, but in the meantime....what should I do next? The original plan was to start up with Couch To 5k, but I would LOVE some recommendations for something that I can better work into my schedule. (These days, said schedule means "after all of the boys are asleep, in the comfort of my own family room.") Thanks!

Because Who Doesn't Want An Excuse to Eat Donuts For Dinner

2011-02-15T23:08:00.000-08:00

A few months back, I was flipping through a copy of Rachael Ray Magazine that my mom had left with me, when I found this recipe for Espresso Dusted Beignets. Never in my life had I eaten such a thing, and the picture made them look SO GOOD. Light! Flakey! Sweet! I set it aside thinking that I'd rip the page out and try my hand at this New Orleans fare at some point. And then I forgot about it, as I have a way of doing.

Not long after that, Tim says to me, "I was flipping through that Rachael Ray Magazine and I saw something that you should make!" And so, we decided to give it a try for Christmas morning. Because, you know, I didn't have enough going on that day and I might as well get up super early to make the dough, let it rise, heat up the oil and on and on and on. Unfortunately, for all the work, they were kind of...meh. Actually, let's be honest. They were really Meh. Light and flakey they were not. Nor were they sweet. The instant coffee did NOTHING for the flavor, other than make them extremely bitter, and being the type to follow a recipe EXACTLY the first time I make something, there was just not enough powdered sugar to lend any sweetness at all. They were big and bitter.

I was a little put off.

Now here we are, two months later, and it's still with me. I can't try something in the kitchen, have it fail (or even have it be "not good enough") and just leave it. A quick search of the Food Network website revealed something that should have occurred to me from the start: If you want a good recipe for southern cooking, perhaps you should start with a southerner. Genius! Enter this recipe from Paula Deen.

OH. YOU. GUYS.

They are so yummy. So easy. So not bitter. I used a little heart shaped cookie cutter (we made them on Valentine's Day) instead of cutting them into squares, and they were just so cute. We plopped them in paper bags! We shook them up! And they came out like little powdered puffy hearts of cuteness and deliciousness. Make them for a brunch. Make them for dessert. Or, heck, make them for dinner like we did! The only recommendation I would offer is to halve the recipe if you're not cooking for a big crowd. This makes A LOT of beignets. I gave half of the leftovers to my in-laws and I still have a huge ball of dough in the fridge, so you know what that means! Beignet Dinner Number Two coming soon! This time I think we'll do some in powdered sugar and some in cinnamon sugar. Dip them in some jam or berry syrup and you have the most delicious, home-made jelly donut.

YUM.

Whatever You Had Planned For Dinner Tonight....Make This Instead

2011-02-08T21:57:00.000-08:00

As in many families, the kitchen is the hub of our home. EVERYTHING happens in there. So, just over a year ago when we moved into a lovely new house with a FABULOUS kitchen, I was in Heaven. We'll call it a state-of-the-art gift from the previous owners, shall we? And that's exactly what it is. A gift. Sure, it's lovely for our little family, but it goes further than that because there are ALWAYS more people here than our immediate five. Whether it's Tim's family (all local), our priests or friends from church, neighbors, or my parents, the kitchen is always full. And this doesn't include holidays or birthdays when we're even more crowded!

Yes, we would be that family on House Hunters who comment on how "this kitchen would be GREAT for entertaining!" But at least for us it would be a valid consideration. That makes it less obnoxious, right? And we won't even discuss how much more fun it is to play "I have my own food network show" while cooking in a nice big kitchen than it was in the kitchen NOOK that was carved into a corner of our old apartment.

Don't even try to tell me that you don't pretend you have your own Food Network show.

ANYWAY. Having this new kitchen made cooking so much more fun and opened up a world of opportunities for me to try new things. One day last winter during my monthly Costco Meat Counter Prowl, I decided to buy a package of short ribs for minestrone soup. (Yum. Minestrone soup.) Now, I don't know if you've ever bought short ribs there, but surely you know how it works at Costco. Go big or go home. And so I had to come up with something to do with the rest of those ribs.

Thank you, Chef Google.

This recipe is possibly the easiest, most delicious, and DEFINITELY best smelling thing you could ever possibly do with short ribs. Honestly. Here it is, with my modifications:

Ingredients

1 (28 ounce) can tomato sauce (I used one 14oz can and one 14 oz can diced or stewed tomatoes)
3 tablespoons lemon juice
4 teaspoons Worcestershire sauce
2 tablespoons dried parsley (instead of parsley & thyme, I use 2 1/2 T Herbes de Provence. DO IT THIS WAY.)
1 teaspoon dried thyme
2 bay leaves
2 tablespoons brown sugar
2 teaspoons salt
1 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes
1 medium onion, cut into rings
3 pounds beef short ribs

Directions

In a large pan over medium-high heat, stir in tomato sauce, lemon juice, and Worcestershire sauce. Stir in parsley, thyme, bay leaves, brown sugar, salt, and red pepper flakes. Add onions and short ribs, and stir together until the mixture comes to a boil.
Cover, reduce heat to medium low (LOW), and simmer; stirring occasionally and skimming fat from surface, until meat is tender, about 2 1/2 hours. Remove bay leaves before serving.

**DON'T turn up the heat and DON'T brown the meat first. I made that mistake last time. Just trust me. Throw it in raw, cover it with sauce, put the lid on and LEAVE IT ALONE FOR TWO HOURS.**

YOU GUYS. You will love this. The meat falls apart as you remove it from the pot. Put the extra sauce on the table and pour it over your meat & mashed potatoes. Oh Sweet Heaven. And! If you have extra sauce (it makes a lot) marinate and bake some chicken in it a few nights later. It's just as delicious.

You know how sometimes you cook dinner, eat, clean up and every thing's done and then you go into the kitchen a while later and the Dinner Smell just smacks you in the face? And you think, "ugh. Dinner." You know that feeling? With this dinner, when you walk back into the kitchen, you think, "yum. Lavender." Now that's a nice way to end the day.

Friday Afternoon Hodgepodge

2011-02-04T15:22:00.000-08:00

Thanks for all of the encouragement on my last post, friends! I can hardly believe it when I look at those two pictures side by side. Never would I have imagined that my body could change so dramatically in just one little month. I was looking at our wedding photos today, eyeing my smaller self with envy and bound and determined to meet that girl again. That said, I won't say that I want that body back. That body hasn't accomplished what this body has - what I want is the strongest, healthiest this body that I can get. Rumor has it that even once you get back to your pre-baby weight, you often don't fit into your pre-baby clothes. And that's fine. But it sure will be nice to get rid of those clothes because I don't like the way they fit anymore, rather than because I've given up hope on even trying them on.

It's Friday and I'm tired. But the inlaws are coming over for Waffle Night tonight, which means it's time to head out to the store for some last minute groceries. We have Waffle Night frequently - it started out as our Friday Lenten observance last year. A nice, filling, meatless dinner that brought the whole family together. Did you know that I make the Best Waffles You've Ever Had? Me either. No one tell Tim's family that my recipe is straight off of the back of the Bisquick box.

AHEM.

A couple of items, for your viewing pleasure:

1.) Maggie linked to this article the other day and it's FANTASTIC. A great read for Catholics and non-Catholics alike. Lots of food for thought.

2.) Have you seen this? A couple of my friends posted it on facebook. It gave me a good chuckle. Go read it now. You need a laugh.

3.) Back to the kindergarten angst for a minute - check out this article on Catholic Schools. Further food for thought. Last night I attended the Kindergarten Info Night at our parish school, which stirred up all kinds of new drama and unsettledness in my heart. Mostly because I just loved it. So. Much. More on that to come.

Happy weekend, friends. Enjoy the commercials.

I Kind Of Feel Like Someone Stuck Me In The Dryer.

2011-02-03T23:38:00.000-08:00

Have you ever gotten to the point in the 30 Day Shred where it's easier to just do the exercises the hard way rather than doing the modifications?

I have.

Have you ever put on your jeans one morning to find that they're falling off of you, even though you just wore them yesterday? And when you investigate the situation, you realize that for the last couple of weeks you were wearing the next size down without realizing it and that today you just grabbed the wrong pair (the ones you THOUGHT you'd been wearing?)

I have.

Have you ever lost 17.2 pounds in one month?

I have.

....January 3, 2011..... ....Feb 3, 2011.....

I am totally in this thing to win it. But please believe me when I say: I've already won.

I Even Brought In the $100 "Processing Fee." Now THAT'S Commitment.

2011-01-31T23:15:00.000-08:00

Lately I’ve been walking around in a daze with visions of kindergarten classrooms dancing in my head. While I’ve only toured two schools, I wasn’t planning on touring any. Tim and I always thought we had it decided: we believe in and support the mission of Catholic education. As such, the boys would attend our parish school. Later we would choose one of the two local Catholic high schools. And then they’d go on to college.

Oh – I forgot step number one: we’d plant a money tree in our backyard. (I jest.) (But not here.)

It’s important that you know how much this was part of the plan for us, because without that knowledge you can’t possibly understand the emotional shift that had to take place when we decided that it might be a better idea to look elsewhere. You see, by the time all three of our boys make it into Catholic grade school, we will be paying $1500 each month. Twelve months per year. And that’s if tuition doesn’t go up between now and then. I don’t know how families do it. I really don’t.

Slightly Tangential Rant: The case could be made, (of which I will provide the Reader’s Digest Version here) that the cost of Catholic elementary education does not fall in line with the pro-life teachings of the Church. Think I’m going extreme? Bear with me. As Catholics, we are encouraged (expected, really) to be open to God’s creative work in us and have large families, and are also encouraged to support our parishes by attending our Catholic schools and educating our children with a catholic worldview. But the cost of Catholic education continues to rise to the point where it is pricing itself out of reach for these large Catholic families. Are we expected to choose? Have a large family OR send your kids to Catholic school? Or are the Catholic schools getting to the point where they are going to price themselves out of existence? The price tag is already out of reach for many – how much longer can they go on like this? I don’t know. I have three children. Not a large family by any means. And yet, large enough to get us to the point that saying that it will be “a challenge” to get them through grade school is the severest of understatements.

Sure, the response is that providing this education for your children requires sacrifice. Well, OBVIOUSLY. But tell me what kind of sacrifices a family can make that will scrounge up an extra $1500 each month. That said, Tim and I have started weighing the sacrifice of NOT sending the boys to our parish school (School #1) in the interest of saving and being able to send them to Catholic high school. Accepting this change in thought has been heart wrenching for me. I like to make plans and stick to them. Changing things up after several years of planning to do something a certain way (okay, even after 5 minutes of planning to do things a certain way) has been PAINFUL. But we decided to look into a local charter school (Free!) about which everybody raves. It’s a school of choice (we’ll call it School #2) and it’s in such high demand that admission is conducted by solely by lottery (kindergarten) and waiting list (upper grades).

I toured the school a couple of weeks ago and, although I pretty much hated it initially, I’ve come around to the realization that what I hated the most was that it wasn’t School #1. What I liked the most? Well let’s see – how much the parents love it…the test scores that are head and shoulders above the other schools...the fact that 100% of the students in attendance are there because their parents have CHOSEN to send them there and have taken the time and energy to ensure their admission. There’s more, but the point is? I came around. I had gotten the point (as angsty and stressful as the process was) that I wanted Chris to attend that school. Even though it would be hard to choose not School #1, it would be a very smart move to choose School #2.

Last Saturday, Tim and I attended the admissions lottery. We went in knowing it was a gamble (it is a lottery after all) but I think we both really just expected that his number would fall within the admittance range. There had to be nearly 200 families there, each clutching their numbered tickets anxiously. The room buzzed with eager anticipation for the principal to take the stage. When she finally did, she explained the procedures that would follow and then announced how many spaces were available in the kindergarten lottery. (You see, they accept eighty kindergarten students each year…four classes of twenty…but priority is given to incoming siblings.) Based on the collective gasp that sucked all the air out of the room, I was not the only one who was surprised by the number.

Twenty Six.

TWENTY SIX SPACES AVAILABLE, to be filled by TWENTY SIX children of the TWO HUNDRED families in the room. Our ticket was number 73. As it turned out, the first ticket drawn was number 34. Thus, families numbered 34-59 jumped right up and ran to the admissions table. Families numbered 60+ dragged their lifeless bodies over to the waiting list table. Some just left and gave up altogether.

All is not lost. Christopher sits at number 13 on the waiting list and, while it seems unimaginable (based on the interest and the SHEER JOY of the parents in the room) that they would burn through that many spaces on the list by September, it’s possible that he’ll move up. (One of his preschool classmates is number 70!) One thing is for sure – he will hold his space on the list until he moves up to the top spot, whether that happens this summer or when he’s in fifth grade. At that point, we can either accept the spot and move him (thus securing sibling spots for Jake and Nate) or decline.

While I want to say that OBVIOUSLY we won’t decline, now I don’t know. I hear that if you get called up in the middle of the school year you have to accept the space immediately and TRANSFER SCHOOLS, otherwise you lose your spot. If someone can explain to me how that would be in the best interest of my sweet, sensitive boy – moving him away from his new friends, new teacher, new environment to be the new kid among an even larger community – then great. But I can’t see how that is possible. Right now, Tim and I are praying that whenever he gets called up, it won’t be in the middle of his kindergarten year. Or the middle of any year, for that matter.

In the meantime, today I brought in his registration to School #1. I’m happy that he will be going there, really I am. It’s a smaller, more close-knit community. He already has friends who go to school there. We’re over there all the time anyway, so he is very familiar with the grounds and most of the people. We even have family members who work for the parish.

I won’t pretend that I’m not anxious about this – that I’m not worried about his getting called up to School #2 in the middle of the year – that I’m not very concerned about the financials of this whole thing. But I will say this – I prayed. I prayed so hard about this. I BEGGED God to help us make this decision because I didn’t trust myself and my emotions about the whole thing. I plead for him to make clear to me which school was the most appropriate one for my boy – the best place for him to be. And what did he do? He took one out of the equation. He took away the one that I would have chosen. I have to trust, now, that my prayers have been answered rightly. As Tim encouraged me the other day, “we have to take heart in the knowledge that God will provide for the plan he has for us.”

Sigh. Sometimes I wonder why it’s not easier to trust the One who loves us so.

Why I'm Participating in Biggest Blogging Loser In 7 (Not-So-Quick) Takes

2011-01-28T15:12:00.000-08:00

I've been wanting to document why, exactly, I've decided to participate in Jennie's Biggest Blogging Loser contest, but the post that I write in my head is about 700 pages of angsty weight-on weight-off struggle. You don't want to know all of that. So, since it's Friday, and since my children are either sleeping or playing outside with my mom, we'll give it a condensed whirl.

1.) Never in my life have I been thin. As such, my weight has (for as long as I can remember...even in my early elementary years) been on the forefront of my mind. Looking back, I see that even when that weight rested at a healthy number, I would still worry and stew over it because I didn't look like my friends. I remember going in for my high school sports physical, getting weighed by the doctor, and being told, "Wow. You don't LOOK like you weigh THAT much." Compliment? Criticism? Backhanded compliment? I don't know. But here we are fifteen or so years later and I still remember it, for what that's worth.

2.) In college, two of my dearest friends and I participated in the Weigh Down Workshop. What a fantastic ministry this is, and I highly recommend it. Through it, I finally learned the value of my natural hunger and fullness signals. It's amazing to me that I had to TRAIN my body (and my mind) to do what it is created to do naturally. Focusing solely on hunger and fullness, I lost fifty pounds. That's TEN five-pound bags of flour. I can't figure out how to carry that much weight around, and yet I was doing it for a long time. I loved following the Weigh Down principles and that program was exactly what I needed at that point in my life. It seemed to me to be Weight Loss Truth, and I couldn't understand how or why anyone would choose any other program to try to lose weight. I was young and naive and didn't give much credit, at that time, to the fact that maybe (JUST maybe) people are different and have different needs when it comes to these things.

3.) Weighing fifty pounds less than ever before, I wore a bikini in Hawaii. Then I moved to San Francisco to be closer to Tim. Then I married Tim. Then I got pregnant. Then I gained 85 pounds. Seriously. Eighty. Five. I was frustrated by the weight gain at the time, but didn't worry too much because I had the key to weight loss. After Christopher was born I remember telling my doctor that I'd "lost weight before. I know how to do it." And I did. But not well. And while I was struggling with hunger and fullness while breast feeding, a nagging feeling began in me about nutrition. You see, the Weigh Down theory is that God, who created you, created your body to know what you need. It knows when you're hungry, so your stomach growls. It knows when your satisfied, so your body feels full. It knows what nutrients you need so when you're hungry you will desire certain foods to meet those needs. I believe all of this to be true. Really, I do. But I also know myself well and I know that my mind is A LOT stronger than those body signals. Sure maybe my body wants the protein in the scrambled eggs....but my taste buds want that giant chocolate muffin from Costco. I began to realize that, as great as Weigh Down was for me, if I was good at listening to the signals my body was sending I wouldn't be overweight in the first place. I began to think there was something more that I needed.

4.) Around that same time, other bloggers who I was reading were starting up with Weight Watchers and having great success. I wanted nothing to do with it. My mom did Weight Watchers when I was a kid. I remember she had to go to meetings and weigh herself in front of other people. NOT FOR ME. But those bloggy friends were having too much success for me to ignore and (AND!) they were doing it all from the anonymity of their computer screens. I signed up on my second wedding anniversary - Chris was nine months old. The weight loss was sudden, dramatic, and easy. By his first birthday, I had only 20 pounds to go to my pre-baby weight.

5.) One week later, I discovered that I was pregnant with Jacob. Scared to death about gaining 85 AGAIN (especially since I was starting 20 pounds up) I was VERY careful about what I ate during that pregancy. After Jacob was born I hit the weight watchers hard, lost all of the Jake weight by his 7-month birthday and only had ten pounds to go when....yup. When I discovered my pregnancy with Nathan. Jake was ten months old.

6.) And now here we are. Nathaniel is 14 months old. His first birthday had me at the highest first birthday weight of all three boys and, while it didn't drag me down, I was aware of that fact. Aware enough for it to bug me, but thinking I'd get to it eventually. I was ignoring my Weight Watchers (but pretending I wasn't) and pretending the Weigh Down principles didn't really exist. While I had goals for the weight loss, I wasn't reaching them. I was just pushing them back. And back. And back.

7.) Jennie's contest came just at the right time. It's given me the kickstart that I needed and the motivation, too. Since our first weigh-in on January 3, I've lost 15.8 pounds. My clothes are getting bigger and going shopping in my closet is getting more and more fun as I rediscover my style (believe it or not, I used to have style....not just this winter's "fleece chic" look I'm sporting.) I'm in control and so very happy to be regaining the confidence that I had before. The competition is stiff, for sure, but the benefits are beyond awesome.

(And winning a few dollars to replace the hideous chandelier above our dining room table is pretty motivating too!)

And He Was Really Disappointed That Santa Didn't Leave Any Presents There, Too.

2011-01-06T00:51:00.000-08:00

It’s funny the things you look back on and remember.

Funny, those things that strike you as being so very special even though, to most, they may be so mundane. For as long as I can remember, my Nonna has left a night light on in the kitchen. The whole entire house will be dark, grandfather clock chiming in the middle of the night, and if for some reason you happen by the kitchen you will find that little light glowing right there under the cabinets. Though my days of sleeping in her house have long since passed, I cling to that memory and the warmth, tenderness, and care that it represents. That glowing light in the kitchen was always a reminder to me of how much we were loved. Even in their sleep my grandparents were caring for us. Providing for us. Loving us.

In this house we have an ABUNDANCE of nightlights, nearly all of which are Christmas-themed. My mom has given them to the boys year after year. As a matter of fact, there are two in each of their bedrooms that stay there all year long. They love them and they serve a purpose, so why not? I came across an extra nightlight as I was unpacking the Christmas decorations this year, and the memory of that kitchen scene burst right back into the forefront of my mind. So I brought it straight into the kitchen, above the toaster, where it remained for the duration of the Christmas season.

I think that we managed quite well this year, the first Christmas without my Nonno here to celebrate with us. It wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be, perhaps because I worried so much about it going in. Who was going to hold the big garbage bag to collect all of the gift wrap on Christmas Eve? Who was going to sit at the head of the table? Who was going to tell me that the next baby better be a girl “or else.” (An obvious statement when you learn that the man absolutely LOVED being the father to three daughters.) And yet, the absence of those things went by with hardly any notice.

It’s funny the way you react to things you don’t think you’d react to and vice versa.

Funny, how you walk through the liquor aisle at Costco and burst into tears when you pass the Johnny Walker Black because that was what you gave him for Christmas year after year. Funny how you debate over whether to purchase the expensive DiSaronno or the cheaper generic amaretto with tears in your eyes and finally, against your better judgment, opt for the pricier version because that is what he always served you. The heart does funny things and responds to memories at the oddest times, doesn’t it?

What’s not so funny, though, is watching your children begin to understand all of these things for themselves. The loss of my grandfather came about pretty quickly, starting and ending all in the month of July. There were lots of doctor visits, lots of ambulance rides, a long hospital stay. While I never talked about it directly with the boys, I should have known that they were listening. (Christopher, in particular.) Hindsight reveals that I should have been more aware of those little big ears. Blasted hindsight. We never told him that Nonno died. Sure we went to a special Mass for him and we prayed for him a lot, but we never had a “This is what happens when people die” talk with Chris. What we DID do was start visiting my Nonna a lot more frequently. Sometimes he would ask where Nonno was, but never with enough interest for me to worry to much about how I answered. (“Is Nonno going to be there?” …. “No, Nonno is not going to be there.”) Quick and easy. For him and for me. Okay, mostly for me. It is true that I didn’t know how to talk about it with him. My main goal being not to start crying every time we mentioned the name.

This Fall, Tim’s mom came down with a pretty bad bout of Pneumonia. An ambulance came to get her. It took her to the hospital where she stayed for a few days. We talked to the boys about this a lot. Jake came with me to visit her one day while Chris was at school, but as it worked out, Christopher never came in the hospital to see her. He was not visibly shaken by all of this, but when she came home you can guess who was GLUED to her side from the moment we stepped in their front door until the last second he could squeeze out before we left. This went on for a couple of weeks. The other thing that happened at this point was a sudden and severe shift in behavior at the twice-weekly preschool drop-off. While he’d only started school a few weeks before, even in his very hesitant beginnings we never had behavior like this. SCREAMING. CRYING. CRAWLING over the teacher’s shoulders when she would take him so I could leave. It was awful. I spent the entire morning of my birthday agonizing over whether or not he really was ready to start preschool. Maybe we forced him into this too quickly.

I should have figured it out when one day, at that same time, he asked me out of the blue, “Mom? Where’s Nonno?”

Sometimes I can be so dense.

My mom ended up being the one who cracked the code: Nonno rode in an ambulance. Nonno went to the hospital. Nonno Disappeared. Oma rode in an ambulance. Oma stayed in the hospital…. Suddenly the separation AGONY started to make sense. If my mom’s hypothesis was right, Christopher was becoming aware of the fact that people in his life, people who he really loved, were disappearing. Perhaps he was trying to make sure that would stop happening.

Within a couple of weeks he came through the anxiety and started to give my mother-in-law a little bit of space. We talk about Nonno a lot and when he asks me where he is, I answer honestly: He lives with Jesus now. In Heaven.

Feeling like we’ve both come a long away with all of this, I don’t know why I was surprised with the conversation that we had at my Grandma’s house yesterday afternoon. We had driven down for a quick visit with my Nonna and then headed over to the house where my dad grew up to empty a few more things out. This month marks two years since her death, and we’re still emptying out. (That’s another story all its own.) I was standing in the (nearly empty) dining room, packing a few boxes while Tim had the boys out in the backyard. After a few minutes, Christopher came in and said, “Mom? Did Grandma die?” I surprised myself with my response: “Yes, honey. Grandma died.” What followed was a bevy of questions: Where does she live now? (In Heaven) Why doesn’t she live here anymore? (Because she gets to live with Jesus now) Did Santa come here? (No) Why not? (Because no children live here.) But why did she die? (Because she was very very old and it was time for her to go live with Jesus, but Grandma sure did love you. She loved you very much.)

The question that followed nearly shattered my heart into a million pieces, and I type it with tears in my eyes: But if she loved us then why did she move so far away from us?

My boy. My precious little soul. So simple. So honest. So sincere.

So we had a nice long talk about Grandma and Heaven, about Jesus. And he handled it. Not only did he handle it, but he handled it WELL. Sure, he’s now telling everyone he knows that Grandma died. (Which, she did, but it was TWO YEARS AGO.) And his parrot of a little brother is telling everyone as well. But that’s okay. I suppose that’s how he is going to process it. This is important information that he has been given, and while it really happened so many months ago, for him it’s a brand new reality. I need to allow him that.

And so it begins – the time has come for me to share my Faith with my son in a deeper level than I have been required as of yet. You wouldn’t think that someone with a degree in Theology who taught this stuff for a living would feel so…challenged…by the task, and yet I do. Of the very many people who came through my classroom, the three most important students I will ever have are now right here before me. I can only pray that I will live up to the task.

It's funny. Funny, how sometimes the greatest lessons (about some of the hardest things) come at the hands of a four year old.

7 Quick Takes - Picture Wall Edition

2010-07-31T15:01:00.000-07:00

It's naptime. Nathan is sleeping. Jacob is in his crib calling for someone, anyone, to release him from that prison. And Tim and Christopher are, I think, watching a show in my bedroom. (Translation: Tim is asleep on the bed and Chris is minutes away from getting bored with his show, jumping around on the bed, and getting in a whole bunch of trouble.) It's quiet, for the most part, and I am taking full advantage of this opportunity to lay down on the couch and do absolutely nothing. Well, except this.

I can still hear Jake calling and it makes me feel only a little guilty. And a little curious. I want to go down to check on him but know that, if I do, this quiet moment will be lost and so I will let him call for a while longer.

My chosen position on the sofa has me laying so that I can see our family picture wall instead of looking outside to the backyard. It's a beautiful summer day and looking outside makes me feel guilty for not being out there. Besides, I love gazing at this wall. Seeing the snapshots of so many happy memories, the faces of our loved ones who shared those memories with us.

Here. I'll give you a little tour.

ONE. A good number of the frames are filled with photos from our wedding. Tim and I with all seven of the priests who concelebrated our nuptial Mass, us walking along the golf course during the reception, my Father-in-Law's toast. I could stare at our wedding pictures all day long. If you ever come to my house, you can watch my wedding video, okay? I won't offer but if you asked I would jump at the chance to show it to you. Without that day so many other blessings would be absent. God has been so good to us.

TWO. Each of the boys has an 8x10 of just them. Right now I'm looking at Chris sitting on a swing in my dear friend's backyard. Those big brown eyes looking happily at me through the glass. He is such a big, strong boy. And yet, he's so sensitive and so impressionable. We're struggling with Christopher right now. When we first moved into this house, he handled the transition really well. IF he woke up during the night he'd just get up, run up the stairs and climb into our bed. He had NO fear. Now, eight months later, it's not a question of IF he wakes up during the night, but WHEN. And when he does? He stands on his bed and SCREAMS for Daddy. We've gotten through the phase of him screaming for Daddy and ONLY daddy (seriously. If I went down there he'd scream even louder, "Not YOU! WAHHH!") and he'll allow me to come to him now. But it's bad. It's really bad. He's scared of monsters. Or ghosts. Or bad guys. Or bats. We've switched from Daddy going to him every night and are now seeing what happens if I am the one to go down. I have a slight suspicion that maybe it's less "I'm scared" and more "I want to hang with Dad," so we'll see if this breaks the pattern. But beyond that, I have no idea what to do. If anyone has any suggestions, I will love you forever.

THREE. One of my favorite pictures is one of my Nonno holding Christopher on his lap when Chris was a newborn. This has been a tremendously sad week. My dear grandfather passed away on Tuesday, July 27. There are many things to say about this, but I think I need a little more time. We'll be going to the Rosary and Funeral tomorrow and Monday and I'm ready for those to be very challenging, but very healing days. For the time being all that should really be said is THANK YOU. Most of my online time during the month of July has been spent begging for prayers, and I have to say that my entire family has really felt the graces that have come from those prayers. Internet friends = awesome prayer warriors. I am blessed.

FOUR. I have the hiccups. Really bad, really loud, really painful hiccups.

FIVE. Thirty minutes in (actually, I don't think it's even been that long) and I am now typing this while SITTING UP on the couch with Chris to my left and Jake to my right. At least Nate is still sleeping. We're watching Bee Movie. Because we haven't seen it enough in the last two weeks; although, you may think otherwise when you hear ALL OF US quoting the entire movie, word for word. ("Black and yellow. Hello!")

SIX. Jake's photo is centered on the bottom of the cluster. My happy little boy sitting at the bottom of a bright yellow slide. He has gotten to the "Why?" stage. It is incredibly cute and infuriating at the same time. He doesn't just say, "why?" He says it quietly, slowly, and he draws out the word into at least two syllables. "whhhyyyy?" It is so precious. Really. The problem, as I see it, is that he is far far FAR more curious than Christopher ever was. There were never this many "Why" questions the first time around.

SEVEN. My Nonna, my only remaining grandparent, is pictured with Christopher while he helped her blow out the candles on her 85th birthday cake. It is such a happy memory. It is such a unique privilege, I realize, that my grandparents all got the chance to meet their great-grandsons. Even more unique that these young boys (Chris, at least) is old enough to have lasting memories of these people who are so remarkable. So special. So loved.

I know I have said it already, but it just can't be said enough. God has been so, so, so good to us. And for that we are grateful.

More quick takes here.

Five.

2010-07-24T00:42:00.000-07:00

Tim's parents were over for dinner a couple of weeks back and, as often happens, we got into a discussion of what life was like for them when they were in our shoes. My husband is a romantic at heart and much of his time is spent wondering what life was like in days gone by. There are few days that pass in which I don't hear something to the effect of, "When I (fill in the blank) I like to try to imagine what (blah blah blah) fifty years ago." And then we talk about it and dream and imagine. But when we are actually in the presence of people who were REALLY THERE fifty years ago, there is little imagining that has to take place because they can fill in those blanks for us. So, after dinner, we were all sitting around in the family room while they shared stories with us. This conversation was of a more serious nature, as we listened to the joys and struggles that they faced during the first ten (or so) years of their marriage, during which (among other joys and challenges) all four of their parents passed away. It was a conversation filled with smiles and laughter, tears and hushed tones. It was the story of their life, so very many years ago.

Later that night, once we had finally gotten all of the boys to bed, I grabbed a glass of water and prepared for bed myself. I could tell that Tim was lost in thought from the moment I entered the room. When I finally sat down on the bed, he remarked, "My parents had a really hard first ten years, didn't they?" They sure did. What tremendous loss they faced as such a young couple. What huge challenges even beyond the illness and the loss.

While I agreed with his sentiment, the first words that escaped my lips were, "Look at OUR first five years of marriage. We have had a VERY CHALLENGING first five years." And it's so true. Our vows have been tested and again throughout these first years. They have been pulled and tested in ways that I never imagined we would face so early on in our marriage. Sure I knew that there would be suffering and growth throughout the course of our marriage. Yes, I expected that there would be times for "sicker" and times for "poorer." I wasn't so naive as to think that there would not be "bad times" during our life together. But I was naive. I suppose I never gave it a conscious thought, but somewhere in me I just assumed that the good, healthy, and richer times would come first. Or, at the very least, I suppose I never factored in the possibility that those challenging times would come one after the other in rapid fire succession.

Ah young love. There we were, walking into the world hand in hand with NO IDEA what was headed our way.

On the day I married Tim I didn't know that only one year later my mom would be diagnosed with breast cancer and would have a mastectomy only three weeks before I was to deliver my first child. I didn't know that only eight months after that my own husband would suffer from a very serious illness which would lead to his being diagnosed with a chronic disease. I certainly wasn't expecting that two months before the birth of my second child my husband would be laid off and we would be spending the next several months getting his own company up and running, or that just one month after that my Father-in-law would be diagnosed with prostate and bladder cancer. While I knew that my grandparents were getting pretty old, it never really occurred to me that I would be so intimately involved in the details of my grandmother's illness and passing due to other damaged relationships within the family.

We talked about this for quite a while that night, agreeing that "Yeah, wow. We've definitely had a challenging go of it," but also agreeing that looking back? It doesn't seem like it was that bad. It doesn't seem like it was all that hard.

Of course it doesn't! The suffering, the challenges, seems so much less in my mind's eye than it did at the time because of all of the joys that were also thrown into the mix. Joys that, also, could not be anticipated or planned for.

The day I stood with him at the altar provided no revelation of how I'd discover my pregnancy with Christopher just two days before our first Christmas. There was no picture of my sweet Jacob who is so tender hearted that, when seeing my crying recently, grabs my legs and says, "Mom? Tay? Tay Mom?" (And to whom I respond, "yes Jacob. Mommy is okay" with a kiss and a huge squeeze.) We certainly had not the slightest inkling that we'd be moving into the house of our dreams and welcoming our third (THIRD!) precious boy, our darling Nathaniel, both within one week of each other.

And really? While I knew there would be suffering at some point (and even though those challenges presented themselves a leetle earlier than I'd anticipated) I also had no clue as to how much growth would come from those challenges - growth that I attribute ONE HUNDRED PERCENT to the fact that I had my best friend walking with me, holding my hand, and encouraging me to embrace the challenges with love. With compassion. With humility. With faith. With HIM.

Looking back on the conversation, I think we were both right. Yes, we have been dealt A LOT of challenges in these first five years. But no, they do not seem all that challenging in retrospect. They don't even seem "manageable" or "bearable." The only thing I see when looking back over this time is Joy.

And love. And faith. And friendship.

Yes, our vows have been tested. Yes, they will continue to be tested. There is always something coming down the pike. It's just the way that it is. But our history has proven that no matter what is coming our way we will greet it hand in hand, ready to embrace the challenge.

I have 30 seconds. Let's see how fast I can type.

2010-06-25T10:52:00.000-07:00

The baby is sleeping. The boys are playing (together. quietly. SHHH DON'T TELL ANYONE) so let's see what we can get out of this. A little catch up from the last two months and (hopefully) a little preview of what I hope to unpack in the next little while.

1.) We went to Disneyland in May. FOR FREE. Oh yes my friends. FREE. And it was awesome. Had you asked me last year if I'd bring three children age three and under to Disneyland I would have laughed you out of town. Clearly I've lost my mind. But you know what? I'm so glad I did.

2.) My baby Jake is two. And talking. I don't really know how this happened. I blame baby #3 for this.

3.) Speaking of baby #3, he sleeps in his own room now. It used to be the guest room. Then life happened and it became the furniture storage. And now? Now we store the guests, the furniture AND the baby there. Oh. And all of stuff that we had to get rid of at the last minute before my sister-in-law's surprise party last Saturday. Thank God Nate doesn't take up all that much space.

4.) Have you seen this website? I love it. It is where I got the inspiration for the aforementioned surprise party and now I can't drag myself away from it. Love love love. What great ideas! Go. Go check it out now. I'll wait.

Well. That will have to do for now. Just trying to get back into the swing of things over here in blogland. Bear with me...

On Laundry and Ground Turkey.

2010-04-20T22:50:00.000-07:00

I made a rather outlandish claim in my last post, didn't I? There I was all "I've been caught up on laundry for three weeks and aren't I fabulous?" Well, you know what? I AM fabulous because even though we've had some busy times over here at Casa de Burps and Farts, I'm still caught up. OH YES I AM. So take a seat and I'll spin you a little tale on the glories of the Three Basket System.

Now. Let's all acknowledge right off the bat that no system, regardless of how many brightly hued baskets from Target are included, will work unless you MAKE it work. It's not like you can just go out and buy the baskets and the laundry will do itself. But let me say this - someone asked me recently, "why can't you just use one basket? Who really needs THREE laundry baskets?" Clearly this person does not understand the Great Laundry Conundrum of how laundry can be cleaned, folded and then just take up residence in the laundry basket until every last item has been worn. And how, also, because that one single basket is occupied, no other laundry will get done. Thus? Three baskets:

Basket Number One ~ This is your Dirty Clothes Basket, intended to transport the dirties from your bedroom floor your well used clothes hamper to your washing machine. If you are like me, when you get to your laundry room, arms overloaded with clothes you face two immediate problems: where to put the dirties while you empty the wet clothes from the washer into the dryer (which I realize is quite obvious - you put them on the floor...Basket Number One means that you only have to pick clothes up off of the floor one time. Genius!) and where to put the clean clothes from the dryer so that you can make room for the aforementioned wet clothes. Thus? Basket Number Two!

Basket Number Two ~ Your Empty Basket that kinda just chills in the laundry room until the dryer is ready to be emptied. Basket Two is really the "extra" basket in this entire system and, I suppose that it's the one you can live without. But I cannot. Use it to carry your clean clothes to wherever in the house you fold (I use my dining room table). Once you've removed it from the laundry room, Basket One shifts into its place and becomes your new Empty Basket.

Basket Three is the Folded and Ready For Drawers Basket, used for transporting clothes from your folding place back to their respective homes. Once you have folded all of the clothes from Basket Two and placed them in Basket Three, then Basket Two is now vacant and ready to become your new Basket One. Follow? (No? I'm confused too, I'll admit.)

Onward!

Now that we have addressed the constant rotation of baskets, it's down to the rules.

1.) Barring any weird schedules or special needs, I only do laundry Monday through Friday. ONLY. As a matter of fact, this is how I try to do all of my chores. I figure that my household chores are my "job" and, just as Tim goes to work during the week and has the weekends free, I should be able to keep to the same schedule. Let me simply say that I LOVE THIS schedule. I love it mostly because every Friday afternoon I line up all three baskets, sort what remains of the folded laundry into them by location to be delivered (Annie & Tim, Boys, Towels) and put everything away. Then I take those lovely baskets, nestle them into each other, set them in the laundry room floor, close the door and I'M DONE. Call me crazy, but I cannot tell you how freeing it feels to close that door on this chore every Friday afternoon.

2.) Some weeks I have a load going on every one of those days. Sometimes more than one. Sometimes none. It just depends on what's going on in the rest of our lives.

3.) Socks. I hate folding socks. HATE HATE HATE. Thus? I keep a little basket (blast. I suppose this is basket #4. Which would make this a FOUR basket system. Now that does sound a little excessive.) that just holds socks. I call it the Sock Box. This box serves two purposes. It is used, primarily, to catch all of the socks that I cast aside while I'm in the laundry folding groove. Fold fold fold toss. Fold toss. Fold fold toss toss. Trust me. This saves A LOT of time. With every load of clean clothes I just toss toss toss those little sockies into the basket and don't give them another thought until Friday. Then, on that very last day, when everything is just about finished and I'm almost ready to deliver the lasted folded shirt, I pull out the Sock Box, sort by family member, fold, toss into their respective basket and I'm done. Trust me. One should only have to deal with socks once a week. The other purpose of the sock box, of course, is that it holds all of the strays, so either you have the matches or you don't but one way or another you know where they are. (I even go so far as to organizing the strays by family member and laying them in the bottom of the basket. Then I cover them with a little piece of fabric so that I'm not re-sorting mismatched socks every week. When I come across new strays each week then all I have to do is lift that little piece of fabric and I can instantly see whether or not there is a buddy waiting.) I know. It's a sickness.

I'll admit that we've had some weeks here and there that the baskets have not made it all the way back to the laundry room on Friday afternoons. We've even had weeks where they've all just hung out in the dining room straight until Monday morning, but this system has enabled me to at least be on top of it enough that falling behind means just that - I'm just a little behind. Prior to this, "Falling Behind" meant someone better run out to Target to buy some new underwear for everyone because God only knows when the laundry will get done again.

The green basket on the left has since been replaced due to the fact that it did not match the others that it had a big crack that kept pinching my fingers.

~~~~~~~~~~~

In totally unrelated news, I made these for dinner tonight and they were FABULOUS. Really. Make them. You won't be disappointed.

Of Note.

2010-03-25T23:53:00.000-07:00

Well look at that. Here we are about to enter Holy Week and it was JUST Ash Wednesday. Ah such is life. Busy. That's what life is. There has been much ado about EVERYTHING here at Chez Burps & Farts. Among which:

1.) My oldest son has finally decided that the only appropriate place to dispense his pee-pees is on the potty. OH YES. Last Tuesday, as I was kneeling down to get him dressed, I commented to him that his pull-up was dry. At that moment I we decided that we should just try sitting on the potty to see what happens. And FOR ONCE OH MY GOSH YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW STUBBORN THIS KID IS he agreed. And he PEED! And then he peed again! And then we pulled out the big boy underwear that have been sitting in his drawer gathering dust for AGES and now he wears them every day. Each morning we sit together while he's on the potty (or the Pot-tay as we like to call it) and we look through every single pair of underwear that he owns to decide which character's face will grace that cute little bum today. He's doing remarkably well with all of this, even today going into the bathroom twice without my knowing to do his business. Why yes, my son is a superstar. We'll talk more later about the sheer DEVASTATION that occurs when we don't quite make it to the potty. It's heart-breaking really. Let's not discuss it.

2.) Son #2 has given up the paci. Well. Unbeknownst to him. We are on night four of Project No Paci and, THANK GOD, he's surviving. Monday morning he took it out to drink some juice and, instead of keeping it clutched in his sweaty little fist, handed it to me. So I did what any other horribly insensitive mother would do. I set it aside where he wouldn't see it. It wasn't my intention that it be set aside permanently, it's just that we've been trying to make a point to only let him have it for sleeping times, especially now that he's CHEWING HOLES THROUGH THEM. (On a weekly basis. This chewing the paci thing is getting to be an expensive habit.) And I'm afraid he's going to choke. But then I put him down for naptime and realized, as I was climbing the stairs to rejoin the land of the no-nappers, that I had forgotten to give it to him. When he actually SLEPT without it, I figured Hey, let's keep going. That night was the same. Super sleeper. No problem. Next day? Super nap. No problem. That night? SCREAMAGGEDON. Until midnight I'm not even kidding. While I was debriefing Tim the next morning we pondered whether it was because of the paci or something else. Okay, we figured it was the paci. But I wasn't about to give in yet. "Let's try it one more night," said I. And now here we are at Night Four. Super Awesome. And, I have to say, I haven't seen him with a paci in his mouth since Monday morning and you know what? He looks like such a different boy. Such a big boy. Let's all pause for a collective sigh over how big my baby Jake is getting.

3.) The sun has come out here in Northern California and thank God for that. This has been a hard winter, what with bringing home the new baby and all. There have been many a rainy day when I would have bundled the boys up and gone out or even played outside (or even in the garage) but you just can't take a newborn out like that. So we've been in the house a lot and that coupled with every other type of stress and exhaustion that comes with new babies has been wearing on me. I've been looking forward to spring and summer so much because it just feels like life will be easier then. Sure enough - the days we've spent outside this week have been awesome. The boys can spend hours digging in the dirt and running around after this ball or that. The weather, combined with that re-energizing that comes after making it through that "fourth trimester" and a few other things have led me to the point where I can feel life getting easier. And that's just what I've needed.

4.) Speaking of son #3. At four months old he is now spending a lot of his days smiling and laughing. And ROLLING OVER onto his side, and almost to his tummy. He's got the cutest little chuckle and the rolls on his legs are starting to get a little chunkier. While he did torture me for a little while with what I can only guess is a 4-month sleep regression, he is getting to be a better sleeper. I'm winding up right now to get him started on a daytime sleep schedule, although Chris wasn't a napper at all until he was five months old and I didn't even attempt with Jake until AT LEAST that long. So I'm not too concerned with it at this point. Chris and Jake have been super big brothers lately, always sitting next to him and trying to make him laugh or get him to stop crying. That alone makes my days easier. I love looking up and seeing them all sitting together in the family room. It drives my brain to ten years down the road when I'll have big floppy boys lounging in that same room, eating me out of house and home.

5.) I have been promising this recipe to people left and right without ever delivering on it. So here it is, JUST FOR YOU. My mother-in-law's super delicious chocolate bundt cake (bohn? Bonk? Oh!!! A Cake!!) Name the movie and I'll make the cake FOR you.
   1. Blend yellow cake mix with one 3-oz chocolate instant pudding packet and 1/2 c. sugar
   2. Add 3/4 c water and 3/4 c oil
   3. Add 4 previously beaten eggs
   4. Add 1c previously beaten sour cream
   5. Stir in 1/2 c (apparently some people measure their choc chips. not me.) choc chips.
   6. spray bundt and lightly dust with sugar
   7. Bake 45-55 min @ 350 degrees
   8. Before you pull it check to see if it jiggles. If it does PUT IT BACK. It's not ready.
   9. Before serving, dust some powdered sugar over the top.

6.) MMMMMMM. Trust me. MMMMMM. Now, Shelby has made this cake and poured a ganache over the top, which I can only imagine was chocolate deliciousness covered in chocolate heaven. Especially if you don't measure the chocolate chips. Really, friends, the more chocolate chips the better. Just keep pouring. You won't be sorry. Another thing I've been wanting to try with this cake is to make it with a lemon (or yellow, I suppose) cake batter and white chocolate chips. I think that would probably be nice and light for spring. And you know, really good.

7.) Last. And certainly Least. For the last three weeks I have been TOTALLY CAUGHT UP on my laundry. Like, to the point where I'm finding myself looking around to find something (anything!) to make a full load. Don't you just hate me? Sorry. I'm just super proud of myself for being so on it. And I totally know that as we start spending more time outside this will all go to pot, so I have to mention it now. I credit my new Three Basket System, courtesy of the multi-hued laundry baskets that I just can't seem to stop buying at Target. I'd tell you more but I just finished writing a mile-long comment about this very thing over at Amy's and I'm all laundried out. But let me just say for now - tomorrow I'll fold my last load of laundry FOR THE WEEK and then? Laundry room is CLOSED. Now that's what I call a nice weekend.

More Quick Takes here.

Ash Wednesday. Again. Already.

2010-02-17T23:19:00.000-08:00

This life-sized creche was my favorite place on my university's campus - just sitting there in front of the Holy Family, pondering the beauty of that moment - the moment of the birth of our Lord. Gazing into the face of the Blessed Mother - so at peace. So humble. So loving. Examining the life of Saint Joseph - so strong. So courageous. And looking at that precious baby laying so innocently in the hay. I used to sit there, in the company of that Most Holy Family, and beg God to bless me with a family of my own. It was my life's dream. My heart's desire. The Virgin Mary was (and is) what and who I wanted to be. I've often said that what I want for my life is to "be" Mary to my own Joseph. To my own baby Jesus.

Perhaps if you're not a person of faith, this seems odd to you. It could seem odd even if you ARE one.

I don't know who designed this particular creche. I don't know if it was intentional or accidental. I don't know if others have seen in it what still strikes me. But on the back wall of the stable there is a beam that holds up the roof with a structural cross-beam attached. So when you sit there and gaze upon that sweet baby Jesus laying in the hay at the beginning of his earthly life you are instantly confronted with what will happen to him at the end of it. How powerful to gaze upon that sweet baby and SEE HIM up there on that cross - that precious baby who was born so that He could die.

I don't often think of Jesus in his child form. My Lord, my friend who I have come to know is Jesus the adult. Jesus the preacher. Jesus the friend. Jesus the story teller with the sarcastic flare and sharp wit. Jesus who healed the blind man. Jesus who wept at the death of his friends. Jesus the miracle worker. Jesus the forgiver. Jesus the prophet. Jesus the priest. Jesus the king.

Jesus the victim. Jesus the sacrifice.

Today is Ash Wednesday. Catholics the world over have been walking around all day with big black smudges on their foreheads and non-Catholics have been looking at them quizzically trying to figure out why we can't all just wash our faces already. I love this day. I love the looks. I love the humility of it all. I love approaching the priest and having him say to me,

"Remember that you are dust and unto dust you shall return."

I use this season for the purpose of preparing my heart for the death of my friend and what that means for my soul. The thing is that now, and for the past three years, it is no longer just my soul that needs to be prepared. I now have three little souls whose (very heavy) weight rests on my shoulders. Today as I approached our priest for the blessing of these ashes, I carried my darling newly baptized baby in my arms. Perfect. Pure. Sinless.

"Nathaniel, Love Jesus with all of your heart."

And as we walked back to our pew, I wasn't the only one with that big black cross on my forehead. I find that right now, as I type this, words fail me. (Not good, I realize, as I'm putting this all in writing...but let's face it. If I don't write it tonight it won't get written.) My eyes welled up with tears. My heart broke a little because, just as I would gaze upon that creche and see the dichotomy of that little baby resting in front of the instrument of his death, there in my arms was my little Innocent marked with the reality of his sinful fallen nature.

I don't know why it is that Lent has always been such a powerful season for me. I don't know why I can't make it through a reading of the Passion on Palm Sunday and Good Friday without tears in my eyes and a lump in my throat. Part of it, of course, is that in my heart there has always been this deep abiding love for the person of Jesus and gratitude for his tremendous sacrifice that I so clearly, each and every day, do not deserve.

But you know what? Holding my Little Precious today? I made a discovery. Now, as a mother to my own boys, I walk through this season in the Mary's sandals. I hold in my heart those things that she pondered. Every night in my prayers I thank God for the gift of my children. I ask him to give me the graces to choose the right for them and the courage to raise them well for the time that he has entrusted them to my care, knowing that he chose to give them to me at a specific time and for a specific time. And that realization opens my heart even more to what it is that Mary experienced as she watched her own sweet baby endure the weight and the ramifications of my sin. Then my heart breaks a little more, as it ponders my role not only in the suffering of Jesus, but in that of Mary as well.

So this Lenten season, I will endure my chosen sacrifices. I will persevere in my added devotions. And as I walk hand-in-hand with my Lord on his journey to the cross, I will open my other hand to that of his mother and ask her to show me how all of this looked through her eyes.

Jumping on the Food Blog Bandwagon.

2010-02-15T22:53:00.000-08:00

In the last couple of weeks, I have been the grateful recipient of dinner (and dessert!) help from the wise and wonderful world of Food Bloggers. I don't know why I haven't partaken of this wisdom before, but now that I have? I'm not going back! Today, for the second time in this month, dinner was ready at 8am courtesy of my crockpot. And? FABULOUS. My in-laws were instant fans of this cookie that you should all run to your kitchens to assemble Right This Instant! And this grown-up version of rice crispy treats has officially become the end of weight-loss as I know it.
SO! When my dear Whitney (who I ate lunch right next to at The Blathering but only really have gotten to know after she went home to her own state) (WEEP) has asked for recipes because she is stuck. Stuck in a rut. Well, friend, ask and ye shall receive. Here is one of my favorites, courtesy of the Raley's "Something Extra" magazine that my mom snags for me every chance she gets.

GUAJILLO CHICKEN

(Pictures would require scanning and, you know, work. My apologies.)

3 dried guajillo peppers, stems & seeds removed

I've yet to actually FIND these, so I just use chipotle peppers)

2 cups canned crushed tomatoes

3/4 cup chopped onion

1/2 cup low sodium chicken broth

2 cloves garlic

4 boneless skinless chicken breasts

2 T lime juice

mmm...zest them too...why not?

1 tsp Garlic salt

I never add salt to my recipes and it still tastes delicious

~~~~~~~~~~

1. Puree peppers, tomatoes, onion, broth & garlic in blender until not too smooth.

2. Transfer to md saucepan, bring to boil then simmer for 20 mins.

3. While simmering, rinse & dry chicken, sprinkle with lime juice and garlic salt

4. Grill chicken until mostly cooked through, brush liberally with sauce

**I brush a small amount on the chicken before cooking. If you do this, make sure to pour some sauce into a separate bowl so that you're not dipping your raw-chickened brush back into the sauce you'll use later.**

5. Remove from grill, place on platter & cover in remaining sauce

**This sauce is HOT. Be nice to your friends and let them add their own extra sauce.**

6. Garnish with a little cilantro & lime wedges, serve with spanish rice.

MMMMMM. TRUST ME. MMMMMM.

Take my word for it when I tell you that you should make a double batch of this. The next night, cook up some pasta and you've got a ready made arrabiata sauce that won't disappoint.

All In A Day's Work. updated with appropriate linkage

2010-01-25T21:38:00.000-08:00

By the end of my pregnancy with Nate I was tired in ways that I hadn't experienced with the other two. I'm sure we can add up all of the factors: the house hunt, the closing process, the packing, the moving, the adjusting, the unpacking, and well, the gestating. Perhaps more than the physical exhaustion was the emotional one and, let's face it, I was just DOWN. Really TIRED. And really DONE WITH EVERYTHING. A sort of pre-partum depression, if you will. Honestly, by the end of a pregnancy you don't need to do anything beyond wake up to make you ready to get back in bed. So combine the whole Waking Up Thing with everything else and I was just plain overwhelmed. And sad when I would hear about how many wonderful Fall-type things my friends were doing with their days. Up early with comforting meals in the crock pot. Apple picking. Fall walks. It was really quite disgusting, to be honest with you. Just hearing about all of the things you were all doing was exhausting. I wondered where you got the energy. Where you got the desire.

Now that I carry my baby outside of my body rather than within and I'm starting to feel more like myself, I'm finally taking the opportunity to do all of those things and have a busy day that doesn't result in the bottom half of my legs ballooning to three-times their size. And so, without further ado, I present to you:

Things I Did Today Because I Can Function Like A Normal Person:

Hung three pictures on guest bathroom wall
Hung two pictures in our bedroom
Talked to my mom. Twice.
Talked to my mother-in-law. Twice.
Talked to my Nonna. Twice.
Called Comcast (again) and politely explained to them that after FOUR service calls last week our telephone issue was still not resolved and now our cable box was broken and no I would not bring the cable box in because it's only been here for 8 weeks and is therefore brand new and should not be broken and I have three babies at home and it's raining outside and PERHAPS Comcast could show a little customer service and have the guy who is coming AGAIN to fix the phones just fix the cable while he's here because he is trained to do so and that's his job.
Told Comcast Guy (still politely) (but much more sternly) (to put it lightly) that no tomorrow morning was not acceptable and that if the first guy had just done it right we wouldn't be having this conversation and that if the third guy (who actually was the first guy again) hadn't decided to leave immediately upon arrival on Saturday night with the promise that he'd come back Monday morning actually CAME BACK MONDAY MORNING then, again, we wouldn't be having this conversation. And thus scheduled ANOTHER service call for tonight. During the dinner hour. Again.
Printed out the remainder of Nathaniel's baptism invitations.
Made lunch for my family. And, not surprisingly, ate lunch alone at the table after everyone else was finished.
Put Jake down for his nap. (Always easy. Always want to stay in his room and hide just a little longer.)
Stuffed envelopes and found addresses off of whitepages.com because I STILL CANNOT FIND MY ADDRESS BOOK while nursing Nate.
Plopped Christopher on the counter while I made Paula's Beef Stew, peeled potatoes and set them in water for boiling and mashing, crushed garlic, brushed bread and set aside for broiling garlic toast, and made my mother-in-law's most delicious chocolate bundt cake EVER. (All by 2:30)
Switched the laundry, put away clothes.
Called the salesman from Macy's (because he said he'd call me today and it was 4:30 and I felt like he was avoiding me) to see when our new chairs would be delivered.
Told him that I was disappointed, but understood, that MY chair would not be delivered until AFTER I have 50 people at my son's baptism reception because he made a mistake and misread his computer screen.
Complained to Tim that HIS chair would be here next week but mine would not.
Complained to my mother-in-law that Tim's chair would be here next week but mine would not. (Okay so maybe I talked to her THREE times.)
Told BOTH Tim and his mom that, no, I didn't want to call the manager and complain in an effort to get my furniture here when it had been promised because REALLY I have more important concerns in the next two weeks and is a CHAIR really that big of a deal and besides, what can you do?
Ultimately agreed with both of them that the answer to "so what can you do?" is "GET MY CHAIR HERE ON TIME."
Told Tim that I had dealt with enough service calls and managers and blah blah blah in the past week so if he wanted the chair here HE could call and complain and I would support him 100% but I just was not going to do it myself.
Listened in awe as my husband left a very diplomatic message on Macy's Guy's voicemail. (We'll see what comes of that.)
Invited my sister-in-law over for dinner.
Tested all the phone lines in the house with the comcast guy and they actually work. For now.
Cleaned up dinner.
Put all four Troy men to sleep. (Seriously. Tim is out like a light too.)
Had my first date with Jillian since I found out I was pregnant with Nate.
And, you know, wrote this.

Whew! It sure is good to be back!

Sure Target Has Moved On To Valentine's And Summer, But I'm still Back At Christmas.

2010-01-21T22:35:00.000-08:00

Today I was sitting in the play room, gazing upon my still-stacked-high-with-Christmas-stuff dining room table and lamenting to my mom about how much I hate our dining set. Perhaps, I told her, I would hate it a little less if it weren't taunting me with its resident mess that should have been packed up weeks ago. Perhaps. My mom, in her loveliness, told me not to worry. She said she'll help me pack everything up while she's here visiting and then maybe when I can SEE the dining room set we can figure out how to make it so that I LIKE it.

She's a smart lady, my mom. You see, the issue of my frustration today had really nothing to do with the dining set (which, really. I really dislike it. REALLY.) And more to do with the fact that I just can't get that Christmas stuff out of the way. It's not getting done. It's there. It's looming. I should do it and I can't. JUST. CAN'T.

If I were looking for a way to describe how this Christmas was for us, that sentiment nails it. This was the Christmas of "I just can't get it done." I think what it comes down to is that we were SO looking forward to the holidays this year. We had our new baby. We had our new big, beautiful home. We wanted to decorate. We wanted to make it magical. And, you know, maybe somewhere in there we'd fit in a little bit of Holy too. That's the important part, right? Don't forget The Holy. Riiiiiight. HOLY. Jesus is the reason for the season and all that. To be honest, this Christmas blew past me so blasted fast that if I were to put on paper my mental calendar of the past few months, it would go straight from Thanksgiving to today. It CHAPS MY HIDE that this was our reality - that there was no Advent this year - but that's how it happened.

Make no mistake - our Christmas was lovely. But it was fast. It was exhausting. And? Many parts of it were a chore. Getting the Christmas tree. Putting it up. Decorating it. You name it, it was on the To Do List just waiting to be scratched off. Just so we could say it was done.

We have our own little traditions that we're putting in place for the boys, among which include my in-laws joining us for breakfast on Christmas morning so that they can see the boys open the presents that Santa has brought. Once gifts were opened and little people were distracted, I sat down with my coffee and my mother-in-law to enjoy a nice visit. She began telling me how, the day before, she had turned off the TV entirely. She knew that Christmas day would be too hectic to truly meditate and recognize Christ's birth, so she did it the day before.

Truly meditate on Christ's birth. Attempt to comprehend the love behind the Incarnation. Ponder what humility came with that Divine Condescension. I can't remember the last time that I had that privilege...that I made that time for myself.

Days later, in the car by myself, I found myself reflecting on this conversation. The time goes, I realized, we'll be deep into the season of Lent. Another penitential season. Another time of preparation, this time for the holiest days of the year. Another season that, if I'm not careful, will blow past me with little more observation than a few meatless Fridays. In considering these two holy holy seasons, I became frustrated by the fact that (especially now that I have children) they always seem to just pass me by. Sure, I make efforts to recognize the seasons, but year after year they pass before I even realize what's going on.

While I cruised down the highway that day, I began to get a little down on myself. My spiritual life is so different now than it was as a single person, most specifically as a college student living on a campus where you were inundated with holiness. There was no escaping it, no ignoring it. During those years I found it nearly impossible to be too busy to pray, too distracted to meditate, too tired to devote myself to the observance of the life of my Lord. I wondered how I could be a good example to my children in what is TRULY important when, this year, I couldn't even get it together enough to finish the superficial stuff.

As my mind drifted on to my sweet little boys - those little Men In Progress whose souls have been entrusted to me - I started to fret about how in the world I will be able to adequately mold those souls when most of the time I feel like my own is barely hanging on. How can I show them the holiness of Christmas and the love of Good Friday when my own daily prayer consists mostly of a frantic glance at my crucifix and a whispered, "Help me, Lord! Hold me up, Blessed Mother!"

On the verge of despair, a little angel must have whispered in my ear. Nudged me with a gentle reminder of what a priest friend of ours said to me not long ago. He said, "parenthood is not a contemplative vocation." Thank God for guardian angels whispering in ears! It's true, isn't it? Every once in a while when I make it to daily Mass, I always marvel at the fact that I can sit and listen to a homily from start to finish with no distractions. No one squirming. No one falling off the pew. No one putting stickers up and down my arms or rearranging the missals and hymnals. Right now, what makes me holy is the daily sacrifice of being Christopher's mommy. It's the tenderness with which I hold Jake THE WHOLE ENTIRE TIME I'M COOKING DINNER just because he still wants to be my baby and it's one of the few times I'm not holding his new baby brother. My holiness comes in the exhaustion from staying up all night with newborn Nathaniel who thinks sleeping is for babies. Er...well...you know what I mean.

What I didn't understand in the conversation with my mother-in-law is that she has a privilege that I do not simply because of the season of life in which she currently resides. That is not my season. Not yet. Mine is one in which she has already lived, and through it, she has earned her contemplative time. My time will come. Until then, my holiness is to be found (as a blogger who I'm continually learning from says) "in the trenches of motherhood." That is where my soul resides and where my children will learn all of those things for which their souls thirst.

But in the meantime? I have GOT to put away those Christmas decorations.

I Do Believe We're Due For A Rant From My (Self) Righteous Soapbox.

2010-01-04T21:40:00.001-08:00

Several years ago (back when I was young and carefree, living in San Diego with my fabulous roommate) there was a notepad-sized piece of yellow paper affixed to my bathroom mirror on which was A List. The List contained bits and pieces of conversations with others that, when taken out of context, could be deemed as nothing better than completely inappropriate for mixed company. Or any company, for that matter. One of the items on said List was spoken by yours truly, and I believe it said something to the effect of:

"You know, Shelby. You should really try to be more like me."

Ha! I remember exactly where I was when I said that. And I remember it being added to The List almost immediately as it really was said in jest. Who can remember the original context? Not I. And that's not what's important here. What's important is that, lately, this has really come back to haunt me. The difference? Now I'm dead serious.

I said it to Tim the other day. "You know, my life would be SO MUCH EASIER if people would just think the way that I do and then BEHAVE PROPERLY." Being the loving, obliging husband that he is, he agreed with me and we moved on. (I married a very smart man.) I'll admit that I did feel a bit snobbish after uttering (okay SPEWING IN FRUSTRATION) these words and figured that perhaps I should examine my own self before declaring myself Miss Manners And Good Behavior. So, after a good deal of self-reflection, I've figured it out. It's not that I wish people would think more like me (well. okay. I do, really. But read on.) but rather that I feel as though the ways that I think and the manner in which I behave are deeply rooted in common sense. And common courtesy.

Two things that, frankly (and I don't care if you're name's not Frank.) aren't that common anymore.

CASE IN POINT:

Today I filled my car up with three sick, almost sick, and very sick little boys for an impromptu visit to the pediatrician. Christopher has been alternately hacking up his left and then his right lung for a week now, Jake started in with the cough yesterday, and little Nate is on day three of the saddest sounding little cough you've ever heard. It was one of those mornings that I was watching the clock hit 9:00 so that I could call to get the in as early as possible; and yet, I was dreading this call as well. DREADING talking to the receptionist who has never gotten a single appointment scheduled correctly for me. Never. (Honestly, I'd rather pull out my own teeth than deal with this woman.) (I'm sure she's a lovely person, but she can't schedule an appointment to save her life.) (Really.) Lucky me, I called the advice line and when the nurse did end up recommending that we come in, she scheduled me herself.

I will be doing all of my scheduling through the advice line from now on. One way or another I'll find an excuse to do it.

When we arrived for our 10:30 appointment at 10:28 (!!!!ontimewiththreekids!!!!) I had the boys wait outside the door while I popped my head in to say that we were there. They have a sign on the door requesting that any families with flu-like symptoms come in through the back door, and while I was confident the boys don't have the flu, I also didn't want to get any of the other babies in the waiting room sick. (See? Common Sense! Common Courtesy!) Unfortunately for me, of the two receptionists, the only one at the desk was She Who Cannot Schedule. And, no surprise, she was dealing with another mom and clearly was in the middle of Something Confusing. (I will refrain from commenting on the "confusing" in the interest of being charitable. Mmmkay?)

Clearly she was busy. So, I made eye-contact and then closed the door and stood outside the window in the cold with my three snot-faced babies. Certainly they could hear the coughing from inside. Moms with kids went in. Dads with babies came out. Everyone exchanging pleasantries. "Oh what a cute baby! He's just a week older than ours!" "Oh thank you for waiting for the other door. We really appreciate it." "Oh there's another door? I didn't even know!" (First timer.)

Did I mention that it was cold outside? Did I mention that my kids were sick? Did I mention that Receptionist SAW US STANDING OUT THERE as I repeatedly stuck my head in the door?

I was getting angrier and angrier with each passing minute. I really felt that it would be wrong to take my germ-laden kids into the waiting room where they could get the other kids sick. But you know what? MY KIDS ARE SICK AND THEY'RE STANDING OUT IN THE COLD. What a conundrum. Finally, Receptionist Who Gets Things Done, returned to the desk. It was 10:35. All I had to do was say hello before she knew who we were and was hopping back out of her chair to run over to the back door to let us in out of the cold. You see, friends? Common Sense. Common Courtesy. Sick kids inside a warm doctor's office.

WHY ARE THESE THINGS SO HARD FOR SOME PEOPLE TO FIGURE OUT?

This whole common sense thing has been nagging at my brain for the past couple of weeks. It didn't just start today with my poor little children standing out in the cold with snot icicles dangling from their noses. The pressure is starting to build within me, though, and I'm afraid that my Common Sense volcano is going to erupt one of these days just because someone leaves an empty glass on the counter rather than putting it in the empty sink.

Ah, pet peeves. Aren't they delightful? What are yours?

*****

By the way, we came out of that visit $90.00 poorer, but three kids healthier. Chris has a cold along with his first ear infection and a prescription for Bubble Gum Medicine (amoxycillin), Jake's already downed his second dose of cough medicine, and little Nate was sent home with a nebulizer with saline solution that steams up in his face and makes it look like he's taking a little smokey tokey. Hey, you have to find the humor in this somewhere, right?

So Much For Installments...

2009-12-28T22:40:00.000-08:00

It's time to be done with this whole "birth story in installments" thing. I'm just too infrequent a poster to actually make that happen. So let's get on with it.

We woke up bright and early on the 12th with Christopher asleep between us in our bed. This is nothing new - he's been showing up a lot since we moved to the new house. It's a disruption, and often it's frustrating, but the good thing is that when we wakes up (even the very first night we were here) he just gets out of his bed, runs down the hallway and up the stairs, and just climbs right in. No crying or screaming from his bed requiring us to make that journey in reverse. So we have to keep the complaining to a minimum. Anyway. As frustrating as the day and night before had been, the morning came early but went smoothly. Chris did wake up before we left, allowing me to take a couple of photos with him - cute ones too, as he showcased his little tiny belly right alongside my big huge one. (You know we don't do photos here, but you can see the evidence of this on facebook.) Jake was still sleeping and, to be honest, it was heart wrenching for me to leave without saying goodbye to him. But leave we did.

Checking in and getting settled at the hospital was a breeze, and before I knew it I was all gowned up and resting comfortably in my bed waiting for the variety of nurses and doctors to come and give me all of the info necessary for the day. I felt calm and comfortable. This c-section thing really is old hat by now. The one thing that did have my blood pressure on the rise was the prospect of having the IV placed. Last time it took four nurses FIVE separate attempts to get that thing in. As a matter of fact, they had to call an anesthesiologist to get the job done. It was AWFUL. So when the nurse came in this time I pulled that whole "be your own advocate" thing and told her, in no uncertain terms, that we were not doing THAT again. She was awesome. So awesome that she immediately called in the nurse on the floor who she considered The Best at this whole IV thing. And you know what? She really was The Best. No problems whatsoever.

With that done, I thought my worries were behind us. I had been informed from the very start that my 10am reservation in the OR had been postponed, as they'd had an emergency c-section early in the morning, bumping the 8am and therefore bumping me. No big deal. I've been the girl having the emergency c-section and bumping the others out. What goes around comes around. They told me we'd be leaving my room for the OR at 10:55. "They" being this awesome nurse...hmmm what was her name? Oh yes, NANCY. I LOVE NANCY. She must have been about 65. She was tough. But not scary tough. She was one of those nurses who knew what she was doing, (she was training a nursing student and every other word out of her mouth was "this is how you have to do it. It's not how *I* do it, but this is protocol and this is how you do it." Hmm. I suppose that sounds bad now, but it was just because she has been doing this for so long that there are things that she just KNOWS you know?) had the tender heart of a nurse, but also had a sense of humor that could carry you through any anxiety that you might have.

So. They were supposed to come get me at 10:55. At 10:50 Nancy pops her head in and says that it looks like we're going to be delayed again. There was a girl down the hall who had been laboring all night, was 100% dilated and effaced and blah blah blah, had been pushing for however long, but the baby just wasn't coming. They were going to take her in and get the baby out pronto. My heart fell for that girl. How horrible to make it that far. To work THAT hard and then to have to go into the OR. I know how that feels - actually, I don't. I didn't get nearly as far as she did. With Christopher I only got to 6cm before they took me, and I was STILL frustrated. So they took her and that was fine with me. I had my IV. I had my husband and my mom with me. I had my cell phone keeping me connected to all of my lovely friends sending me encouraging texts and tweets. No worries. No worries at all.

And then my doctor came in. For the record, he came in with a Starbucks in his hand. To a fasting pre-op pregnant mama who is already having to sit there and watch her husband gobble down a fresh donut, this was torture. And I told him so. As it turns out, I know NOTHING about torture.

His first words as he walked in the door? "We're screwed." He began explaining about the scheduling problems that had taken place that morning and how we just keep getting bumped and bumped. He went on to tell me that he didn't know if we'd be able to "do this today." The fact that it was only 11:00 had me a bit baffled, and I told him so. His response? "But I'm going to the 49er game."

OH YES HE DID.

Now, I have to tell you that this did not come out of thin air. He had told us at my pre-op appointment the day before that he was going to the game. He even made some kind of comment about how he hoped the hospital was running on time because of said game.

I THOUGHT HE WAS KIDDING.

HE WAS NOT KIDDING.

So there he is telling us about this game and I swear to you this was one of those times when if looks could kill he was lucky that we were in a hospital. Between me, Tim, and my mom it's really a miracle that the guy was still standing for the daggers shooting across the room. I don't remember the whole conversation at this point, but I do know that I asked him if he was going to send me home or if I'd stay over night. To be honest, neither was really an option in my mind, but the thought of going home and living the entire Day Before The Surgery AGAIN was already making me want to pull out every single hair on my head one by one. The answer, of course, was that YES HE WOULD be sending me home.

I looked at Tim. He's always the one I look to when the truth needs to be spoken. He is my support. He is my advocate. He is the one who is not afraid to ruffle any feathers. He asked the doctor how long this c-section was really going to take, knowing that the game wasn't going to be starting any time too soon. "Aren't they pretty quick?" we asked him. It's pretty well known in our hospital (as I'd been told many times that morning...as well as during my previous hospital stays) that my doctor is not only an excellent surgeon, but that he is also remarkably fast in the operating room. He runs a tight ship. He doesn't mess around. He gets the job done. So his response to our question was, "well, MY c-sections are pretty fast, but I'm not the one doing the c-section."

And then my brilliant husband spoke up and TOLD him that he'd be assisting with this first surgery to ensure that I could get in for mine. Okay. Well. He didn't really TELL him the way I made it sound, but he did it in his only gentle way that I knew exactly what he meant but the doctor didn't get pissed off and send us home immediately. He left us saying that he would go and offer to assist the other doctor, thereby hurrying things up a bit, so that we could meet our boy today.

When Nancy came to check on us several minutes later, I asked her if I was going to be having a baby that day. She had seen him heading toward the OR but knew nothing beyond that. I took that to be a good sign while she went to find out whatever she could. When she finally returned, she walked into the room quickly with a Strictly Business look on her face.

"Let's go." She said.

HOORAY!!!!!!

She put my little blue grippy socks on my feet, wrapped a blanket around my naked bum, and off we went to the operating room. For those of you who have not had the experience of walking yourself into your own surgery, let me just say that it is one of the most surreal experiences of your life. I've had three c-sections, two of which I have walked myself into that room. It's so casual - you walk all the time, you know? Walk to the park. Walk to the mailbox. Walk to the kitchen. Walk into a completely sterile room where they will paralyze you from the waist down, cut into your abdomen and remove a new person from your body. No big deal, really.

RIGHT. NO BIG DEAL.

I left Tim and my mom in the hallway, and Nancy brought me to the operating table. My memory of doing this with Jake was so much different than what I experienced this time. With Jake, everything was ready. I went in, they gave me my shot while I cried into the nurse's shoulder, they laid me down and got me ready, Tim came in, Jake came out. This time, I suppose because that room had seen so much action already, nothing was prepared. I sat there on the operating table for at least ten minutes while I watched the different nurses and technicians set everything up. I find it surprising (even looking back after the fact) that it was not nearly as nerve-wracking as one would think. I sat there and studied the room around me, looking at all of the supplies that lined the walls, asking questions about what's this and what's that, watching the tools being laid out and the baby station being set up. It was rather fascinating. My doctor came in and HE was the one who had me curl into his shoulder while they gave me my spinal. He chatted with me the whole time and even though I was still remarkably PISSED OFF with him, he made me feel comfortable in the situation. After all, he was the only person in the room who I'd known for longer than a couple of hours, so I figured it was better to be appreciative of his presence than anything else. After all, we'd passed the point of no return. I was definitely having a baby that day.

Once they got me all set up and pulled that curtain up over my face, Tim came in. It made me cry to see him. Suddenly, I was anxious. It's such a strange experience - I know I've said that before, but it really is. Being awake to hear all of the Doctor Speak, to feel the tugging and pulling, to hear the suction, to smell the cauterizing. Ugh. There is a reason I'm not a nurse.

And then. All of a sudden. THE SQUAWKING.

If I wasn't crying already, it definitely started at that moment when I heard that very tiny but very loud SQUAWK. I remember looking at Tim and asking if he could see him. I remember waiting to hear FOR SURE that "It's a boy!" I remember my doctor saying, "he looks good, Anne" just as he's done twice before. I remember being aware this time that I could not stop crying. Sobbing. There was nothing I could do to stifle my sobs. Nor did I have any interest in doing so.

Although I couldn't see over the curtain, I was aware of the fact that they were carrying my little Nathaniel over to my right to where the baby station was set up and in the flurry of activity taking place around my own table I suddenly heard a hearty laugh spread throughout the room. I knew what happened because my Jake had done the same thing. I looked at Tim and asked, "did he pee?" Boy did he. He peed all over that operating room. I joined in the laughter in between my sobs.

Nancy pulled the curtain away just enough that I could see that little slimy naked baby. They held him up and there he was. My boy. My Nathaniel. My baby who looked EXACTLY like his oldest brother....except for the fact that he weighed nearly three pounds less. Yes, my friends, THREE POUNDS. Weighing in at 7lbs, 14oz, little Nate had the stats of his brother Jake and the face of his brother Chris. A true combination.

I could not take my eyes from him. And I could not stop the sobbing.

I cried more with this delivery than, I think, I did with either of the other boys. Don't get me wrong - there were tears shed with my big boys. Lots and lots of tears. But these were different These were cries of joy, of course, but I think the real cause of the tears was relief. This was a hard pregnancy that ended with so much activity and so much "to do" that I felt like now we could finally get on with things. We could finally just start loving our boy.

They let me hold him before they took him off to the nursery for all of his tests. "Hold" is really a relative term when you're strapped down to that operating table and you've got narcotics screaming through your system. The nurse laid that little hat-wearing burrito on my chest while Tim held him in place. And I kissed him. And I cried. And I remembered, once again, that any anxiety I had over how to love ANOTHER one wasn't worth any of the time that I'd wasted on it. I loved him. Plain and simple. Son number three hasn't pushed the other two out of the way. He doesn't take more love from me at the expense of the others. He just slides right into place, filed in my heart next to his two brothers and his daddy. Right where he'll always be, and really, right where he always has been.

You Should Have Known I Wouldn't Be Back In Just One Day (aka Nate's birth story, part deux)

2009-12-14T23:26:00.001-08:00

Ah friends. Let's see...where did I leave off? That's right - I didn't really start. So let's get this party started.

The craziness of the move and move-in was eased when my Mommy arrived on the 9th. I cannot express to you the joyful anticipation with which I awaited her arrival. I felt like once she got here everything would just get easier. And you know what? It did. We still had a lot of stuff to get out of the townhouse, and my intention had been to turn in the keys the next day. But it just wasn't happening. And I was EXHAUSTED. And cranky. (I know. Imagine that.) Everyone was telling me to take it easy. To not push so hard. To stop with the moving already and let everyone else finish up the job. The problem with this is that I am a little bit freaky over letting go of control. Okay. Perhaps more than "a little bit." A lot bit, okay? A REALLY REALLY LOT BIT. So I pushed and pushed - pushed myself, pushed my family - to get everything finished by this arbitrary, self-imposed deadline. I was probably driving everyone crazy but if there's one thing I've finally learned about myself through this process is that Being In Control = My Crack. Seriously. I'm addicted and I need to stop it. I didn't realize this, of course, until I was talking to Shelby and sharing with her a bit of my frustration over "everyone" not following my commands. Perhaps I mentioned that I have a hard time not being in control. And, just perhaps, Shelby's response was a knowing "I KNOW you do."

Hmmm. Now that can get a girl thinking. When your best friend confirms something that you really just said jokingly, and does so with that tone in her voice that tells you that this just might be One Of Those Things. (You know what I'm talking about. One of Those Things that you need to work on about yourself.) You'd better do it. Blast. But! I heard it in her voice and it finally clicked! I finally understood - I had done ENOUGH. It was okay to ask everyone else to do the rest. So I did! And that was, by far, the most freeing moment of the entire experience. Simply lovely. I let go. I never went back to that townhouse. I gave Tim all of the keys and I erased it from my brain. Simply lovely.

Now I tell you all that simply to say that, even having let go of the entire experience, the night before I went in to the hospital I was still beyond exhausted. I had been hoping that my last day as a mom of two would be relaxing. That I would have time to just prepare myself - mentally, physically, emotionally. Perhaps I'd actually pack my hospital bag. Maybe I'd get a few things in order at home. I could have a leisurely meal with my family. I could talk to some friends. I could write out some instructions for my mom and sister-in-law who would be doing the bulk of the babysitting.

Uh, yeah. Right.

At this point I don't remember what filled up that day. But I remember that it was busy. I remember that the Little People were very VERY needy. I remember that my mom was buzzing around here like a bee getting things put away (we were deep in the midst of kitchen set-up that week) and while that was helpful, I've learned that what I really needed her to do was to help me by taking the boys so that I could handle my own stuff. (This is a post for another time, but the whole experience really did teach me that when someone is helping you, it really is okay to clearly articulate what YOU need...rather than just being grateful that they're helping at all. AND I actually did get to the point where I did it. AND!!! It works. Imagine that.) I remember that Tim was busy working, knowing that he, too, was going to be out of commission for the next few days. I remember that the phone was ringing OFF THE HOOK. Friends and family members checking in, wishing me good luck, assuring me of their prayers.

By the time dinner, bath and bedtime were upon us, I was DONE. And, yet, "done" wasn't an option. I still hadn't packed. I still hadn't made my lists, which was particularly troubling because I KNEW that my mom and sister-in-law were kind of hanging out waiting for some instruction from me that I hadn't been able to provide for them. Hadn't even been able to THINK about. And unfortunately, having the baby STILL felt like just another item on the To Do List.

I think we had finally gotten Christopher to sleep, or at least snuggled in with my mom, when my dear college roommate called from Toronto to check in. As soon as I saw her name on the caller ID the tears started to flow. I cried because I was exhausted. I cried because I was frustrated. I cried because I was nervous. But most of all, I cried because I knew that she knew EXACTLY what I was going through. (She has four girls of her own....and she didn't get the luxury of scheduling a labor-free c-section at the end of all of her pregnancy exhaustion.) As always, she calmed me, encouraged me, and made me laugh. My closest girlfriends always seem to call at the perfect time. How is that?

By the time I hung up the phone, my little Jake was asleep on my bed next to me. It was, by far, the easiest bedtime he'd had since we moved in. (I should have talked to all of my girlfriends that week - boy would it have spared me some bedtime frustration!) Although I was calmed, the stress and the drama of the overall day continued well into the night. It was a challenging and frustrating day to the very minute that I fell asleep. And, just as it was the night before Jake's birth, I laid in my bed in joyful anticipation of meeting my new son coupled with the recognition that I'd be leaving my two big boys behind and when I returned life would never be the same for us. We'd never be our little family of four again and there were going to be some big transitions to deal with.

And! Most of all? I lay there PRAISING GOD for the fact that, for the next four days I would not be responsible for a single thing in the whole wide world. And THAT, my friends, helped me to sleep veeerrrryyy soundly.

**Next Time: Clearly The San Francisco 49ers Are More Important Than My Baby.**

Now That I've Finally Sat Down To Type This, Someone Will Start Crying Or My Battery Will Die. TRUST ME. (Also, now, Nate's Birth Story: Part One.)

2009-11-30T21:57:00.001-08:00

It's December. Effective tomorrow, it's December.

Thanksgiving has passed us by, as have the move and the birth...(well, hey, would you look at that. CRYING. Will be back to finish this post in a week or so.)

Sure enough. It IS a week or so later and here I am, listening to my little Nate scuffling in his chair next to my bed (don't even get me started on the possibility of sleeping in the pak-n-play...or sleeping in the chair for that matter...) threatening to wake up and need me. And, thus, keep me from writing this post YET AGAIN. It's not that I have ZERO time to sit down and write his story. It's certainly not that I have zero INTEREST in writing his story. It's just that by the time we get the big boys to bed (it's still hard for me to believe that Jacob is now a "big boy") and I get the kitchen cleaned up from dinner the time that I have to work on this little critter's Christmas stocking becomes less and less. And THAT project actually has a deadline. All that to say, thanks for being patient.

At any rate....here we go.

First, let me just say that I take my hat off to those of you who actually have babies the normal way. Having a planned c-section takes a lot of the stress out of the waiting, for sure, but it also is SO EASY. I'm sure that there are many graces that God gives to you when having a baby (regardless of which way that baby comes out) but by the time The Night Before The Big Day was upon us, all I could think was "I don't know how anyone could go through labor and delivery after all of this." I was SO. TIRED. I was SO. EMOTIONAL. Plain and simple, I was exhausted. Granted, we were still in the process of moving into a new house, but even setting that aside I just don't know how you all do it.

My biggest concern amidst all of the busy-ness of Project House and Project Baby was that the house would be so all-consuming that we'd get to the point where having the baby was just another thing to be crossed off on the to-do list. In the grand scheme of things, that second project is so much more important than the first and I didn't want to lose it, you know? As it turns out, I did kind of lose it...but it didn't really matter all that much. Because I was still there. I still remember everything. And? Because I still get this little baby FOREVER. God has entrusted this precious soul to me and even though the circumstances surrounding his birth were hectic, the rest of his life is before us. THAT is what is important to me. THAT is what I'm thankful for.

That said, I think I'm going to take a lesson from Arwen and stop here. Let me do this in little bits...smaller chunks of writing = smaller blocks of time (for me and for you!) = more time for me to change a certain someone's diaper. (I'm beginning to sense a certain aroma wafting up past my nose.)

Tomorrow: The Night Before The Party.

The Calm Between The Storms

2009-11-07T16:23:00.001-08:00

Six weeks ago I had two items on my pre-baby To Do List. One: make Baby's Christmas Stocking. Two: Complete this years Christmas Shopping. The logic was simple - having a baby six weeks before Christmas would completely erase those next six weeks in terms of Getting Things Done. And, as you know, Getting Things Done before Christmas is quite a task. I figured the task was easy enough - take the stocking from looking like this:

to looking something like these:

My life was so much simpler back when I made Christopher's stocking. I knew it would be a project...didn't know HOW MUCH of a project I was looking at, though. My mom had made our Christmas stockings, and when I found kits similar to what she 'd done for us, I knew I had to do the same for our boys. Turns out that they're a liiiitle more intricate these days. And boy do they take a lot of time to complete! As life would have it, by the time I started working on it my little newborn was in a lovely pattern of being asleep by 9pm for three or four hours. At that point, I'd flip on that night's Hallmark Channel Christmas Movie and get to work. I got in nearly two hours of work each night, and yet the stocking STILL wasn't finished in time for Christmas. (It WAS, however, ready in time for New Year's which worked out quite well because that year we spent Christmas in Tahoe with my family and then had a big Second Christmas with Tim's family on New Year's Eve.) That last week was all I needed to get it finished and it was so lovely. And I was so proud that my boy would have this stocking every single year.

Life was a little different when Jake came along. He wasn't NEARLY as good of a sleeper, so my work time was really chopped up, but the fact that he was born in May meant that if I planned well, there was no excuse to not have it completed. Plus, by Jake's first Christmas, Chris was old enough to know what's up and I JUST KNOW he would have questioned why Jake didn't have a stocking for HoHo to fill. (Yes, HoHo. He still calls him that. EVERY SINGLE DAY BECAUSE HE LOVES HOHO SO VERY MUCH.) (Did I mention this takes place EVERY SINGLE DAY?) (GOOD.) This second time around, I thought it would be fun to keep track of how many hours it took for me to complete the stocking. Every night I logged my start and stop time, and friends? It took me thirty-six hours.

THIRTY SIX HOURS went into the making of that Christmas stocking. And, yes, I am just a little too proud of that.

That said, I knew that Nate's stocking was going to take a long time. I knew that there would be NO time between his birth and Christmas. I KNEW I need to start it at the beginning of October and work for at least ONE HOUR every night in order to get it done on time.

And then we went and bought a house - a process that absolutely destroyed every plan I had on my pre-baby agenda.

Don't get me wrong. I love the house. I WANTED to buy the house. I wanted to be IN the house before the baby arrived. Obviously, right? Wouldn't that make so much more sense than trying to move with a newborn? Of course it would! We'd been looking for a few months by the time we found this house, though, and as my due date was getting closer and closer I was beginning to accept the possibility and then the (I thought) reality that we would not be in a house before the baby came. I resigned myself to bringing Baby Nate home to our 3-bedroom town home (in which every room is occupied AND now that Tim works from home, no longer has a kitchen table as it has been converted to a work space) and I convinced myself that everything would work out just fine! After all, what does a baby need beyond a few jammies and a place to sleep, right? Right! OKAY, I had a few mild panic attacks, but beyond that, I was fine.

But then the price dropped on this house that I had already seen and written off because 1) it was way out of our price range and 2) I didn't like it. Don't get me wrong - it was fancy and lovely, but the floor plan wasn't my ideal and, let's face it, it's easy to "not like a house" that's too expensive for you to buy. BUT I DIGRESS. We walked through the house again (for me. For the first time for Tim.) Again I didn't like it. But Tim LOVED it. You can ask Shelby. She was there. I really didn't like it. I had Serious! Objections! And then my dear friend Shelby (who was SUPPOSED to be on my side) admitted that she liked it. And then my other friends presented easy solutions to my objections. And THEN Amy and the Blathering crew had this joke about First World Problems. And THEN I realized that maybe, just maybe, the fact that the (big! beautiful!) laundry room was not exactly where I would like it to be was not quite a valid reason to walk away from this house.

AND THEN!!!! My DAD talked me into it. My. Dad. This is a whole other post just waiting to be written.

From that point everything happened quickly and our situation changed from accepting that we wouldn't be out of our townhouse before baby was born to moving into a big, spacious home exactly one week before my scheduled c-section.

And then my head exploded.

Well, not quite. But that's how the past few days have felt. Like my head is ready to pop off...and my bellybutton too.

Suffice it to say, any plans I had to be ready for Christmas before my birthday even hit were erased from my psyche. Christmas stocking? What Christmas stocking? Shopping? Sorry! Mortgage! Getting ready for baby? Installing infant seat? Washing baby clothes? Finding bassinet attachment to pak-n-play? Fat chance!

I'm seriously losing more and more of my mind with every hour that passes. My body is getting ready to evict the baby, my brain is trying to keep everything straight, and my emotions are...well, rocky at best. But it's all good because all of this is a visible sign to me that God does answer our prayers. He does carry us through. He DOES give us blessings beyond our wildest imaginings. He did it last Thursday when we slept in our new home for the first time, and He'll be doing it again THIS Thursday when we hear that precious little squawk for the first time.

All of these blessings have been a challenge in many ways - not the least of which is the fact that we've been so busy and so scattered, that I feel like we haven't even had a moment to anticipate the baby. Yes, the physical preparations, but even more so the emotional excitement of what is to come. And yet, anticipated or not, he comes. And won't that be an exciting day?

My Parents Were Awesome.

2009-10-10T20:52:00.000-07:00

Just found this website, courtesy of Testosterhome. I can't stop looking at the pictures. Nice to see that so many people recognize the lives that their parents had before they were so busy keeping little people alive. Go check it out!

Not Sure If This Is As Bad As The Time I Trapped A Moth Between My Ear And My Pillow Or Not...

2009-10-09T20:16:00.001-07:00

Tonight, as I do every night, I snuggled up to a very wiggly Christopher while reading books and getting my nightly mammogram. It's our routine. It's what we do. And after several months of this, I've learned his sleepy pattern and can actually find it relaxing to my weary body. (Well, all except the mammogram part. I'll never get used to that.)

We read our book, talked about what we did today, gave Goodnight Kisses, said our prayers and told Jesus that we love him. Twice, due to the fact that there are two separate crucifixes hanging in his room. One receives a "Night night, Deedah," and then the other "I (love) You, Deedah!" I patiently waited out his squirming and wiggling, his demands that I sing quieter because "Shhh! Dadub Seeping!" and then that I "turn you up, mom" because he can't hear me, and our verrrry drawn out reading of Counting With Caillou.

As I watched him begin the process of fading into oblivion, I felt a little tickle on my chin. Naturally I figured it was a stray hair floating out of my disheveled 'do. That is, until I discovered the real cause of the tickle...out of the corner of my eye I saw it crawling down onto my sleeve. Why, yes. Yes, it was. A daddy long legs. CRAWLING ACROSS MY FACE.

Pleasant dreams.

Perhaps You Don't Always Have To Feel Guilty For Being Honest.

2009-10-06T11:28:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking a lot lately. A. Lot. It's pretty much What I Do, considering the fact that every time I sit down it takes at least 30 minutes (really) for me to get back up, and maybe I should just sit here a little longer and daydream about this or stew about that. I've already resigned myself to the reality that, right now, my kids watch COPIOUS AMOUNTS of television and play Little Amadeus on the computer for a much longer time span than is reasonable because, really, I'M TIRED. I'm having a baby in 5 weeks (getting my delivery date on Thursday!), my husband is occupied with either working or getting healthy, and my three-year old doesn't take naps.

Oh yeah. And my house is a pit. A PIT, I TELL YOU.

So, while everyone else in the house is busy doing whatever I can find to occupy them which requires the least amount of effort from me, I think. I consider the mundane little things that I really don't care all that much about...because if I did I would have taken care of them by now and I wouldn't have to take care of them anymore...such as taking care of this blog and making it look somewhat presentable. Or, you know, CLEANING MY HOUSE. But there are other little bugs that have landed in my ears that I can't seem to get rid of. Items of note that happened to enter my brain at rather appropriate times that make me think, "Hey. Maybe I'm not so awful of a person for thinking about this...."

Recently, Shelby asked a question on Twitter that really got me thinking. She said something to the effect of "Trying to make lemons out of lemonade. Parents: what do you miss about your kid-free days that I should be ENJOYING right now."

That question couldn't have come at a more appropriate time. This summer has been a season of challenges for us in a variety of ways, particularly in terms of my learning how to take care of two needy children, a husband who is ill, and my own nauseous self all while growing a little person inside my belly. There were several weeks during which both boys wanted Mommy And Only Mommy, Jake wouldn't fall asleep unless he was bounced up and down ENDLESSLY (which, actually, worked out okay considering I had stopped Shredding once I found out I was pregnant. That kid is tougher than Jillian on her best day.) These were the times when, in the midst of it all and despite the fact that I know I love my kids and my husband and would NEVER trade them in for ANYTHING, I fell quite easily into the trap of lamenting the ease of my pre-children life.

And I felt so guilty for it.

The instant one of those thoughts crept into my head, I would BANISH it. I would lecture myself, "There are so many people who don't have NEARLY as many blessings as you. Grow up and be grateful." I would offer up my "sufferings" for those moms I knew who no longer had the blessing of gazing upon their sleeping child...for those mothers (and I know more of them than I wish I had to admit) whose sons had been taken from them, not as young children, but still far too early in life. Those women who would probably give their last breath for the ability to stay up all night with their crying baby. To bounce up and down in the hallway, stepping on stray legos in their bare feet, all in the Fat Chance Effort of getting that child to at least stop crying, let alone fall asleep.

These thoughts were helping me to keep everything in perspective. Somewhere in me, I realized that it's okay to "feel your feelings," and acceptable to get frustrated in the moment...who doesn't? And while I recognized that to be true, I suppose my bigger fear was that I would just turn into a constant whiner and complainer who was incapable of keeping ANYTHING in perspective.

Hard on yourself much?

So when Shelby asked that question, I really gave it some thought. I shared a couple of items with her, mostly in jest, of the things that I miss. The more I thought about it, there are a WIDE RANGE of life changes that occur once you introduce these little people into your life, funny and serious. Among them:

-- Being able to use both hands at the same time.

-- Actually being ALONE in the bathroom.

-- Not having someone SIT ON YOUR LAP while in the bathroom.

-- Using the facilities with the lights on.

-- Quiet.

-- Cooking dinner without constantly ensuring that someone doesn't fall off the counter.

-- Not worrying.

-- Sleep.

-- Running out for five minutes and it really only taking five minutes.

-- Hopping into the car, turning the key, and being on the road.

-- Looking in the rear view mirror to make sure you remembered to put the baby in the car.

-- Looking into the rear view mirror to make sure every one's alive.

-- Using a purse that's not filled with dripping juice cups and hotwheels.

-- Not feeling guilty over how you divide up your time between your kids.

-- Not feeling guilty over how you divide up your time between your extended family.

-- Talking to my husband.

-- Sleeping in.

-- Watching whatever I wanted on TV.

-- Taking NyQuil when sick and sleeping through an entire cold.

-- Showering every day.

-- Having a (relatively) clean house.

-- Doing 15-minute chores in under 45 minutes.

-- Going for coffee with friends WHENEVER I wanted.

-- Sleeping through the night without checking to make sure every one's breathing.

There's more, I suppose, but you get the point. Looking at this list, especially those things that just make parenthood FUNNY, I can see what is really lurking just behind: The things I DON'T MISS about my child-free days. Those are the things that usually prohibit me from saying the above out loud. The unfulfilled desires, the much longed-for dreams, the anxiety of "what if it will never happen," the negative pregnancy tests, the tears, the well-meaning yet always falling short sympathies of friends and family members, the empty arms, the feeling of a heart that's just lying in wait for the love of a child.

And I only had to wait for five months after we got married before I was pregnant with Christopher. Five months of, what I thought was, AGONY. When, really, I had no idea.

My words always fall short. I know there is nothing that I can say to ease the painfulness of the wait for my friends and family members who are in this Limbo. I know that, despite the fact that I've felt the feelings of anger, despair, anxiety, sadness.... feelings which I have known throughout my life and can empathize with to a certain extent, I cannot share the application of them in this situation, in these lives. What I can offer are my listening ears and, more importantly, my earnest prayers for these people who I love so dearly. And I trust that these prayers are heard, and answered, by a God who can see the suffering in the context of the Whole Plan rather than just the anxiety of the moment. A God who will see to it that these families are complete, in his own way. In his own time.

I Suppose It's Time I Jumped On The Bandwagon.

2009-09-29T21:11:00.000-07:00

I'm not really one for "escaping." Never have been. Granted, I like to get away and do fun things. I enjoy an adventure, but it nearly always includes my boy band....or at the very least, their dad. This is where I feel the most comfortable, the most complete. Absent my time spent in the hospital delivering Jake, I have never spent even one night away from my boys, and I like it that way. I know that there are some moms who crave time away, some couples who manage to take time just for themselves. I also know that they feel that they return from this time rejuvenated and refreshed. Better parents for having been away for a while.

My "better self" shows up after a simple morning of cleaning my home without tripping over any little people who are lovingly tripling my work time. My rejuvenation comes from a couple hours at Starbucks sipping some overly sweetened coffee while chipping away at the family budget. I'm just not very high-needs in this department, which works well because my own little family also tends to work best when we're together as a team. That said, you can understand why neither one of us tends to escape all that often.

HOWEVER. This Saturday I took a teeny-weeny-beanie (vocab courtesy of Christopher) escape to Sacramento where I had the opportunity to finally meet some of the loveliest people with whom I've ever come in contact. I didn't know very many of them going in. Scratch that. I didn't KNOW any of them. There was a small handful of participants who I knew quite a bit about, however...

There was Emily: she who was the very first person aside from Tim to know that I was expecting baby #3 at a time when I was still trying to distinguish between my anxiety and my joy over the new addition to our family.

There was Maggie: she who, if she didn't live SO. FAR. AWAY. we'd be sitting next to at Mass on Sundays and not worrying if our kids were too squirmy or too loud and would totally understand exactly why it is that I couldn't tell you a word from that day's homily.

There was Liz: the one who, out of the blue, assured me of the ongoing prayers of her family for mine while I was in the midst of my own sort of mommy crisis and feeling like the weight of the world was on my shoulders. And all along, there was her family praying for me in a way that allowed me to keep those shoulders strong...without my even knowing it.

And there was Manda: that girl who made the funniest joke without even realizing it during a twitter-chat one night and, in so doing, managed to turn my WEEK around from exhausting and stressful to manageable. And even joyful.

Of course, there were all of these other super amazing women with whom I spent the afternoon sipping water from a sippy cup, chatting, laughing, and becoming FRIENDS with. As Holly said in her 13 Things post, "Do you know what's scary? Making friends as an adult." And yet, simple it was. Granted, my blood pressure went up about 50 points as I parked my car outside of Elizabeth's house. But that was fleeting. The day, itself, was delightful. EASY. And so wonderful that I wish I could spend every Saturday doing just that: having lunch and building friendships with these people who I had never met before.

Nearly all of the girls I met on Saturday have posted their own thoughts on the weekend, and have done so far more eloquently than I; however, it must be said...my teeny-weenie-beanie escape on Saturday changed me. I came home that night and started to tell Tim what we did, who I met, how it ended far too quickly. Do you know what happened as I started to explain all of these things to him? I started crying. We're not talking "misting" or "tearing up" here. When I say crying I really mean it. I mean, on the verge of Ugly Cry crying. Have To Take A Break From Talking Because You're Getting Too High Pitched crying.

Because it was such a lovely day. Because I finally was able to sit face to face with these friends who I have "known" for so long and can now put voices, expressions, and mannerisms to their stories. Because of how surreal it was to sit across from Emily while she talked to Asher on the phone. Because of how exciting it was to see Maggie running out of Elizabeth's house, arms outstretched for a big hug. Because Amy and I would totally be BFF's if we taught in the same school. Because Elizabeth's house is so charming and perfect and sweet and well-painted. Because Jennie and Kristie and Melissa are so open minded and so fun to just sit and talk to. Because I could talk to Amber about a museum exhibit and she, being local, could actually go check it out. Because I could sit next to someone like Whitney, find her completely delightful and and a joy to behold. Because Holly, who I got to see the least I think, works at my husband's old company. Small world. And because I actually got to see A'Dell's red hat in person.

Because.

Because now I can stop referring to "this mom on this blog that I read...." and just start stories with "My friend..."

What a tremendous blessing.

Because I Can Never Sit At A Computer Without Typing Way Too Much.

2009-09-22T21:24:00.001-07:00

So...The Blathering is this weekend. FINALLY! A few items, for your consideration...

1. ...I am nervous to meet you all. There. I put it out there. Some of you I don't know at all, others have blogs that I've been reading for three years or so. I started reading the Mommy Blogs when I was at the end of my pregnancy with my oldest boy, Christopher. I SO ENJOYED reading your shared experiences and realizing that I was not alone in what I was going through. AND THEN I got my first email response after a comment I had posted and it was like getting an email from a celebrity. I know. I'm such a dork. But it's true. So, yeah. Little bit nervous. That is all.

2. ...I started my own blog at my husband's urging. He came up with the name (which really fits our family perfectly, by the way) and I enjoy writing on it. But, um....well, I just don't get to it that often. I should have known this would be the case. I love reading blogs, but making the time to write on my own is a struggle. It's the same for email. I love to receive emails, but writing them is often such a chore. And yet, I do realize that one must SEND an email to get a response worth reading. I'm working on that.

3. ...There are no pictures on the aforementioned blog. Well...I think there may be two from way back when Jake (baby #2) was born. It's a comfort thing. I do post photos on my facebook page and from time to time on Twitter, so if you want to see my boys you'll have to look there.

4. ...Speaking of the blog, no one I know personally knows about it. Well, Shelby does. And a couple of other college friends. And my husband, of course. But aside from that I've kept it a secret. (I suppose this explains the readership.) Anyway, while the photo thing is a "stranger" issue, this choice is a "family" issue. It all started when family members started joining facebook, which had previously been my own private outlet for communicating with my friends who all live so far away. Once the family signed on, I needed a new "me space." The blog, and now Twitter (SO MUCH EASIER THAN BLOGGING), fills that role. This explains the MASSIVE PANIC ATTACK I had recently when somehow facebook decided to take my twitter feed as status updates without my knowledge. I swear to you I almost died. There may have been crying involved.

5. ...I used to cry a lot more than I do now. Well, a lot more than I do at my current stage in life when I'm not pregnant. My eight-month pregnant self cries nearly every day. This third pregnancy has turned me into a hyper-sensitive basket case and it's driving me crazy. I'm counting the days until this baby comes just so that I can regain my sanity. Which, we all know certainly doesn't happen when the baby is born. It just gets worse. But at least I'll be on the road back to normalcy. Right? RIGHT?

6. ...Speaking of pregnancy #3, I am eight months pregnant. EIGHT MONTHS. This means that I am rather large. You won't miss me when I come waddling into Elizabeth's house on Saturday morning. I find pregnancy to be a challenge for many reasons, but one part of it for me is the total-body makeover that it provides. Let's just leave it at this: my nose is not normally this big.

7. ...I do better in small groups than in large ones, and better one-on-one than in small groups. I suppose that's because you're forced to make conversation when there are fewer people. The more people, the more comfortable I am sitting back, watching and listening. I imagine that will be even more the case on Saturday when I'm surrounded by people who are so much funnier and more outgoing than I am. The only exception to this rule comes when I'm in a large group over which I am allowed to hold court, whether that's by telling a story or giving direction. It's the teacher in me. While generally quiet and gentle in spirit, I like to be the Boss of Everyone and am quite comfortable in that role.

8. ...Before I was a mommy, I spent five years teaching religion in Catholic High Schools. Three years in San Diego and then two more up here in San Francisco. I loved teaching more than anything I have ever done, I suppose for two reasons: I am very passionate about my subject matter, and I ABSOLUTELY ADORED my Freshman and Sophomore audience. However, if I pass a group of teenagers on the street, my first reaction is to be annoyed by them. Double standard, I know. Three years out of the classroom, and I do not miss it at all....despite how much I loved it. Now I volunteer with our parish Youth Ministry, so I get my teaching & teen fix there, but I am perfectly content at home with my little people.

9. ...We are a very conservative and orthodox Catholic family. I love my Faith with a passion that I cannot describe. I enjoy talking about it, but shy away from debate. I certainly am never the one to start one up, although my husband will do so in a heartbeat. He LOVES debate for the sake of debate and he's good at it because, while he gets fired up, he never gets offended and it never gets in the way of relationships. While I enjoy the debate as well, I am never as good at defending / explaining my Faith to adults in general conversation as I am when I'm in a teaching role. I think it's a psychological thing. And here we have yet another situation in which I'm more comfortable sitting back and listening than jumping in.

10. ...Said husband is 12 years older than me. We were set up by some mutual family friends. Actually, it's a cute story. His childhood babysitter grew up next door to them in San Francisco. When she married, she and her husband moved to Tahoe where they became good friends with my parents for the last 25 years or so. One summer, five years ago, I went home and had a couple of opportunities to visit with them. Upon returning to San Diego, I had an email waiting from this friend telling me about a great guy she knew (Tim was the ring-bearer in their wedding)....and the rest is history. We dated long distance for that first school year, after which I moved up to San Francisco to be closer to him, after which he asked to me marry him. And that was nice. My students at the time were massively freaked out by the age difference, particularly because at that time the age difference between Tim and I was the exact age difference between me and my students. I suppose I would have found that gross in high school too.

11. ...In our four years of marriage, we have been truly blessed with our two (and soon to be three) little boys. Having three children so close in age brings a lot of comments and, while they don't bother me ALL THAT MUCH, my back does go up a little bit with the frequency of comments such as, "oh WOW! YOU have your hands full!" (Really? what gave you that impression? The fact that I carry my car keys around in my mouth?) Or, "Are you going to try again for a girl?" Perhaps the girl comments push me the furthest. I'm sure little girls are quite lovely, and I would have been thrilled to have had one. But I'm not embarrassed or ashamed to admit that ever since I started thinking about what my family would look like, I have wanted all boys. That has been the picture in my mind's eye. When we saw that extra little appendage on our ultrasound screen, Tim and I both cheered. I am absolutely THRILLED to be a boy mommy. I wouldn't have it any other way. That said, I have no problem admitting that shopping for baby girls is SO MUCH MORE FUN. Luckily, we have a lot of friends who have baby girls.

12. ...Oh! Another thing about the blog and the whole "family not knowing" thing. When I talk to my husband about whatever I've read on your blogs or whose kid spread poop all over the crib or whose baby started talking this week, I always use your first names. He knows you all as though you lived next door. HOWEVER, when talking to other people in my real life, I rarely reference anything about my bloggy relationships. I may say, "I heard about that on one of the blogs that I read" or something like that, but it stops there. Maybe I'm not giving the Real Lifers enough credit, but to be honest, I just don't think they'd understand. Same for this weekend. I've asked my sister-in-law to be available to help Tim out with the boys on Saturday because, "Shelby is coming up to visit and on Saturday a whole bunch of our girlfriends will be congregating in Sacramento for a visit." I left it at that. No one needs to know that I've never met any of you before. Too much 'splaining to do.

13. ...Shelby was my Maid of Honor in my wedding. And I in hers. Before that, we were roommates for three years in San Diego. Before that we were roommates at our small college in Eastern Ohio.

So there you go, friends! I'm so looking forward to meeting each of you. We'll only be there for Saturday and the duration of the visit will depend largely upon my ability to hoist my giant body around from place to place. But meeting you will be lovely and I can't wait! Travel safely!

Just Real Quick...

2009-08-14T14:10:00.001-07:00

1. Today I watched Christopher climb all the way up that curved ladder thing on the playground without falling through to the ground. It nearly gave me a heart attack, but he did it. I just couldn't believe it. This comes as just another realization that my boy is growing up and getting stronger, more independent and more confident & capable with each passing SECOND. I suppose that makes sense, considering my baby is going to be THREE next month. Wait - one month from TODAY? WHO ALLOWED THIS TO HAPPEN?!

2. While I was in the midst of my "my boy is growing up but wait I think he's going to fall through that ladder oh thank GOD he didn't" panic attack, I was lounging on the grass visiting with my nurse girlfriend and her painter husband. I just love them. There are so many things to love about these people that I won't even begin to list, but mostly, I love that Tim and I are equally friends with both of them. By that, I mean that while Husband Friend will usually call to talk to Tim, if I answer we can gab away for 10 or 15 minutes and then hang up and be satisfied and the same can happen in reverse. Do you know what I mean? The other day I was over at their house with the boys and Wife Friend had to leave to take the kids to get a haircut. When she left, although we were leaving too, in no way did I feel rushed to get out of there or uncomfortable being there just with Husband Friend. Another perk? Wife Friend is a nurse. So, even though she is the most modest, private person I know, there is nothing you can't talk to her about. It is comforting to me to have her around; however, I'll admit that sometimes I actually get a little nervous because she'll refer to something as a big deal that perhaps I didn't realize was such a big deal - healthwise - and then I run home and google everything I can find to figure out if I should really be as scared as I am about whatever it is. And let me just say, Googling things about your health is NEARLY ALWAYS A MISTAKE.

3. It turns out that Tim's new job has changed dramatically just in the month that he's been with the company. Hopefully he'll continue to enjoy the job and thrive in the position, but I just feel bad for the guy. Starting a new job is always an insecure time, but having things so up in the air just adds to that, you know? I'm praying for his peace of mind during this time of transition. If you think of it, I'd be thrilled if you would do the same.

4. Today when we got home from our picnic at the playground, I put Jake down and then Chris and I sat on the couch and shared a bowl of ice cream. This is not something that occurs very often, but I always enjoy it so much. He's turning into such a big boy and it's so fun to just sit and share some quiet time with him, just the two of us. Today he said to me, "Mom. People. Pop...you...girls...girls' mom..." When I asked him who these people were? Were these the people who love him? His response came, "yeah mom." Aw. That's right, buddy. And there are a lot more people on that list. I did call my girlfriend immediately to let her know how highly she and her girls ranked, though.

5. Speaking of the things that my chatterbox says, don't you just wish that you could tape record every little thing that comes out of their mouths? I think I've mentioned before, but Chris has started to refer to me and Tim by our first names. If I do not respond by the second, "Mom!" then he switches immediately to "Annie!" Today while I was on the phone with my mom, I could hear a little voice saying, "Mom! Mom! Annie! Me tell you!" When I got off the phone I asked him what he needed to tell me. It was nothing important, but boy was it cute. Just like 90% of the things that he says. The other ten percent...you know, the whining, the dolphin calls, the "NO!" I can do without. But 90-10 ain't bad. OH! And have I mentioned that when I call him "Buddybuddy" he'll always respond by calling me "Mommybuddy." MELT.

6. I think that Jake is on the verge of walking. He'll walk while holding onto your fingers and he can stand...well, for a little bit...by himself. I remember that when Chris started walking so many people cautioned me, "Oh you're in for it now!" But you know what? I LOVED IT. Life got so much easier once I could use both of my arms at the same time and I didn't have to bend down to pick up a little koala bear all the time. All that to say, I CAN'T WAIT for Jake to start walking CAN. NOT. WAIT.

7. Today when I left the house I actually found myself thinking, "maybe someone will break in while I'm gone. Then I can blame this mess on Those Terrible Burglars. Between packing (a little preliminary, but the house hunt has begun so I'm getting a head start) not being able to keep up because there's no nap time anymore and my pregnant self is just too tired by the end of the day, and the fact that this place is just too small for us so there is always clutter and clutter always looks dirty, I am slowly losing my mind. And then there's the matter of the carpet which, although new carpet has been approved, I REFUSE to do all of the work to get new carpet when we're just going to be moving in a couple of months anyway. I HOPE. Does anyone want to sell me a house?

More Quick Takes?

Letters on a Family Vacation

2009-08-10T22:15:00.000-07:00

Dear Husband,

We missed you so much while we were away. You know, my mom always took us down to visit my grandparents and on various adventures here and there. My dad rarely came along and, to be honest, we didn't miss him all that much. You, we missed. Going out and seeing and doing is just not as much fun without you there. I'm grateful that you had the opportunity to rest and recuperate while we were gone but I think that, from now on, we'll be taking you with us as much as possible. After all, Christopher just doesn't know what to do when he doesn't have his "Two Buddies" fully in tact to refer to.

Dear Drive Through Starbucks in Travis, CA:

I've always wondered how one would order a pastry at the drive-thru window in Starbucks, considering one cannot view the pastry case and see what is out of stock. Now I know. One cannot. If I had wanted a super-fat-free cinnamon bread that would crumble all over my lap while getting lost in your town, I would have ordered that the first time. No. What I wanted was...well, I can't remember now...but the point remains. Attempting to order something aside from coffee for your growling new baby (aka tummy) is a waste of time and an exercise in frustration. Lesson learned.

To the Towns of Travis and Fairfield, CA:

If I wanted to drive through historic fairfield along "historic route 40" on my way back to the highway, I would have looked for signs indicating as much. On the contrary, my small town friends, what I WANTED was to get back on the freeway as quickly and easily as I got off of it. When travelling with very small children, getting from point A (the drive-thru starbucks) to point B (I-80 East) as quickly as possible really is the goal. Why yes, I do have an in-car navigation system that assured me I was headed in the right direction. And, yes, my children were quite busy watching Cars while I putt-putted my way down your abandoned streets waiting and waiting and WAITING to see any sign of the freeway. But the fact remains - a thirty minute detour at the BEGINNING of a four-plus hour drive is NOT what the doctor ordered.

Dear Disney,

Thank you for making the following movies: Cars, Madagascar, and Wall-E. They saved my life. My only suggestion: in the future, would it KILL YOU to make your animated features last even a LITTLE longer than 90 minutes? Do you know how many times an almost-three-year-old Boss of Everyone will make you listen to Wall-E during your 6.5 hour drive home through Sunday traffic? You do the math. My brain is still too full of Wall-E's voice saying, "Eeevv-a."

Dear moms,

I would not recommend watching (well, listening to) Cars while freeway driving. The constant barrage of horns and sirens and zooms and crashes? DISTRACTING. I thought I was being pulled over for the whole first half of the ride.

To my lovely children,

Stopping at McDonald's with you was a delight. I love seeing how big you're getting, how well you eat, how excited you get over happy meals and the toys hidden in their greasy depths. Our mid-drive lunches left me rejuvenated and proud.

To the McDonald's at the Forrest Hill exit in Auburn, CA:

I have been visiting your establishment since the earliest days of my youth. It was the traditional stopping point when my own family would drive from Tahoe to San Francisco to visit my grandparents, and has already fulfilled the same role in our travels on the reverse route to visit my childrens' grandparents. I heart you. My only request: please install a changing table in the Family Restroom. This would ensure that moms everywhere would not have to change diapers in the backs of their cars with one hand while using the other to cover up the button that activates the automatic lift gate so that the baby cannot push said button and crush the mommy and preschooler in the process. Thank you.

To my Mom and Dad:

We had a lovely time visiting you. Thank you for the adventures, for taking the boys to see giant fish tanks and copious amounts of dead animals and pretend presidents. Christopher especially loved the overly-bubbly soak in your giant tub and was delighted by the jets in particular. Thank you for the bike riding, the pool swimming, and the delicious breakfast out. We miss you already and can't wait to come back.

To my childhood BFF who had to cancel our dinner at Mimi's where I was really looking forward to my free muffin because, as it turned out, you were made quite ill by your own little "bun in the oven":

HOORAY!!! CONGRATULATIONS!!!! What a lovely reason to have to miss seeing you. We will be praying for you as your journey through this pregnancy. Know that it does get better. That the sickness DOES go away. That the initial apprehension fades away to be replaced by joy in no time. You will be a great mama.

To Tommy, Christopher's new BFF:

Thank you for spending all of Saturday entertaining my little one. It was so wonderful to be able to visit with your mommy without having to worry about keeping Christopher entertained. Ever since we left your house on Saturday, he has been asking if we can come back. Six and a half hours in the car on Sunday makes for a lot of "Me go Tommy home? Pea!? Pea!?" At least he's polite. We can't wait to see you again, buddy. And your mom, dad, and big brother too.

Dear Hot August Night's Participants:

Your old car fest, which I have enjoyed participating in many times in years past, was not over until Sunday afternoon. Why, then, did you all find it necessary to drive home on Sunday morning? Do you know what you did to me by forcing me to drive along side of you for 2.5 hours longer than necessary? At 30 mph on the FREEWAY!? I'm sorry, but we cannot be friends.

To the lovely gentleman who honked at me on the freeway and then gestured wildly for me to "move over" as you passed by:

Were you not aware of the fact that we were driving up to the summit on a road that only had two lanes? Or maybe you missed the fact that I was, indeed, in the SLOW lane behind a TRUCK. Where exactly did you expect for me to go? And why were you yelling at me? And don't you have better things to do than to anger an exhausted pregnant chauffer of two babies already on their second viewing of Wall-E? I prayed for your soul after you passed me by...but only after i called you a jerk.

And finally, to the man in McDonald's who snuck into the family bathroom ahead of my hot, sweaty, tired, pregnant self and my equally hot, sweaty and tired children:

Initially I tried to give you the benefit of the doubt, figuring that perhaps you didn't know that there was also a fully-equipped men's room just a few steps further down the hall. Okay, I didn't try for very long, but I did wait patiently for you to emerge so that I could go in and use the facilities while my baby sat on my lap, my backpack hung over my shoulders, and my toddler turned the light on and off. I admit to being pleasantly surprised upon entering to discover that you had not left any pleasant aromas in your wake, and I apologized to you inside my head for being so critical. UNTIL. UNTIL! Until I approached the toilet to see that the water therein was yellow. AND THERE WERE ALSO YELLOW SPECKLES ALL OVER THE TOILET SEAT. You are lucky, my friend. LUCKY that I didn't follow you over to your seat and let you know EXACTLY what I thought of the fact that you were clearly raised in a barn. A LOW CLASS BARN. I forgot to pray for your soul. I'm still seething. And my poor little Christopher has learned that grown men DO NOT BEHAVE THAT WAY BECAUSE THAT IS DISGUSTING AND IMPROPER AND HE IS A PIG AND DON'T YOU EVER DO THAT OR YOU'LL BE SITTING ON THE STAIR FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE DO YOU UNDERSTAND? Poor little guy. No wonder he comes up to me sometimes, out of the blue, saying, "Mommy? You mad me?"

Much love,

Annie & the boys

Seven Quick Takes

2009-07-17T22:09:00.000-07:00

1. Chris has started calling us by our first names. I'm sure there are those who would frown upon this, but I think it is just the cutest thing ever. The other night I came downstairs before leaving for my Youth Ministry meeting to find Christopher strapped into Jake's booster seat, calling to me, "Annie! Help me down! Help me, Annie!" And then. Then! Last night he had a nightmare in the middle of the night. Instead of calling for Mommy, I was awakened by the sound of my own name being shouted repeatedly from the next room. It sounds so much cuter when it comes from that tiny little voice.

2. I finally set some dates to go visit my mom and dad in Reno. Don't know if I've mentioned this here before, but it truly pains me to say that they live in Reno. The summer that I got married, they sold the house where I grew up and built a new one (a big and beautiful new one) just over Mount Rose as you approach Reno. So, technically, they don't live in "Reno" Reno....even though their address says that they do. It still makes me sad to drive through Incline on my way to their house and I think I'm in denial over the whole thing, as is evidenced by the fact that I still tell people they live in Tahoe. And, no Reno, just because you've started calling yourself "Reno-Tahoe" doesn't make it true. You're still just plain old Reno.

3. I'm totally addicted to Whale Wars. Have you seen this show? I just can't stop watching it. And I'm totally not a green-peace, lay down your life for the whales, hug a tree type of person. But it's really quite fascinating and I am impressed by these people who devote their time, energy, and safety to a cause that they feel so passionately about. That being said, I'm going to open up the controversy a little bit to say this - when I watch things like this and hear people talking about the importance of the whales and how "everyone here knows that there is the potential that they will be asked to lay down their lives to save the great whale," I can't help but wonder if these same people place the same value on human life, specifically the lives of the unborn. The idea that some of them probably do not saddens me deeply.

4. Today, as I do every Friday, I took the boys to Adoration. Usually when I have the little people with me, my time with Our Lord is very brief. And, to be honest, I have to focus really hard on not paying any mind to the reactions of other people to the cuteness that is my kids - especially Christopher standing in front of the Monstrance saying, "Hi Deedah! I (love) you, Deedah!" Or last week, telling Jesus about the booboo that he got when he tripped while walking into the church. On most days, my heart swells and my eyes water when I watch this, and my pride has to be kept in check because I know that the other people there are seeing it too. But today? TODAY! They weren't even being unruly - just a little squirmy - but I was SO SELF CONSCIOUS. I could see a woman out of the corner of my eye who kept turning her head to watch the boys and in my mind she was COMPLETELY. UNIMPRESSED. I felt so awful that we were being distracting to other people, and (to be honest) that she was looking down on me for not being able to control my kids, that I couldn't focus on anything else. Clearly I have lessons to learn. Neither pride nor embarrassment should be what's on the forefront of my mind while in Adoration of Our Lord. Someone needs to get her priorities straight.

5. Yesterday morning I was awakened by a flying sippy cup to the face. It hurt so bad, and caught me so off guard, that all coping strategies went to pot and I did the Ugly Cry. Then, about five minutes later during some shifting around to accomodate the sippy thrower into our very early morning bed, Tim kneed me in the thigh. It hurt so bad (again), and caught me so off guard (again), that all coping strategies went to pot (again) and I did the Ugly Cry. Again. It wasn't even 7am. Later that day when everyone else was taking naps, I watched "The Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants 2" (which, Shelby? Did I read the second book? I can't remember.) It was a cute little movie. Certainly won't win any academy awards or anything (the very thing that is probably what makes it good, in my own opinion). Something about the story just touched me on what was clearly an emotional day...and I did the Ugly Cry. For nearly the entire two hours that I was watching. The day goes on and on...but I think that, in all, I probably Ugly Cried upwards of 7-10 separate times. Quite unfortunate. Today was a better day.

6. We have settled on a name for New Baby, or as Christopher calls him now, New Baby Boy Nate. Nathaniel. Naming our first two boys was no problem at all - but we've really struggled with this one. The middle name is going to be the kicker. We're at an impasse, it seems. Good thing we've got until I'm 31 to figure it out.

7. Tonight, although he was exhausted, Jake was not ready to go to sleep when I brought him in his room. Over the last few nights, he's gotten very sensitive to the idea that I'm taking him away from Dad and Chris and into his room to be by himself. It's gotten to the point where I have to take him downstairs and pace back and forth with him until he falls asleep. Tonight, though, I put him in his crib and walked out. When I went in a few minutes later to check on him, he was sitting there playing with Peter, happy as a clam. When I went in again? SOUND ASLEEP. It's a big boy who can occupy himself until sleepy time. Sigh. When did he get to be such a big boy?

I Had No Idea I Could Be So Linky.

2009-07-12T14:08:00.000-07:00

Lately I've been doing a lot of thinking about blogs and bloggers, Twitter and tweeters, about those who take them seriously and about those who write them off as wasted time by narcissistic people. I've been meaning to poll my Twitter Friends on this very topic, especially when it comes to their husbands. Do your husbands tweet? If no, then what do they think about the amount of time you spend on that website or sending in updates from your phone throughout the course of a day? Because you know it's a lot of time. Especially for those of us who are stay at home moms.

Tim, for one, has been very supportive of my blog reading and twittering about, I think mostly because he sees what a support system I've tapped into in the world of Mommy Blogs. I don't think this was his intention when he originally urged me to "check out some blogs." Back then (and still) he was reading a series of Catholic blogs (many of which are linked to on the right side of my page), finance blogs, news blogs. These are the things that hold his interest, the things that encourage him to keep reading. Keep learning. Educate himself. So I hopped onto the computer and started looking for information on what I was interested in at the time: pregnancy. You see, I was in my seventh month of carrying Christopher, plagued with pregnancy insomnia and just looking around for others who were enduring the same joyful, yet challenging stage of life.

Not surprisingly, I found exactly what I was looking for...and what I didn't even realize I was craving.

First, I found Emily. Actually, Emily popped up when my darling ex-roommate, Shelby, sent me a link to one post in particular which I ended up reading out loud to Tim with tears streaming down both of our faces as we HOWLED through the whole thing. (I started to look for a link to it but let's be honest, I'm just too lazy.) A little more reading revealed that she was pregnant too, and due to deliver only a few weeks after me. Next came Maggie. Also pregnant, also with her first, and Hey Look At That! She's Catholic too. Then Rachel. Then Kate.

The more I read, the more connected I felt. The more I realized that, even though I didn't know these women, they were experiencing the same things that I was in pregnancy or child-rearing or marriage or just LIFE. These blogs that I started reading regularly (and commenting on faithfully) quickly became more than leisure reading material. Over the past three years, some of these women have become my own bloggy friends. I've never joined a mommy group here in our little town, but the Mommy Blogosphere has become a support group of its own. And this, my friends, is what I was not expecting.

From there came Twitter...much more convenient for uncommitted bloggers like myself who are still trying to figure out When To Find The Time. And out of the Sacramento Group I've gotten the opportunity to know Manda, and Lizzie, and Sheila. And, to put it lightly, it's been lovely. Example? Well, sure...

The last couple of nights have been particularly challenging around here. Tim, only two weeks into his new job (two weeks including two separate trips to LA, which have taken a toll on him AND on us) has been sick. Nothing we can't handle, nothing we haven't dealt with before, but worrisome. This is a huge challenge for him, of course. It's awful being sick. But it's also a huge challenge for me. Being Mommy. Being Nurse. Being Worried Wife. Or, as Manda reminded me on Twitter last night, being The One Who Everyone Needs. It's such an insecure feeling, worry. Isn't it? And, honestly, such a waste of time. But we'll deal with that in another post. Anyway, I digress. When Tim is sick the best thing for him is to rest. To sleep. To Get Better. And I know this. But having two babies who have no interest in sleeping OR DOING ANYTHING ELSE ASIDE FROM CLIMBING ALL OVER MOM when Dad is home but just out of commission? It's those times that it's Just. Hard.

So after I finally got everyone to bed last night, I came downstairs and left a brief Woe Is Me on Twitter. Do you know what? The outpouring of support was amazing to me. One lovely Twittersation with Manda, some comments from others, and a handful of private messages later my world was suddenly SO MUCH SMALLER. Instead of sitting downstairs in the dark, spending my evening in worry, I had a support group of dear friends encouraging me, making me laugh, and lifting our family up in prayer. It was exactly what I needed - but what I never expected.

You know, no one knows about this little blog. No one in my family, anyway. (It's nice to just have your own private little outlet, you know?) Beyond that, though, very few people in my real world know about the blogs that I read. Certainly no one knows about how much time I spend on Twitter each day, and while I don't think I'll change that, I feel more confident now. Last night confirmed for me what I've known for some time now - that these blogs offer community. Support. Friendship. A helping hand and a hearty laugh from people who are in the same boat. It's not narcissistic, it's realistic. It's smart. It's brave. It's humbling to put yourself out there and invite everyone in, knowing that you're quite possibly inviting as much criticism as support. And yet, it's gratifying and encouraging because, through it, you see that you're not alone.

It's Friday - You Know What That Means!

2009-06-19T20:16:00.000-07:00

And here we go...

1. Thank you for the input re: next week's ultrasound. I ended up calling the hospital to see if they had a policy and they do! Well, sorta. Superfluous family members are allowed in at the very end (after the tech has taken all of the measurements and done all of the thinking required for their job) to see the live-action baby. By that time, we would have already had our Finding Out Moment. I would be okay with my mom coming for that, but instead, she'll be babysitting the boys. She was perfectly happy to have some alone time with her grandsons, so problem solved! We'll show her the disk when we get home and all will be well.

2. Last night as I was laying with Christopher and settling him for bed, I could hear the planes flying overhead. It reminded me of the many many nights I spent at my Nonna and Nonno's house while I was growing up. They live just minutes from the San Francisco airport and we would spend HOURS with the binoculars up to our faces watching the planes land outside of their huge bay window. I have fond memories of hearing the planes coming in late at night or early in the morning as I was drifting off to (or out of) sleep. It was a comfortable feeling, hearing that last night, but it also made me think about how different things are now that I'm grown. Living only an hour away, I no longer have occasion to sleep at their house. To hear the planes coming in. To wake up to Nonna asking if I wanted hotcakes for breakfast, knowing that she already knew the answer. It left me with a little ping on my heart. Trust me when I say that I do realize how blessed I am to still have these two wonderful people as such a constant part of my life.

3. Today Tim signed and returned the offer letter for the new job! It's going to be a new adventure for him, and for that reason we still have our anxieties and apprehensions about it, but I cannot aptly put words to the flood of relief that washed over me when the fax went out this morning. Every breath of this day has been one of thanksgiving. We are truly blessed.

4. Poor little Christopher is WIRED. He's upstairs with Tim this moment saying, "wake up! wake up!" It's 8:30pm. No doubt the entire cup full of M&Ms that the hairdresser gave him during his shift in her chair today is taking its effect. Right on time.

5. My "enter" key has stopped working 9 hits out of 10. The new computer can't come a moment too soon.

6. Do you think that Vince The ShamWow Guy is going to be our kids' Billy Mays? These are the things that consume my mind these days. Billy Mays has been doing infomercials since I was a kid and here's young Vince making sure Camera Guy is following him from ShamWow to SlapChop. Just curious.

7. I decided today that I need a hobby. Scratch that. I need something else that I can put off, add to a list, and then feel guilty for not getting to. You know, along with the laundry, vaccuuming, cleaning the kitchen floor and the bathrooms, finishing Christopher's baby book, starting Jacob's baby book.... But I was thinking about you knitters and Shelby's knitting club and thinking, "I don't do anything." Someone slap some sense into me...and then clean my house.

It's really more an issue of "Does The Radiology Dept. Have Enough Tissues On Hand For The Tears My Mother Will Shed?"

2009-06-17T20:40:00.000-07:00

The other day I was talking to my mom on the phone, an occurrence that repeats itself usually about three or four times in a twenty-four hour period, when she related a conversation that she had with her neighbor. The tail-end of it went a little like this:

Mom: "And I told her that I wouldn't be back in town until Thursday because on WEDNESDAY my daughter gets to find out whether her baby is a boy or a girl....and....maybeI'llgettogoalongonthatappointment."

Me: "Um? Could you repeat that last part?"

Mom: "andmaybei'llgettogoalongonthatappointment? Maybe?"

Now what the heck am I supposed to say to that? This is something that I hadn't even considered. Ever. Not for my mom, and not for Tim's mom (who lives right down the street and has BEEN right down the street for every ultrasound I've had thus far. DOWN THE STREET. NOT IN THE ROOM.) Of course, it had occurred to me that my mom would be in town on that day, and I just figured that she'd stay home with the boys and wouldn't that be exciting to tell her in person this time?

I stammered through a brief, blow-off type of response that went something like, "Oh, Mom, I hadn't even thought of that. Um...I'd have to talk to Tim about it. And...um...well, you know, Tim's parents aren't coming...and maybe that would be a little awkward...and...well, lemmetalktoTimandI'llgetbacktoyou."

Apparently running your words together when you're nervous about the response is an inherited trait.

I figured that the whole "lemme talk to Tim" about it thing would be my way out. I figured that he felt the way that I did - that the Finding Out Ultrasound is a very special and intimate moment to be shared only with your spouse and the Perfect Stranger Technician (although, we always have the same girl, and her son is in my nephew's CCD class, and we've kinda built a relationship through the years.) I feel like the Finding Out Ultrasound is akin to the Delivery Room Reveal, absent the "getting to hold your baby right away" aspect. No one is in the delivery room with us (except the army of doctors in the OR for my c-sections), after all. But it turns out that Tim's take was far different than I'd expected. As usual, his perspective is far broader, far more generous, far more open, and far more loving than mine. (Don't get me wrong, though, I don't think that my feelings on this are selfish- he's just always more generous in these things than I.)

Tim's perspective: It would be a really special moment for my mom to be able to share with me. This is her (perhaps only) opportunity to see an ultrasound like this because thirty years ago they just didn't do it this way. Most likely this is our last baby (which deserves an entirely separate post considering the Catholic Factor and our commitment to NFP and openness to life) and will I regret passing up this opportunity to share such a special moment with her?

See? My husband's major flaw: always thinking of others above himself. Geez.

Now. My response to this was, and remains, that if we invite my mom, we absolutely have to invite his mom. It's all or nothing at this point. Sure, the question could (potentially) be easily solved by calling the hospital and inquiring as to what their policy is on visitors in the ultrasound rooms. They are BIG rooms, so I don't imagine that space would be an issue, but it is very possible that they have rules against inviting the whole town to watch the Baby Movie. (And it really is a Baby Movie. They have a huge LCD screen up on the wall and everything. It's ridiculously deceiving, actually, because the baby always looks like it's eight pounds and ready to be born...even in first trimester ultrasounds.)

I'm sure that, to the reader, my feelings on the matter are clear. I imagine that, because of that, most people would tell me to just follow through with my original inklings. And. Okay. I'll admit that part of the reason that I don't want anyone else in there is that when other people (OKAY AGAIN, specifically my mom. And sometimes Tim's mom.) get emotional, my back goes up and I react by becoming overly stoic. And kinda sarcastic. And pretty annoyed. YES, I DO EXPECT TO HAVE THE MONOPOLY ON EMOTION. AND, YES, I KNOW THAT THIS IS WRONG, BUT I'M PREGNANT SO LEAVE ME ALONE. That being said, my concern is that my inability to deal with their emotion is not a valid reason to not invite them - although, I don't want my childish reaction to others to mar that moment. You know? I hope you do because I really just don't.

And I'm really torn over this. AND I NEED ADVICE. I may not listen to it, but mostly I'm just curious to know what other people would do. So here's the question: Would you want your mother present for your Finding Out Ultrasound? How about your mother-IN-LAW? Do you think that they would want to be there? (I suppose that last one is a silly question.) What would your husband say?

I NEED ANSWERS. Take a poll. Ask people on the street. Ask everyone you know. And then report back here. Inquiring minds want to know. Inquiring pregnant minds want to know or they'll cry. HALP!

Seven Quick Previews, Saturday Edition.

2009-06-13T15:09:00.000-07:00

So I've devised a GENIUS plan to get me to not only get today's (okay, yesterday's) post written, but to also outline prompts AND a schedule of posts for the next week. Okay two weeks. Maybe three. Let's be realistic. FOUR. Out with 7 Quick Takes (for today, anyway) and in with 7 Quick Previews. From what I understand, Quick Takes is meant to be notes about items that just aren't Full Post Worthy; however, I have a bit of a discipline problem when it comes to actually writing posts. And I need a bit of motivation.

And so follows Big Things Happening in the Land of B's & F's to be discussed later:

1.) I need a new laptop. Our current computer has about 1.5 inches of lines running down the monitor, is missing "G" and "Enter" and spends most of its time broadcasting Caillou off of YouTube. We're thinking about making the switch to a Mac, which is a MAJOR LIFE CHANGING EVENT for me; however, I recognize the value of this change and am willing to roll with the tide. Plus, that's what my brother said to do, and when he talks tech, you listen.

2.) Everyone in my bloggy world is writing about sleep these days, and so I figure that I should jump on the bandwagon. I'm a little bit afraid to do this right now, though, because things are actually starting to go well right now. You know that as soon as you open your big fat bloggy mouth about how well your baby is sleeping he starts getting teeth, or an ear infection, or he climbs out of the crib. Sigh. I should just erase this paragraph now before I jinx myself.

3.) Last night as I was sitting downstairs weighing the pros and cons of actually cleaning up the day's toys vs. going to sleep, a commercial came on the On Demand menu (Christopher's viewing of Franklin had come to an end and Tim had whisked him upstairs before he realized what hit him) for High School Musical. And I WAS SINGING ALONG WITH IT. Now, the only thing I know about this movie is this very 30-second preview, but it was enough to plant this thought in my mind: I want to watch it. And I just don't know how I feel about that.

4.) Only 1.5 more weeks until we have our Find Out What Sex The Baby Is Ultrasound and I CAN'T WAIT. And I think it might be a girl. AND I'M ACTUALLY OKAY WITH THAT. (Don't think me too awful of a person.)

5.) I want to go out on a date with my husband. It's been a looong time. We already know where we're going to go and I'm so excited because the last time we went there (and the only time) was the first friday during Lent and I had to order crabcakes. At. A. Steakhouse. I realize that many a fish lover will order fish at a steakhouse without blinking an eye, but some of us do not like fish. Fish are friends. Not food.

6.) There is a man who works in our church whose wife passed away a couple of weeks ago. I did not know her, and I hardly know him except to say hello in passing, but my heart is just broken for him and his family. My norm with things such as this is to send a Mass card and perhaps make a meal to send along, but for whatever reason, I have not gotten around to it yet. Yesterday, during our weekly Friday visit to the rectory HE WAS THERE. He's never there on Fridays. I actually had to TALK to him to express my condolences, which goes against everything in my cowardly being. And I did. Yesterday is the day I became a grown-up.

7.) We've had a lovely experience with our Novena to Saint Rita, about which there are many, MANY things to say. I'll let you ponder what that could mean until I get around to the full story, but it's been so powerful that Tim and I actually talked about giving her a little cred in the baby's name. If it's a girl, of course. I don't think my son would ever forgive me for naming him Rita, do you?

7 Quick Takes

2009-05-29T13:02:00.000-07:00

1.) Tim had a job interview down in LA today. He was up at 3:30, out the door by 5, landed around 8, interview at 10, back in the car at 11:20, inside the Burbank airport at 12:45. He'll be landing in Oakland at 3:05 and back home by dinner. How's that for a quick take. From what he's told me so far, it sounds like it went really well, so here's hoping and praying. This could be a great job for him - definitely different than what he's done before, but maybe that's a good thing. Maybe it's time for a change. There's more to say, but I feel like if I talk too much right now I'll jinx something. So let's just pray, okay?

2.) Last night was our earliest bedtime night in the past week. This is because we abandoned our efforts at getting Chris to fall asleep in his bedroom and just let him fall asleep with Tim on our bed. It took him about five minutes. The Big Boy Bed transition has been a lot more difficult than I'd anticipated, and it's come at the exact time that he's discovered that he's tall enough to play with the light switches. So my little Boss of Everyone is always turning lights on and off at the most inopportune times, not the least of which is bedtime. That overhead light is so stimulating, but he doesn't want to have it off because "Me no see, Mommmeee!" I try to explain to him that you're not supposed to be able to see at night night time, but it never works. You try rationalizing with a two year old and let me know how it works for you, okay? So anyway, I've been seeking out advice as to what to do with this whole scene and I think that what we're going to do is string Christmas lights ("Hoho Lights") around his room. I have one of those adapters that you can put in your porch light so you can use a switch to turn them on and off and am hoping that it will work just as well in his ceiling fixture. This way I can string lights around his room without worrying about the wires being dangerous for him, AND when he turns on his switch he'll just turn on the pretty Christmas light rather than that God-Awful, Make You Want To Pluck Out Your Eyes Overhead Light. For a boy who still asks to watch "Ho Ho" (any Christmas movie) EVERY SINGLE DAY (okay, and also has a Santa Claus carpet on the floor in his room) this could be HEAVENLY.

3.) This morning the aforementioned son peed so much that he actually left a puddle on Tim's side of the bed. THANK GOD FOR THAT MATTRESS PAD I WON FROM FAITH & FAMILY. I certainly wasn't planning on washing sheets today, but I suppose when I drag my exhausted self into bed tonight I'll be grateful for the mishap. I swear to you that you've never seen this much pee in your life. I could have WRUNG OUT HIS SHORTS that he was wearing and they really would have dripped. If I think about it too much it makes me heave-y. So let's just leave it at that.

4.) Jacob is crawling like a superstar and it is so cute to watch. He hasn't picked up all that much speed yet, but it's so precious to watch that chubby little bottom squirming across the carpet. The problem is that he doesn't really watch where he's going, so he only stops when he hits his head on something. Today I could hear that he had reached the bookcase before I even looked up for the visual proof. This whole "not watching where he's going" thing let him directly into the edge of a Costco-sized Huggies box this morning, where he scraped up the side of his face and (how he did it I don't know) made his gums bleed all over his teeth. Good grief! Daddy goes back to work (hopefully) and boy did we get slammed on this first day of having him away. Being a SAHM with two kids (Tim's been home since Jake was born) is new to me - today was my baptism by fire.

5.) I'm super excited to meet Maggie and Emily and everyone else in Sacramento this September. I need to read some of these other blogs so that I know who I'll be spending my Saturday with. I won't deny that this trip has been the driving force behind starting back up with the blog. I've decided that Twitter is much more my style. Quick and easy. But I'm going to give the blog another try to see how it goes. I'm hoping that getting everyone back into a normal routine around here will afford me a little more time to myself to sit and write here and there. That would be nice.

6.) We were talking the other night and both agreed that if Tim DOES get this job, we'll be starting our house hunt IMMEDIATELY. Yay!!!! I've already decided that, thanks to the pregnancy, it's not premature to start packing up my winter clothes and putting them into the garage. They're not going to fit me this winter anyway, so either it will afford me more closet space until winter 2010 when I'll just bring them back in (which would mean we're still here. BOO.) OR! Or I'll already have a good amount of my clothes packed up and ready to go for the move. THAT would be lovely - the prepacking AND the move.

7.) As we speak, Rachael Ray is cooking spinach fettuccine. You know, I'm not a big fan of the colored pastas. I just don't like the taste as much. Give me some plain white pasta any day. I suppose it doesn't matter all that much right now, considering I'm supposed to be "staying away from the white stuff," as my doctor reminds me every month. But still. I'm a pasta purist. What can I say?

If "Let's Make A Deal" were still on TV I'd be SO. RICH.

2009-05-26T21:32:00.000-07:00

You know when you don't call someone for a really long time and then you think about calling them but feel bad about how long it's been so you keep not calling? And the cycle just goes on and on until it's May 26th and the last time you called was March 20th? MARCH 20TH! Well that is where we find ourselves now, isn't it.

My apologies for not calling.

It hasn't been for wont of material. A LOT has happened since March 20th - I've found out I'm pregnant, for example. Jacob had his first birthday. Tim had an interview. The overly-loving-on-the-verge-of-being-really-weird-and-creepy guy at Church whipped out a camera and started photographing my children at Mass. (Okay, we will have to deal with this one separately). But that (and all of the other goings on in the past two months) have all been SO BIG that I haven't figured out how to deal with them, let alone WRITE them, and so I've put it off and there's the cycle all over again.

So instead of filling in the dead space, we're starting fresh. Right here. Today. Sound good? Good. This works well considering the fact that today has been a monumental day. It is the day I cleaned out my $10 target canvas tote bag. I purchased said bag with the intention of having something big enough (and cheap enough) that it could literally carry everything without being a diaper bag. You know that bag? And everything it really did catch.

Today, in my navy blue canvas $10 tote, I recovered:
1 apple nutrigrain bar wrapper
2 avent pacifier caps
Plastic bear with fish in mouth
Bare Escentuals Buxom Lips in "dolly" (Thanks Sherb. I LOVE this.)
1 smashed blueberry nutrigrain bar in wrapper
1 pair toddler sized blue & brown dress socks
a tissue
plastic wrapper for pocket tissues
baby tylenol
a tiny plastic horse
an old shopping list
a broken pencil with a like-new green eraser. I love those cap erasers.
a non-broken pencil
$11. six $1 bills and one $5. Someone is going to Starbucks tomorrow.
one USGA notepad
an empty Lourdes Holy Water bottle
one grey crayon
Christopher's "Baby HoHo" - a tiny ornament of Santa wearing a t-shirt, lifting weights.
another tissue
2 sheets of song lyrics from our latest youth ministry evening
another grocery list
a can of spray-on sunscreen
3 separate torn papers
1 purple mitten
one side of the white strips you rip off the back of a bandaid
an empty fruit snacks bag
A blue and lavender semi truck
2 separate travel first-aide kits
1 pack of Orbit Maui Watermelon Mint gum. mmmm. delicious.
a pen that only works sometimes.
an antique bell from my grandma's house
a penny
one strawberry nutrigrain bar wrapper
2 smashed apple nutrigrain bars, in wrappers
6 used tissues. I know. We had man colds recently - another noteworthy event that you missed.
one lego person
2 baby spoons
plastic toy giraffe
plush toy giraffe
plastic Sponge Bob from Burger King kids meal -promptly thrown in trash
blue poker chip
my wallet
my cell phone
2 sippies, empty
1 tupperware of mac-n-cheese - we just came home from lunch at the grandparents' house
a plastic pig mama with four little baby pigs suckling away
a tiny plastic horse - does this make 2 horses? I've lost track.
one chip clip

break for cutest thing ever - Christopher just escaped his room and ran all the way downstairs just to give me a kiss. Then promptly returned to Daddy who was waiting in his room. MELT MY HEART.

3 more torn pieces of paper
another old shopping list
a small piece of bark
1 pair of white toddler-sized athletic socks
a hand-held mirror
one pink barrette, plastic - I have no. idea.
1/2 packet of pocket kleenex
1 size 6 diaper
1 pull-up
a mother's day card from a friend at church
Clinique lip gloss #406 "stellar plumb"
one board book - "Baby's First Bible Stories"
ziploc bag filled with almonds - promptly eaten during the arduous process of making this list
My grandma's "SF Port of Entry" photo badge from the 1940s. Very cool.
antique dinner bell from Grandma's kitchen
2 always pads
a Divine Mercy holy card
a ziploc filled to capacity with goldfish - okay, every time I say ziploc what I should REALLY say is "jelly belly bag." You know those jelly belly bags that you can fill up at the candy store? Well, it's a long story, but let's just say that thanks to the kindness of others I have not had to buy real ziploc bags in at least 6 months.
one red Volkswagen beatle with Canada's flag painted on it.
a real ziploc with 6 candy corns in it - I confiscated this from my child at Mass after his well-meaning grandparents brought him a snack to keep him occupied. We don't eat in church - a family rule that I have yet to be able to drive home with the extendeds.
1 maroon sharpie
1 Target brand fiber-one bar
1 blue pacifier
a hairbrush
3 more used tissues
a restaurant mint
1 navy blue infant sized zip-up hoodie sweatshirt
1 bottle of potassium supplements with receipt
1 red & white sock, Christopher's
a plastic travel container of Huggies baby wipes
Christopher's baseball cap
Clinique lip gloss #04, "sunset"
another torn paper
4 hotwheels: 1 motorcycle, 1 car, 2 trucks
another grocery receipt
and....another tissue

And I've been wondering why my back has been giving me such trouble?

Seven Quick Takes...

2009-03-20T16:02:00.000-07:00

ONE. Last week I bought some toddler-bed sized bedding for Christopher's new big boy bed. At some point in the past, I told him we were going to get a car bed and showed him a picture of it online. And then, as is the Mommy Way, I forgot that we ever had that conversation. This morning, WEEKS LATER, I said to Tim, "we need to figure out what we're going to do about the bed," as we found one on Craig's List that would be PERFECT....that is, IF decide to go with the little person bed over a twin. Immediately upon hearing that, Christopher says, "Me night night! purple! vroom!" His little heart was already broken over the fact that his bed is not going to be purple. And now, his heart-crushing mommy is going to return the bedding and stomp on his dreams of sleeping in a "Vroom Night Night." Very sad.

TWO. As I type, my husband is having a nice chat with my mom on my cell phone. On speaker. We always use the speaker phone. I love that. And I love that Tim is so wonderful that he can have big long conversation with my mom, or my girlfriends, or WHOMEVER it is that I'm supposed to be talking to while I sit here and type away.

THREE. There is a homeless guy who lives in the creek about 100 yards from my front door. Last week, Tim saw a handful of teenagers trying to burn down his encampment. We called the police - two issues, of course: fire PLUS potentially unstable homeless guy living outside my door. He disappeared for a while, but now he's back. This makes me incredibly uncomfortable.

FOUR. Christopher has become the Boss of Everyone. The most common words I hear are, "No! No! Beep Beep! (when he wants you to move)" or pretty much anything else that ends with an exclamation point. We've started counting to three before handing down punishment which currently consists of sitting on the stair for about a minute. So the other day I said to him, "Christopher, I'm counting to three. Come out from behind that chair or you're sitting on the stair." I started my long, drawn out counting. "Onnnnne...." Immediately he says, "two! three!" I was laughing so hard I had to leave the room.

FIVE. Poor Jake is still sleeping in the playpen. He looks like a giant trying to fit into a doghouse. I'm thinking that this is more of a contributor to the night wakings than I previously considered, as he can't even roll over onto his tummy without hitting the wall of the crib and then flopping back onto his back. I wonder if this is going to become one of those things that he brings up as an adult, "and you even made me sleep in that playpen until I was 10!" Such is life for Baby #2.

SIX. I have completed day 16 of the 30 Day Shred and I have to say, WOW! Not only has it gotten remarkably easier as the days have gone on, but I'm actually seeing a difference. My body is changing. Yes, it's getting smaller...but it's also getting SCULPTED. I've never been SCULPTED. It's fabulous! Don't get too excited, I'm still far more squishy than toned, but we're getting there so stop raining on my parade.

SEVEN. This week I cleaned off the tops of my washer and dryer. Aren't you proud of me! I FINALLY emptied out the Baby Bath Tub that was filled with STUFF and that had to be moved every time I wanted to do a load of laundry (Jake has been in the big tub with Chris for quite some time now) and now I can leave the laundry doors open without being mortified that someone will discover my hiding place! Victory!

...More quick takes?

2009-03-18T14:33:00.000-07:00

Well. Although it seems as though everyone else in the bloggy world wrote their "obligatory" Lenten posts somewhere around Ash Wednesday, my dear friends who stop in here from time to time know that there is nothing about this blog that I ever manage to accomplish on time. Thus, the "obligatory" Lenten post....just in time for Laudate Sunday.

Not long ago, I was in the car with my sister-in-law and I was thanking her for arranging a Mass for me, which I had hoped to have offered for a woman in our parish who is currently undergoing treatment for Cancer. I do not know this woman personally, but have become good acquaintances with her sister with whom I take the boys to visit about once a week. Mostly I know of her because of my darling sister-in-law who gives us the updates on how the Cancer treatment is going and how the family is coping. The conversation in the car went something like this:

Me: Thank you for getting that set up for me. I really appreciate it.

Her: You're welcome. But, I'm curious. Was the Mass for her? Or for her sister?

Me: Well, it's for her successful treatment and recovery. But really it's for her and her intentions, so I guess that includes those she loves...

Her: But. Do you even know her? I mean, I don't mean to sound rude or anything, but...

Me: No. I've never met her.

Her: Well then, why did you do that? Is this something you guys are doing for Lent or something?

I'll admit that the conversation caught me a little bit off guard. No, I didn't think she was being rude - I suppose she was just curious. This conversation had taken place not long after I had asked her for some mailing addresses of some older women we had met a couple weeks before at the Catholic Daughters Spring Tea. We sat next to these three little old ladies who were absolutely darling. I had so much fun visiting with them for the two hours we were together that I felt compelled to send them a note thanking them for their company.

Now, to me, there is nothing unusual or strange about this behavior. This is how I was raised. Every birthday, every holiday, every nice encounter left my parents reminding us that "it would be nice to send a note." While the reminders were frequent, it didn't take all that long for me to recognize the value of extending thanks. Or prayers. Or a happy hello. I understood, perhaps also from being the recipient of such graciousness, that knowing they have been thought of brings joy to peoples' days. It lifts up the soul. It lightens whatever load may seem heavy at any given time. I feel that, of the many lessons instilled in me by my parents, this is one of the most important.

Lent is one of those times of the year that lends an excuse, of sorts, to our behaviour - or our perception of other peoples' actions. Someone turns down a piece of birthday cake? Couldn't possibly be because they aren't hungry or perhaps are trying to be prudent - it must be because they gave it up for Lent. The HAVE to avoid it. You see someone at daily Mass who typically isn't there? Must be because they made a Lenten commitment - they HAVE to be there. I worry, sometimes, that the season of Lent allows us to steal the virtue of others....steal their striving for holiness....and replace it with an excuse of Catholic tradition.

I'm not pairing these thoughts with my conversation in the car to say anything about my sister in law. She's wonderful - loving and generous in many ways that I am not. It's just that our conversation got me to thinking. There are many things, such as sending these cards and letters, that come naturally to me because they have been ingrained in me from a young age. In my world, this is What You Do. It is nothing to be proud or boastful about, as sometimes it comes simply more out of rote action than out of sincere charity and generosity. Yet the fruits of this action are always the same regardless of the motivation.

We all went to daily Mass yesterday to celebrate my Father-In-Law's birthday, and who did we run into but one of the sweet little old ladies with whom I fell in love a few weeks ago at the Tea. She caught us after Mass, pulled me aside, and with tears in her eyes, told me how touched she was to receive the little card that I had sent to her. Her Thank You, her tenderness and thoughtfulness, brought tears to my own eyes. My own heart was warmed. And, even though there's probably a 50 year age difference, a new friendship was formed - all because of kindnesses exchanged.

For Lent this year, one of the many Personal Issues I'm Working On is to take those kindnesses that come so naturally, that are (for whatever reason) so easily exchanged with outsiders and to apply them to my most personal relationships. This past year has been a very challenging one indeed and while I've tried really REALLY hard to maintain a positive exterior, my interior self has become muddied with frustration, anger, and confusion. In my many attempts to solve the problems we've faced or to persuade others to work harder. or faster. or more diligently to solve them, I realize that the one thing I HAVE NOT done in all of this time is to ask the Lord how He would have me deal with these challenges. How He would have me be supportive and loving and encouraging to those who are closest to me. When I finally realized this the other night, I was simultaneously kicking myself for a WHOLE FREAKING YEAR of being such a TWIT and rejoicing at FINALLY understanding how to deal with this challenge.

It's always my hope that my Lenten observation will "take." I'd love for a nightly Rosary to REALLY become a pattern. My gums would love it if my commitment to floss every day would last much past Easter. The scale under my feet would be THRILLED if I could lay off chocolate all year 'round! But perhaps this one is the most important. Let's hope that this Lent will be the most fruitful one yet. For all of us.

2009-02-19T15:42:00.000-08:00

Last night, Jacob slept from 3:30 until 8:00 with nary a wiggle. It was fabulous. We won't discuss how many times he was up prior to 3:30, as it seriously steals my thunder. What we will discuss, albeit minimally, is the one factor that I neglected to mention in my Rant about my baby who never sleeps: MY NEIGHBORS.

Neighbors = the only people who use my doorstep who do not respect the cute little sign hanging on my door, "Shhhhh. Babies sleeping. Thank you!" Never mind the fact that they walk past that sign every blasted day. Also never mind the fact that THEY ARE THE REASON FOR THE SIGN. Anyway, I mention this because, surely there are a number of factors at play with Jacob's sleep problems; however, I do not believe it to be a coincidence that every single time they stomp up the stairs and slam the door (which, really is every. single. time. they come in and out) my Jacob wakes up crying within five minutes.

Side note: out of the eight townhomes in our little complex, we are the ONLY ONES who share a step. I find this to be supremely unfair and believe that this is the primary reason that my husband should just buy me a house so we can just move already!

Side note to the side note: we'll be discussing the topic of moving shortly.

In Which I Use Far Too Many Caps And Still Solve Nothing.

2009-02-17T21:01:00.000-08:00

Lately I've found myself wondering what in the world I did when I used to sleep. For the life of me, I can't figure it out. I imagine that I had all sorts of energy all the time, that I woke up refreshed in the mornings and ready to Take On The Day! I know that wasn't the case, and so I suppose I should be impressed with myself that I can get up four times throughout the night (yes, FOUR) and still be a perfectly functional, relatively stable, energetic person. So that's nice. Less than one paragraph and we have already established my awesomeness. What we have yet to establish is WHY IN THE WORLD I'M UP FOUR TIMES EVERY NIGHT.

The answer? I don't know and it's driving me CRAZY. What I do know is that when Christopher was this age he was sleeping through the night. And we're not talking about the Baby Book Definition here. This is no five-hour stretch of sleep. We're speaking of down at seven, up at seven. That's right. TWELVE HOURS of blissful sleep. It was also at that time that I realized, albeit reluctantly, that a baby who sleeps for TWELVE HOURS STRAIGHT does not need to go down a mere two hours later for a morning nap. This was a hard realization for me to accept, but I eventually caught on, we gave up the morning nap, and life was wonderful. Surprisingly, I did not miss the morning nap nearly as much as I expected that I would. Especially considering that it made the afternoon nap stretch from two hours to three. Boy did that make for some blissful afternoons. Still does, actually.

Let's make something clear right here - I am not one to compare babies. I don't like it, it bothers me when I actually DO it, and I am harshly judgmental of those who compare my babies to other peoples' or other peoples' babies to other peoples' babies. You know what I mean. It really fries my bacon even when, in the comparisons, my babies come out on top. (Which they always do because the only people I ever hang out with are family and they are obligated to believe that my children are far superior to others). That said, I can't help but ask my darling little Jacob why he can't just sleep like his brother did! WHY, JACOB, WHY?

It's getting to the point where I can feel myself turning into Bad Lifetime Movie Mom - the one who can't handle the pressure of being a mom and who just wants to stand up in a huff, stomp into whatever room ANY OTHER HUMAN BEING is inhabiting, and pass him off so I can just be done with the whole thing. Not the whole mom thing, of course, but the whole nursing, rocking, bouncing, singing, burping, nursing, bouncing, nursing, pacifier giving, humming, JUST GO TO SLEEP ALREADY thing.

The exhaustion of the past few weeks, dealing with Grandma's funeral, cleaning out her house, sorting through this that and the other thing, ON TOP OF the Great Sleep Boycott has pushed me just far enough that I can't even manage to sit and rock him anymore. There have been a number of nights when I've given up and carted him back into my room with me where, of course, he sleeps for hours on end with nary a single peep. That came to an abrupt stop, though, the morning I woke up to find my pillow completely covering his face.

Bad mom of the year award? Anyone?

We've diagnosed the problem - at least part of it - as teething. The fact that his upper gums look like they're pulled taut over a string of pearls leads me to believe that he's got some serious pressure in there. Another thing that we can compare against Christopher, my child who drooled like a Saint Bernard, but never let out a single peep over any emerging teeth. I've never seen Jakie drool, really EVER, and yet the emergence of the two bottom teeth that he does have disrupted our lives something fierce. That being said, I feel so guilty letting him cry for even a few minutes because I really think that we're dealing with more here than a baby who is, as of yet, unable to settle himself back down after he's woken up. If he's in pain (which, can I just say? Our first pediatrician tried to convince me was a myth. A MYTH. No doctor, I don't imagine it WOULD hurt if sharp-edged square pieces of enamel were protruding through my baby-fine flesh. Whatsoever would make anyone think THAT?) Anyway, if he's in pain, then I can't just leave him in his dark room to suffer alone.

So pray, PLEASE PRAY, that those teeth will come in and we can be done with this. And when they do? Well then you can stay tuned for the adventures of nursing a biter. Because BOY DOES HE LIKE TO DO THAT. And once he's got TWO rows of teeth? It'll all be down hill from there.

Dear Blogger, Why Do You Hate Me?

2009-02-09T22:01:00.000-08:00

Seriously. More to come. If the hosting site will opt to actually PUBLISH MY POSTS.

Makes You Want To Hold Your Husband Close.

2009-02-03T19:58:00.001-08:00

Devastating news in blogville today, which you may already know if you have followed any of the Catholic blogs linked to the right. Please keep this family in your prayers.

To Whom It May Concern

2009-02-02T20:03:00.000-08:00

You know that place where exhausted meets anxious meets mourning meets reminiscing meets laughing, crying, yelling and pouting all at the same time?

I am so standing on that red dot. (If you don't have that commercial in your country, then my apologies.)

At any rate, in my world, that place is called "Just Tired." And when you're Just Tired, at least this time, judgmental is the name of the game. And so, I present you with a small sampling of those things that have incurred my wrath over the past week and a half.

House Hunters...AND EVERY OTHER SHOW ON HGTV.

I read Emily's post this morning, and while my first response was, "GET OUT OF MY HEAD, WOMAN!" I did consider just wiping out this post. EVERY SENTENCE was one-hundred percent how I feel...and yet, I have to say it all again because it's just that important to me.

It has recently occurred to me that nearly every show I watch on HG is EXACTLY THE SAME. I don't know how this has gone by unnoticed for the past three years of my viewing pleasure, but it has. Until now. It is only now that I realize that whether I'm watching Property Virgins, My First Place, House Hunters, or....well, does it really matter if I know the name or not? Just give me three options and a choice and I've got the rubric for every single half hour of air time. I complain about this every time I watch this channel, and yet I suppose I'm just one of those people who prefers to be miserable, as it has not yet effected any change in my television watching behavior.

Can I say, though, that I have to FORCE MYSELF to be nice inside of my head while watching these shows. It's getting to the point where I think I'm racking up some serious Purgatory time while I'm criticizing all of these innocent people. And yet, are they REALLY that innocent? Anyone who is willing to put their ridiculous selves on national TV is fair game, in my opinion. And thus we get to last night's critique, which goes a little like this:

Dear Guy On The Stagers,
Knee-length man shorts, white oxford shirts, and skinny ties do not a professional look make. Okay? So put on some real clothes, start acting like a professional, and get a blasted haircut. Much obliged.

Do you SEE why I need to go to Confession? Nearly EVERY SINGLE DAY?

Can I also say, while we're on the topic, that the injustice of what I call the HG Situation is becoming more than I can bear. Seriously. Seriously! Am I the only one who feels that the people on those shows have absolutely NO TASTE WHATSOEVER? I'm sorry, but I find it supremely unfair that these people with such ridiculously bad taste own (or are buying) their very own homes while people like myself (who, naturally, have incredibly good taste) are stuck renting apartments with carpet that is so dirty that I am left to wonder why I have a floor at all.
Kipper. Kipper the Dog. (The Dog With The Slipper.)

The other day while my family was lounging in front of the TV (So what. You know you watch a lot of TV too.) Christopher was happily watching one of his favorite shows which, on this day, was featuring a little piggy bank that was floating along on a magic carpet. (Don't ask. I don't know.) My little one, who had recently discovered hippos, was thrilled to see what he thought was a hippo on this happy little carpet. "Hippo! Mommy! Hippo!" The fact that I was lounging along with everyone else should lead the reader to understand that I was too tired to be doing anything else, and thus, severely disinterested in explaining the difference between a hippo and a pig to this little person who could clearly Care Less. As I half-heartedly pondered the value of making clear this distinction, the little piggy fell off of the magic carpet and rolled down a little sandy hill, to be met by an alien who is just popping out of his groundhog hole. (Again. I DON'T KNOW.) Instantly, the jubilant "Mommy! Hippo!" turned into my little boy backing away from the TV, pressing himself into my chest, with TEARS POURING FROM HIS EYES, screaming, "OH NO! MOMMY! HIPPO! NOOOO!" I had no idea that my heart could break over a cartoon. But it did.

Dear Kipper,
I love you. I think you're a cute little hound dog, and I'm especially partial to your British accent. Your theme song is catchy, and I find it precious that you carry around a slobbery little slipper. But, I would ask that in the future you might want to refrain from SCARING SMALL CHILDREN with your magic carpet-riding, alien-meeting hippo shaped piggy banks. Much obliged.

Oh Man. I Was Just Getting Ready To Say Something Nice....

I am incredibly saddened by the disappointment that is rapidly becoming this year's Westminster Dog Show. It was only a few minutes ago, now, that the most beautiful English Bulldog plodded up and down that green carpet. "English Bulldog Number 7." GORGEOUS. But did he win his group? Better yet, has ANY GOOD DOG AT ALL won yet tonight? NO. What a waste of an ice-cream laden evening. If you think me overly dramatic, then clearly you do not know of the joy that Dog Show Night brings to the Troy Family. It really is our favorite night of the year. Christmas? Too crazy. Valentine's Day? Are you kidding? We don't do Valentine's day. Birthdays? Too. Well, okay. It's tied with my birthday, I suppose. Because, you know, I LOVE MY BIRTHDAY. Seriously. We look forward to the Dog Show with the anticipation of a child awaiting the tooth fairy. And thus far, NO BUENO.

Granted, watching the dog show also has the ability to send me to Purgatory faster than nearly all other events, what with the skirt-suits, opaque tights, loafers, and general AWFULNESS that characterizes 99% of the handler's wardrobes. This reminds me - did you ever see the What Not To Wear in which there was actually a real live DOG HANDLER receiving the sage advice of Stacy and Clinton? I was THRILLED at the thought that, perhaps just maybe, they would be able to start a trend. My hopes have been dashed. No one listened to them.

Dear Stacy and Clinton,

The Dog Show World needs you. You can easily get an entire New Year's Day Marathon out of the fashion faux pas that is currently prancing around Madison Square Garden.

Just looked up at the TV.

MUST STOP TYPING BEFORE I HAVE TO TO CONFESSION.

AGAIN.

A Sad Day.

2009-01-21T21:09:00.000-08:00

Yesterday morning, in what seemed like only minutes before Jakie woke me up screaming for GOD KNOWS WHAT at 6:30 am, I had a dream about my Grandma. In it, I was packing up at the end of the semester to head home to Tahoe for the summer. But I was in Tahoe. But I was in College. But I was in Novato. But I was me. Now. Not college-aged me.

Well, you know how dreams are.

So I was packing up and heading out the door when my Grandma caught my arm. She was sitting right there by the door, in the same position I've watched her sit for years (even after the stroke. even after the broken neck). She grabbed my arm so that I wouldn't leave without saying goodbye. When I leaned down to kiss her, I noticed that her legs weren't quite as thin anymore. That her hair, though showing more grey, was perfectly coiffed. That she looked well. Strong. Healthy. As I was saying goodbye to her, I thought in my head that I wouldn't get to see her as often because I'd be further away, but that I'd still be coming down every week or so with my Dad. I thought to myself, "say that to her," but I did not say that. Rather, I said, "I love you Grandma." She kissed me and told me that she loved me.

And then Jakie woke me up. So, per my usual, I stumbled into his room to scoop him out of his bed. Just as I plopped myself down in his rocking chair, our telephone rang.

It's never good when your phone rings that early in the morning. It's also never good when your phone rings that early in the morning and the upstairs receiver is broken.

My poor little Jakie must have gotten really shaken up as we trotted down the stairs, getting to the phone just in time to miss my mom's message. The message that said, "I'm so sorry to leave this on your machine, but Grandma died last night. Please call me."

The next few minutes were a blur of activity as I rushed back upstairs, grabbed the cell phone, and alternated frustrations as my mom and I were both trying to call each other at the same time and kept getting each other's voicemail. While I got, at the very least, a sympathetic voice on my answering machine, my poor husband got the news from his harried wife who barely had her head on straight.

"Who was that? What happened?"

"Mom. Grandma died last night."

I've never seen him shoot out of bed so quickly. I think that part of me has been expecting this for so long now that I was ready for it and ready to get down to business and take care of whatever needed to be taken care of. Then there was the other part of me was so shocked and caught off-guard about it that emotion got pushed out of the way while I tried to figure out what to do and what to make of it.

Perhaps it was an up to an hour later when that emotion finally found it's way out, and a 30-year old mommy, reading to her toddler who awoke from all of the activity, started sobbing during that part in "The Little Engine That Could" when the train "all of a sudden stopped with a jerk. She simply could not go another inch." It was then that Tim and I sat on my bed, embracing. Sobbing. What a ridiculously strange moment - to be expecting something for so long....to even be praying for it... and yet to be caught so off guard by it.

I had just sat with her last week. The day after her appointment with her doctor in which he informed her that "everything checks out. We'll see you in 6 months." I had just laughed with her while sharing the story of how Christopher walked into the pole. I had just sympathized with her while listening again to her saga of being kidnapped, always waking up in a new bed or a new hospital, and wondering how it was that I always seemed to find her no matter where they'd taken her. I had just kissed her on the forehead and told her that I'd be back to see her again next week.

And then Monday night, she drank her six o'clock coffee and went to sleep. No more stories about Chris and Jake. No more worries about getting kidnapped or running away or suing the nursing home over her broken legs (all of which, of course, never happened). No more visit next week. Instead, I will make my weekly visit to the nursing home tomorrow morning, and when I walk out the door, I'll be carrying her purse. Her clothing. Her TV. And her big, warm, beautiful blanket that my brother and his wife had just brought her for Christmas - a blanket which she always commented on. "Isn't it beautiful? It's SO WARM." When I walk out that door tomorrow, there will be no, "I'll see you next week." There will be no return to 265 Acacia Ave. - the home where she only lived for two weeks.

These past four months have been exhausting. They have been challenging in ways I could not anticipate, and have been SO JOYFUL, SO FUN, in others. During this time, I have not only learned how to love my Grandma (hopefully a lesson that I'll carry into my other relationships) but I have learned WHO SHE IS. I met a woman who, on a good day, had the biggest, brightest, most childlike smile you have ever seen - a woman who could spit nails on a bad one. Without this time - without these challenges - I know that the memories that would be pervading my mind today would be of those shooting nails. No smile. No joy. Just drama and anger that had developed over years and years of family discord. Without this time, though it seems awful to say, I would not miss my grandma.

But we did have this time. I did get to stand by her bedside three months ago while she was suffering that awful stroke. I did get to hold her hand and sit next to her while she told me that she "had a terrible dream last night. And you know, nightmares are supposed to be over by midnight...but this one was so bad that it just kept going." I did get to sit with her and my dad as they had two very peaceful, dare I say, joyful visits - two of only a handful of visits over the last twenty years. I did get to pray with her and for her, even though I don't think she was conscious of it. And I did get to introduce her to her second great-grandson and sit with her while she held my Jacob on her lab and gave Christopher a high-five.

These are the things I will remember about my Grandmother. She told me once, when talking about her husband and how sick he was when he died, "I have only good memories." How grateful am I to be able to say the same.

Lillian Julia Quinn

March 9, 1921 ~ January 20, 2009

Eternal Rest, grant unto her, Oh Lord.

And may Perpetual Light Shine upon her.

May she rest in peace.

Seven Quick Takes...

2009-01-14T20:55:00.001-08:00

Ha. November 12th. I suppose it's about time I got back down to business. To be honest, the thought of updating the blog has been a constant in my mind, but with each day that has passed it seemed like more and more of a challenge. The more thoughts of "oooh, I should write about this," the more daunting of a task it became. So, following the lead of some others I've been enjoying...

1.) I decided to take some time off from the blog so that I could devote my much needed minutes to finishing Jacob's stocking. In all, it took 36+ hours. Good thing I started as early as I did. And boy did it come out cute, if I do say so myself. It was a really fun project, and I'm so glad to have this Christmas keepsake for my boys to use every year and to eventually take into their own homes with their own families. My mom made our stockings when we were babies, and I've always loved how creative and beautiful they were. Little did I know how HUGE of a project it was! To be honest, I'm very proud of the finished product and it feels so good to be able to display it in our home - especially during those years, such as this one, that will be a bit more modest and understated in terms of Christmas decorating.

2.) My Grandma is beginning to lose track of who I am. Not really, but a little. The thoughts I'd like to share on this issue range for heart-wrenching to knee-slapping, but the gist of it is that the past few months have been a roller-coaster ride between hospitals and nursing homes, laughter and tears, navigating social services, meeting new doctors, and accepting the fact that Being There means being loved and appreciated one day, despised and yelled at the next. Starting with her fall in mid-august, to the first senior home, through standing by her bed in the ER for HOURS ON END during her stroke, to the second fall and resulting hospital stay due to her broken neck AND back, back to the senior home, back to the hospital (because she was being so mean to everyone) and now to a new senior home - these months have been only manageable because of the strength and encouragement of my beloved husband who has gone with me on nearly every single visit, and has (somehow) been able to talk some sense into Grandma when necessary. He has stood by me and held me up through her anger and my tears. The Grandma who is ill is not the one who I've been close with all these years - she is the one with whom I have had many challenging moments. While there's a much bigger blog post brewing about this, what I can say now is that I have truly learned what it means to be family through all of this. I have learned what it means to love - not just to love her, but to love my dad and serve him through the care that I can extend to her. It's not even an issue of what it will be like to look back - I can say now, as we're in it, with certainty that I can see the grace in these moments and the blessing of what this time means for all of us. Relationships are being mended. Hearts are healing. And finally, after 30 years of being her granddaughter, I am getting to know my grandmother.

3.) Speaking of 30 years, another development since my last post? I TURNED THIRTY. And it was AWESOME! Not because I had this huge party with all of my family and friends. Not because I received awesome and expensive and meaningful gifts...but because, in what has been an incredibly challenging year, I was loved on my birthday. Truly loved. That probably comes off sounding really cheesy, but it's true. There's no other way to explain the joy that I felt through the blessings I received this year - starting with my awesome visit with my girlfriends in the spring, to a surprise visit from my buddy on my birthday weekend. And, lest I forget, my mom's surprise gift of the new stroller I had been eyeing for the boys. The stroller that I'd been saving and saving for, but whose fund kept ending up getting swallowed into the "needs" part of the budget because it really did fall under the "want" category. The gifts that I received for my birthday were all things that I truly needed at each moment that they were received - down to the gift certificate to a restaurant in the city from my brother and sister-in-law, on the very day that I sat venting to my husband about how "when we get back on track, all I want to do is go out to dinner. Just once. Just to feel 'normal' again." Even remembering it now makes my eyes fill up. I will always remember the year I turned 30 as the year I not only truly learned to love, but also truly learned how to receive it.

4.) Yesterday, Christopher ran into a pole. Yup, he got off the slide and took off full speed ahead, looking down, until that mean old pole got in his way. The way the metal made that "BONG" sound would make anyone think we were headed to the ER, but I'm telling you, that kid has the hardest head you've ever seen. He's a tough kid with a tough head - and lately, a pretty rock-star vocabulary. My favorite of his many words, these days, is "Hoop." (For the uninitiated, "Help.") "Mommy, Hoop." It's so cute. Everything he says, of course, is at a decibel level that can't be good for anyone's hearing - volume control is not something we're interested in around here. So, it's really, "HOOP!" or "BYE-BYEEE MOMMY! BYE!!!" or "NIGHT NIGHT YAYAAA!" to the sleeping baby in the next room. Each new word makes my pride swell and, of course (you know me...) my eyes well up.

5.) Thankfully, his brother is so chill that the volume doesn't bother him much. But the teeth are making that kid crazy....and having the same effect on his mommy. I don't remember Christopher having NEARLY this much trouble with his teeth. I don't remember because HE DIDN'T. One night last week, Jacob SCREAMED. ALL. NIGHT. LONG. Really. I'm not exaggerating. For a little boy who hardly ever cries, this was bordering on the ridiculous. Tylenol didn't touch it. Watching mommy cry didn't touch it. Watching Daddy sleep didn't even touch it. Just kidding. Well, only a little. In the last couple of days, though, Jakie has really taken to the Two Nap Schedule, and as a result, has been sleeping better at night. THANK GOD FOR SLEEP BREEDS SLEEP.

6.) On an unrelated note, Twitter is my new favorite website. This surprises me because, seriously? WHO CARES WHAT I'M DOING EVERY SECOND OF THE DAY? But, honestly, it's FABULOUS. And it's also partially to blame for the fact that I have not updated my blog - everything that has seemed like too big of a post to take the time to write out has been whittled down to 140 characters or less. If you don't know Twitter, you should get acquainted. After all, don't YOU want to know what I was thinking at 3:02pm yesterday? Of COURSE you do!

7.) So, for my New Year's Resolution, I'll really make a point to get back to the blog and to be consistent. It will be taking second place, though, to our family resolution which is....LEARNING TO ROSARY IN LATIN. Really. I know. We should have it down by 2010.

Ave Maria, gratia plena, dominus tecum. Benedicta tu....

Things That Go "dee" in the Night

2008-11-12T08:13:00.000-08:00

At about two o'clock this morning, as I was just drifting back into dreamland after settling Jakie back into his crib, I heard a little whimper wafting to my ears from the next room.

"Whimper, whimper....daddy...whimper...Mommy...."

Now, typically, I do not leap from my bed and dash into Christopher's room when this happens. I'm more of the "let's see if he'll just turn over and go back to sleep" mentality. But last night, for whatever reason, I yanked myself out of bed and ran right in. There was my precious little one, laying in his crib just crying away. When he saw me, he stood up, put up his arms and said "Mommy, up."

Perhaps I have stated this before, but it merits repeating. I never want my boys to be sick. It's the saddest sight in the world - especially at this stage where he still can't even figure out how to say what's bothering him, thus making him not only sick but also frustrated. BUT. I do love how much Christopher loves me when he's not feeling well. Lately, he seems like he can take me or leave me. With Daddy (his BFF) home these days, he really has very little use for me. I can be standing right in front of him with the juice that he has just requested (okay, demanded) and he will PUSH ME OUT OF THE WAY and say "Daddy! Dee!"

For the uninitiated, "dee" means juice. Can't BELIEVE you didn't know that.

So I went in there for a snuggle with my boy who, for some reason, actually WANTED ME there. His latest favorite place to snuggle is inside of his crib, so you can guess who had to stack some pillows outside of the crib because her legs are too short to straddle the wall. At any rate, we snuggled there together for some time. I told him I would stay with him, but it was not play time. It was sleepy time. I closed my eyes.

Then I heard, in a little sleepy voice, "Mom?"

It sounded like he was about to ask me a deep philosophical question, the kind that develops out of late-night conversations with old friends.

"Night-night, Christopher. Time for night-night," I replied with my eyes closed. It was only a few seconds later that I felt his warm little fingers poking me in the face. Opening one eye, I saw my little one holding his pretend camera up to his face.

"Mom! Dee!" (Translation: Cheese! Ha. And YOU thought it meant "juice.")

Cute as it was, I did my best to continue urging him to sleep. It didn't take long before I was ready to remove myself from the baby crib and snuggle up in my own warm bed. The fact that my child had already used his blankie ("meemee") to cover me up and keep me warm did leave me with a bit of guilt when I LIED TO MY CHILD and told him "Mommy has to go potty, okay?" This is my typical escape plan from Christopher's room. He seems to deal with that better than with the prospect of me leaving him alone for the whole night. I realize that it won't take long before he figures out that, gee, Mommy has been in the potty for a really long time now. Is she having potty problems? And it will probably be around that time when his vocabulary has developed enough to be able to tell the checker at the store, or the librarian, or all of the people at Mass on any given Sunday that "Mommy spends a lot of time in the potty!" But it works for now, and so that's what we do.

As I was hauling myself out of his bed, I said to him, "Christopher. Mommy loves you."

"Yeah." He replied.

"Do you love mommy?"

"Yeah."

"Do you love Daddy?"

"Yeah."

We continued in this fashion until we'd gone through every family member. Most of the time his "yeah" was definitive. Sometimes, though, he's squish up the right side of his face and say "Ummmmm....yeah?" And sometimes I'd say, "Do you love so-and-so?" And he'd reply, "ummmm....someone-else." To be honest, every time I tell this story, I have to change the names at that point so that no one gets their feelings hurt.

I said I loved him one more time and then he looked at me and gave me the thumbs-up sign. And it was then I knew that even though I wasn't going to come back from the potty until the sun came up, it was okay. We were cool.

There was even a candle burning on the table.

2008-11-03T21:02:00.000-08:00

Somewhere between yesterday and today, the four people living in my home became a real family.

Yesterday we lived in a messy house with a sink full of dishes, dirty carpet, piles of STUFF everywhere, and half-packed bins of clothing waiting to be finished and then dragged out to the garage. That's right - I'm finally admitting to the following facts:

1.) My home is too small for the mass quantity of clothes that it holds.
2.) Most of these clothes live here becuase at some point over the past three years, I have fit into every size between 8 and 18...not to mention the maternity wear.
3.) I'm currently only fitting into one of those sizes, and there is no need to squeeze all of those clothes into my closet when there is no hope of even attempting to sqeeze all of my thighs into the clothes.

But I digress.

The carpet isn't any cleaner, nor have the bins been packed any further. But tonight? Tonight! We ate dinner together. At the dinner table. And all four of us sat in our own seats. Until Now, Tim has sat at the end of the table, with Christopher and I next to each other on the side (and Jacob in his little swing or on my lap.) But now that Jakie is enjoying the sweetness of Gerber carrots, and Christopher has given up the incredible screaming and whining that has come to define his existence every day for the past couple of weeks (a nasty cold, along with being two, will do that to a kid). And there we sat, munching away on our chicken and pasta, like civilized people.

No doubt, tomorrow we'll end up back on the couch because the table will be covered with laundry. But for tonight? It was fabulous.

It only took me about 3 sentences.

2008-10-23T22:31:00.000-07:00

You don't have to be a mom to boys to appreciate this one.

I'd recommend reading it aloud to your husband. Be sure to let me know how quickly the discomfort leads to giggles and tears.

He's afraid to get out of his crib now, for fear that I'll take it apart again.

2008-10-06T21:21:00.000-07:00

I just escaped another arial attack. Haha can really fly, especially when propelled out of a crib by an angry toddler. While I made it out alive, I'm now being subjected to the seemingly endless drone of the air raid sirens known as Christopher's Bedtime Protest.

This is just another "event" in my son's quest for independence. It all started about a month or so ago....maybe two....when he started protesting having his diaper changed. From there we moved on to a boycott of clothing, pants in particular. Now we've moved onto jammies. Or the lack thereof. Little Mr. Troy has decided that pajamas are not cool. Rather than argue with him or force him, kicking and screaming, into them, we now have lengthy discussions concerning what he would like to wear to bed.

"This one?" (Shaking head.) "How about this one?" ( "uh uh.") And on and on until we finally give in and ask, " Okay! what do you want to wear?" Tim and I are both equally guilty of giving in, although we both agree it's more a matter of choosing our battles. In so doing, we've created quite a handsome little sleeper. After bathtime, while I'm in my room readying Jacob for bed, Christopher will come romping through the door in a polo shirt and his sweats to say his prayers and kiss me goodnight. He is, by far, the most fashion-conscious member of the family these days.

As we continue towards greater independence and "big boy-ness," bedtime has become more and more of an issue. Right now, for example, he's standing in his crib screaming bloody murder. The neighbors must think we're just awful parents. And, I'll admit, it's nights like these when you really do wonder if maybe they're right.

This has been one of my overriding concerns when looking forward to the time when I'll no longer have the comfort (and control) of the crib. Almost immediately upon discovering my pregnancy with Jacob, I began to plan for The Switch. I figured that we'd buy a bed for Christopher, set it up in his room, and then GRADUALLY work our way from the crib to the bed. It was going to involve lots of time. Lots of patience. Lots of discussion. And did I mention lots of time?

Well, apparently a certain member of this family forgot the plan last week in the midst of her fever-induced sleep deprived state.

That cold really got the best of Christopher. I've never seen him so "off." Three nights of camping out on the floor downstairs with an endless supply of Daddy Snuggles and Caillou episodes would create a conflict in any little boy, I suppose. Who would want to go back to the jail cell of his crib after all of that fun, even if it was in the midst of a fever, runny nose, and achy body? So, for the entire next week, bedtime was a tremendous fight. Unfortunately, I misread the protests as being discontent with the crib / readiness for the bed, rather than discontent with the crib because it's just no fun.

Thus, the following course of events:

Friday morning I converted the crib. We didn't ease into anything. The crib came apart and the boy was THRILLED! You'd think I'd built a jungle gym right there in the middle of his room. We spent the latter part of the morning across the street at our Parish Festival, wearing out the little one. My thought? "He'll be exhausted! I AM GENIUS SUPER MOMMY!"

That afternoon we walked into the house, ate a quick lunch and could barely keep ourselves downstairs for the thrill of naptime with no walls. He went straight upstairs! He accepted the diaper change! He climbed onto his bed! He even let me leave the room without protest!

I spent the next HOUR downstairs ON THE VERGE OF TEARS as I heard him walking around in his room. Talking. Climbing. Sliding. Opening and closing his door (thank GOD for the baby gate!) "Mammaaa....Daddyyyy...."

I was convinced that, not only was he not going to take that day's nap, but that he would NEVER NAP AGAIN. I'd done more than ruin my son's crib - I'd ruined his naptime. And, almost more importantly, I'd ruined MY naptime.

Tim told me to get over myself and relax.

Not long after that I went upstairs to peek. There was my little boy, sound asleep on the floor in front of his bed. For two! whole! hours! My confidence restored, I went on with my day.

Friday night was exactly the same. He slept the ENTIRE NIGHT on the floor.

When he woke up on Saturday morning and climbed into his bed to play, I figured all would be well. He's a little mixed up right now, but he'll figure it out. I figured that until he wouldn't nap on Saturday afternoon. I went on figuring that while I was up with him until 11:30 on Saturday night. But that night, as I lay next to my son on the floor focusing only on how sore I'd be in the morning, I thought to myself that maybe I should have just given up right then and rebuilt the crib in the dark.

Anyway. All of that to say that my little two year old boy is not ready for the freedom and excitement of the toddler bed. And neither is his mommy. So we're back to the crib, at least for a little while. Back to the safety and security of sleeping behind bars, if you will.

I'm not admitting defeat - I've been defeated by nothing (except our horribly carpeted floor which, hopefully, will be replaced soon). I'm just admitting to what, deep down, I knew all along. I was rushing a process that can't be rushed. Forcing my little boy to be a little too big, a little too fast.

We'll give it some time, and then we'll try again. When we do, you can bet we'll do it right. We will bring home his real bed and start from scratch. We'll take our time. We'll discuss. we'll practice. And did I mention that we'll move slooowwwly? But I have to say - if switching to a bed means I'll be losing my naptime, then you can bet he'll be in that crib until he's ten.

Walk On, Mama!

2008-10-04T20:36:00.001-07:00

Tomorrow, my mom will be leading a team in this year's Breast Cancer walk. She's walking for herself, because she's a survivor. She's walking for her sister and my sister-in-law who are both undergoing diagnostic tests this week. And she's walking for me with the hope that I will never have to go through what she has. Here's to all of the women who have so courageously walked this journey.

Yes, Virginia, There Is A Santa Claus.

2008-10-02T21:48:00.001-07:00

There is a store in town that I rarely enter. It's one of those little mom & pop slash gourmet type stores that is always far more expensive than the bigger chains. They sell quality food at a higher than quality price, so it's not a common stop on the Grocery Shopping Express. Every once in a while I find myself there to stock up on hamburger meat (they sell the good stuff, so it's worth it) or to pick up something that's on sale. So, today, Christopher and I popped in for some yogurt - advertised at 1/3 its normal price. For a girl who consumes yogurt like it's going out of style, this was an important stop.

Lately I've really been enjoying going shopping with my boy. He's big enough to walk along the whole way now, and he's getting better and better at following directions. We talk about all kinds of things and he has this great ability to get me to notice the precious sights of life that I would normally overlook. Even in the grocery store. Plus, this particular store has those carts with the car attached to the front, which he absolutely LOVES. At all of the other stores, I do my best to sprint past those enormous carts so that I don't have to figure out how to navigate a semi through the aisles, but the car-carts at this store are built smaller. So they're fun and useful. This, I like.

As we pulled into the parking lot, I noticed that there were few cars there and looked forward to having the store to ourselves. While navigating my mammoth vehicle into the liliputian parking space, I noticed a little old man sitting in his car across the aisle. My attention paid to his presence really ended there, until after walking around my car to get the boy out of his car seat, I noticed that I'd parked too close to another car and had get back in and select another space. While it didn't phase me all that much, I did have the passing moment of embarrassment that this man saw me do all of this and that he was probably being very critical of my poor parking skills.

Now about 2 minutes behind our schedule, Christopher and I were finally walking, hand-in-hand up our aisle in the lot toward the store. As we approached his car, the old man got out of his car and started walking toward us. Although I was smiling at him, he paid little attention to me, choosing instead to ask Christopher how old he was. I told the man that he was two.

"A boy of two needs a truck," he said.

"He sure does," I replied, thinking that he was referring to Christopher's favorite shopping carts.

At that point, the man opened his trunk and pulled out a paper bag. I wasn't sure what to make of all of this, but figured that he was going to pull out a toy truck from the bag. Maybe he'd done some shopping for his grandson and had some extras - we've had friends at Church share their overflow with us before. You can imagine my astonishment, then, when he reached into the bag and pulled out a beautifully hand-crafted wooden firetruck. It was simple and classic in design, nothing overly fancy or complex.

"I make these out of scrap wood for the children in the neighborhood," he told me. "It makes me happy to give them away."

I thanked him profusely, touched beyond belief by his generosity. Christopher and I waved goodbye to him as we walked into the store, and I stood in the doorway as he drove away. He had just been there, sitting in his car waiting for a child to share his gifts with. He brought joy to our day, and by accepting his kindness, we brought joy to his.

I'll admit that it took me a while to get past the notion that this was weird. Strange. Odd. So unused to simple generosity and the kindness of strangers am I that I even thought, just for a second, "Maybe there is something wrong with this. Maybe I should throw it away." As I pulled my yogurts from the shelf, I had to force myself to accept the fact that this was a kind man, performing a kind act.

Today, on the Feast of the Guardian Angels, not only was I given a gift for my child. I was given the opportunity to entertain an angel, unaware.

Stats.

2008-10-01T20:27:00.001-07:00

People in this family who visited the doctor this week: 4

People under three feet tall who shared an appointment at the same time: 2

Number of vaccines administered at shared appointment: 7

Mommy who will never do it that way again: 1

Number of mommies who say that now, but know they'll do it again anyway: 1

Number of children who couldn't sleep last night due to drugs in system: 2

Number of adults in this family who don't mind waiting a few minutes at the doctor's office: 1*

Christopher's weight & height at 2 years: 30 lbs, 3 feet minus 1/4 inch

Jacob's weight and height at 4 months: 14 lbs, 11oz. 25.5 inches

Items that Christopher threw, alternately, in and out of his crib last night: 12, including:

Haha
Blankie
Small red pillow, embroidered, "Always my daughter, now too, my friend."
Small green pillow, embroidered, "Golfers don't eat, they just exist on greens."
Yellow labrador puppy wearing green shamrock t-shirt made here.
Plush Rottweiler from Nonna.
Yellow blankie, trimmed with Tigger, Pooh, and Piglet
Plaid throw pillow
Lid to Christmas cookie cannister with picture of "Hoho"
Incredibly large beach towel.
motorized sleeping cocker spaniel.
Toddler who can't decide whether he wants in or out.

Number of parents hit by NON-PLUSH sleeping cocker spaniel listed above: 1*

Number of parents sleeping through previously mentioned arial attack: 1*

Duration, in minutes, of Christopher's afternoon nap today: zero.

Minutes spent by a certain mommy, walking around town this morning: 95.

Number of people in immediate family who were proud and impressed at said Mommy's stamina: 2

Number of people in immediate family who were slightly concerned about duration of walk: 1*

Number of extended family members who were not impressed in the least by this walk and promptly informed said walker that she should not be pushing it and that she should spend her afternoon "getting rested.": 2*

Number of ladies who spontaneously joined the walk: 2.

Number of said ladies who were certifiably crazy: 1. Maybe 2.

Number of zodiac signs discussed by said crazy lady: 4.

Number of baby deer encountered on walk: 1

Number of observed baby deer who seem to be long for this world: sadly, zero.

Number of old people observed playing bocce ball while cutting through the park: 12

Number of aboriginal musical instruments encountered on walk: 1

Number of adults in this family who had meetings scheduled for tonight: 2.

Number of baby-sitters arranged to cover said meeting time: zero.

Number of adults in this family who played hookie for scheduled meetings: 1.

Number of mommies in this house who have never been so happy to stay home: 1.

*The reader may determine to whom this statement applies.

The Nitty Gritty of Parenting

2008-09-28T20:58:00.000-07:00

About 10 seconds after hitting "publish" on that last post...I sneezed. And, immediately, a myriad of fears began to swarm around in my mind. The utmost being a tie between: 1.) Did I wake Christopher up? and 2.) Am I getting sick?

Yes. And Yes.

My poor little guy coughed once and then just started CRYING. I ran into his room (because, Yes, I was worried....but also because I couldn't have him waking up Jacob. There's such a delicate balance to be struck around here when it comes to noise and bedtime.) and there he was. It was the saddest sight you've ever seen. Red face, watery eyes, snot all over his face. And sweating. I held him for a while thinking that I'd be able to get him settled back down. He didn't wrestle me on it either. He didn't even ask for his dad...so, of course, I was relishing the fact that he actually wanted ME. Unfortunately, after a few minutes, I could tell that something needed to be done. This critter needed some special care. So, I gave in and took him downstairs.

This is something that I never do. I've learned that if you take a boy out of his room during naptime or bedtime, there is NO GETTING HIM BACK IN. But this was a special case. I have never seen my little one in such a state.

The two of us traveled downstairs where Daddy was already setting up blankets and pillows on the floor and cueing up Christopher's favorite show on our On Demand. It was time for a Daddy and Christopher camp out on the cold, hard floor. Perfect for one....challenging for the other.

About half an hour later, after a proper dosing of tylenol, a few blows of the nose, and some family-wide temperature taking (I'm pleased to report that Haha was fever-free) Mommy headed back upstairs for a catnap before Jacob would be waking up. Naturally, I only left after taking advantage of the Kodak Moment that was occurring on my family room floor. Terrible, I know. I, for one, would do some SERIOUS PHYSICAL DAMAGE to any person attempting to take my picture if I were sick, but honestly? Kids are just SO. FREAKING. PRECIOUS. when they're all goopy and sick-like.

Jacob and I ended up sleeping pretty well that night. It wasn't until 2 am that his stirring roused me from my slumber, at which point I discovered that the other half of my bed was still empty. Having no idea what I'd encounter when I made the descent, I took care of Jakie and then headed down to investigate. About half way down the stairs, I discovered the sweetest sight: Tim, passed out on the couch (boy was I glad to see that he had transitioned from the hard floor to the couch) and Christopher all bundled up on the floor with a death grip on Haha and Blankie. Oh. And Caillou. Still singing along on the TV.

It is now three days later. Three days, two flu patients, three fever victims, and one Daddy who seems to have weathered the storm unscathed. And we're only one week into Fall.

Flu shot, anyone?

Sorry. I just don't care to figure out whether or not I used that big word correctly at this point in the evening.

2008-09-24T20:35:00.001-07:00

First...some photos from Christopher's Birthday.

(They're supposed to come at the end but I'm too tired and too hot from holding a feverish toddler to try to figure it out.)

Christopher's b-day table cloth...year two.

Let them eat cake.

and....last but not least....

Who needs to hire a clown to creep out their kids when there are dead rodents to be seen?

Now, Down To Business...

Only one day into Fall and we seem to be ushering in the season with what promises to be a family-wide cold. Not good. It never fails that when someone around here starts up with the sniffles, I immediately try to figure out where in the world they came from. This time, there is little doubt that it was a gift given to us by our friends to whom we were delivering a birthday present on Monday afternoon. Both mommy and daughter were quite sniffly and red in the eyes, but honestly? this is nothing new for their family. Especially for the littlest: she of the nose that runs all over town. I swear that we were in their house for all of 15 minutes, and as a result, there is a little boy in the next room with a pasty white face, rose-red lips, and eyes, ears, a nose and a mouth that are all excreting various fluids. Joy. I'm not all that into fluids.

He's all snuggled up in his bed right now, blankie in one hand, sippy of water in the other. But he's not sleeping soundly. Every few minutes I hear a moan or a sniffle. A cough here and there. It really is the saddest thing when your little one is sick. Such a pathetic sight, isn't it? There's something so innocent...and so vulnerable....about a little tiny person sitting in his rocking chair with snot running down his face. And yet, today? Today we spent the majority of our time outside, running around, blowing bubbles, DUMPING THE ENTIRE BOTTLE OF BUBBLE SOLUTION INTO THE DRIVEWAY, jumping, giggling, playing with blocks, making Lego towers, and playing in the dirt. I'm fascinated by the dichotomy - children have no way of hiding that they are sick. It's obvious to the whole world. And yet they seem totally oblivious of the fact that they are supposed to "feel" sick. And adults? Honestly - you know what it's like. When we get sick, we're pumping our bodies full of this decongestant and that cough drop while laying in our beds WAITING TO DIE.

Yet another lesson to be learned from our children.

So anyway, I left sick child number one in his bed...only after smattering him with copious amounts of Vicks Baby Rub. (Side Note: this is one of my favorite things about winter. My child is ADDICTED to the Vicks. You want him to lie down for a diaper change? Offer him Vicks! Want him to stop cleaning out the window sills with your tooth brush? Pull out the Vicks! Hoping that he'll actually agree to wearing pajamas to bed? Vicks! All of that PLUS the fact that it makes him giggle like mad when you rub it on...that's the best part).

From there, I moved over to my room to settle baby #2 down to sleep. As I was sitting here, rocking my little one and observing how flushed his cheeks are and how much warmer his body is than usual, I began to get nervous. Two sick children (one of whom is only 4 months old) + mommy with a sore throat + daddy who, though he claims to have no symptoms yet, tends to pick up EVERYTHING = a scary prospect. And the realization that, especially when the rest of the family is sick, there is NO SUCH THING AS A SICK MOMMY...well, I began to get a little nervous. And, admittedly, a little ahead of myself.

That's when I happened upon tonight's episode of Jon & Kate Plus 8. In tonight's presentation, the Family Who Always Makes Me Feel Like A Wimp...um, I mean, "Better" was dealing with 8 kids who all had the flu. THE THROW UP FLU. I'll quit whining now.

***UPDATE: Christopher and Tim have now set up camp downstairs on the floor. Blankets, pillows, sippy, Blankie, Haha (curious George. Because monkeys say "who who haha"), a box of tissues, a wet wash cloth, and Caillou looped on repeat playing on the TV. The fever is climbing. And the boy is pulling on his ears. It promises to be a loooong night.***

I've Got You...Under My Skin....

2008-09-15T21:08:00.000-07:00

Sarah Palin.
AWESOME. I am fascinated by this woman. She has renewed my excitement over this election. Which, honestly? Faded out about 2 years ago. Hasn't this been the longest, most drawn out, ridiculous presidential race in the history of the world!? Good grief. And just as I was counting down the days until it was all over, they introduce this MOM from Alaska with 5 kids, one of whom she's still breastfeeding. I am so intrigued by her and so excited to see where this election goes now. At this point, I choose not to weigh in on the whole "is she doing right by her family" argument that has popped up on some of the blogs. I struggle with it when I think too hard on the subject. I really do believe that a mommy's place is in the home...and yet I wonder if by taking this mommy out of her home the world might change. Even just a little. And wouldn't that be nice.

AIG. Lehman Brothers. And all those other guys.
Um...WHAT?! Aren't these investment bankers supposed to be, like, the smartest people in the world? How do you not see this all coming? More importantly, what does it mean when the stock market is in a steady nose dive, the investment banks are failing, and everyone is filing bankruptcy? And even worse...what does it mean when the guy who very well could be president is going to mess everyone's investments up even more by raising the capital gains tax to nearly 30%?! In the interest of full disclosure, I know nothing about this stuff. But I watch enough business news to know that things are NOT GOOD right now...and it seems like they're only going to get worse before they get better. Is it selfish to think that it's okay (at least a little bit okay) that the housing market is in the TANK because maybe this means it will be easier for us to buy a house. Am I trampling all over someone else's dreams with my own? I don't know. And does it even matter because the entire economy is in the tank anyway?

.......

Not too exciting today, I know. More to come. Next time: The big 2nd birthday. And the surprise visitor we had at the park!

Legos. Seriously? The BEST TOY EVER.

2008-09-02T20:35:00.000-07:00

Christopher is going to be two (TWO!) in about a week and a half, and all I can think is, "how in the world did THAT happen?"

Two is totally different than one. One is so exciting. So special. So emotional. So running into the bedroom first thing in the morning to capture the birthday wake up photo (which, by the way, I think I'll do every year. That will make for a rather sweet photo collection, I think.) Two is exciting too, but just different. In our house, Two is looking like this:

2.) Laughing when he falls down because he thinks it's so funny, getting up, wiping off, and moving on.
2.) Giving mom strangle-hugs during Mass, pulling her hair over her face, and then cackling himself crazy as she dashes out the back door of the church to make sure that no one is bothered.
2.) Finding no need for actual words because who needs to talk when you can point and say "heh?"
2.) Legos.
2.) Shoes that light up when you stomp. And jump. And hop.
2.) Walking up and down the stairs without holding on to anything.
2.) Coloring. On the windows.
2.) Watching Nina and Star on Sprout and doing everything they tell him to do without hesitation. (If only Nina could move in...)
2.) Talking on your own terms...not when Mom or Dad are forcing you to say something.
2.) Parents (especially Dad) who are very concerned about the lack of talking.
2.) A doctor appointment right around the corner when we're finally going to have to address the issue of the MMR shot...and hoping we have enough verbal communication by then to not have to worry.
2.) When mom is singing a song, repeating "Mom. Mom. Momma. Mom. Mooom." until she stops singing. Is someone trying to send me a message?
2.) Stomping and crying and whining when something is taken away. Or when he can't have a cranberry. Or a grape. Or an apple. OR WHATEVER HE'S POINTING TO IN THE FRUIT DRAWER IN ANY GIVEN MOMENT.
2.)Laying on his tummy in the bathtub.
2.) Splashing.
2.) Doing river dance in the tub (only when holding mommy's hands, of course)
2.) Going peepee in the potty (sometimes) and telling us when he's going poopoo....I figure this is a start, right?
2.) Sitting on my lap and letting me sing him to sleep (the only time when he doesn't force me to stop singing....and yes, this does mean that we've gotten back on track with the sleeping. This, of course, is just in time for my mom to come next week and for him to get all off-track again.)
2.) Kissing Yaya night-night when we pretend to put Jake to bed (because babies have to go to bed first) so that Christopher won't be jealous of Jakie's late-night privileges.
2.) Kissing his own boo-boos.
2.) Asking for the boo-boo-baaaa (boo boo spray) when he scrapes his hand.
2.) Collecting rocks and leaving them in the little nooks and crannies of our house for us to find.
2.) Hiding behind furniture and then jumping and squealing and totally CRACKING UP when he's found.

Sigh. The list goes on. The boy is growing up, and he's getting cuter and more fun with every passing day. This, I think, is what makes Two so great. Each day brings him further from babyhood and closer into boyhood. Son-hood. Buddy-hood.

And boy do I love my little buddy.

I'll bet you didn't know that turkeys have tender loins...

2008-08-20T21:50:00.000-07:00

...but they DO! And they're delicious. At least the ones I cooked as part of last night's food network style dinner sure were. So, alas, the menu: turkey tenderloin, roasted baby gold potatoes, sauteed green beans, and homemade garlic spread on sourdough rolls.

mmmmm. Iron Chef, here I come.

Now down to business. Who stole my precious little angel and replaced him with the little tantrum-monger who is currently sleeping (thank GOD) in the next room? Honestly. I would like to know. Call me please and we'll negotiate a drop off point.

Good heavens. Here we are, barrelling toward age two at lightning speed when all of a sudden we bypassed the next three weeks and landed smack in the middle of the terrible twos.

Terrible. Awful. Screamy. Loud. Whiny. Stompy. Jumping up and down and sobbing. Refusing a bath. Refusing jammies. Trying to pull off the diaper. (I can't tell you how many times a day I hear the phrase, "Please take your hands out of your pants" coming out of m mouth.) Turning himself into a limp, wet noodle when we try to pick him up. Demanding. Opening the fridge. Not giving in. Testing every boundary. Screaming himself to sleep. Screaming. Screaming. Screaming! SOMEONE STOP THE SCREAMING!

This behavior has only been going on for about one week and I find myself already wondering where, exactly, my whit ends. Sometimes, it's actually funny. The screaming and the drama are so extreme that you just have to sit back and wonder what exactly is going on in that cute little head. I've learned already that being patient is the key to it all. Letting him scream it out usually only takes a minute or two before he's standing there with his eyes closed trying to figure out if he's ready to move on with his life. Usually he is, and we're both giggling in no time.

The hard part, though, is bed time. He's just going going going all the time, right? And life is too fun to have to stop and spend the night in Crib Prison. The screaming and crying that comes from his room is absolutely heartbreaking. Sure, it only lasts about 10 minutes, but he's just so SAD. He just wants his MOOMMMMIIIIEEEEE!!!!!! AAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!! WAHHHHHHH! DADDIIEEEEE!!!!!! And for those ten minutes, even though you know he's just testing you, even though you know he'll be asleep in no time, you feel like the worst mommy in the world for neglecting your precious little angel.

The other night he got himself so riled up that I honestly thought he was going to make himself sick. So in I went to find this little person standing inside his crib, shaking because he was so upset. I sat him in his chair and read to him for a while before he gave me the "mommy pick me up" signal. He was so tired. And so clingy. There we stood in the middle of his room, singing songs and swaying back and forth, his little hands clinging to my shirt as though I was about to melt away from underneath him. I LOVED EVERY SECOND OF IT.

Finally, he lifted his head and said, "Momma, poopoos." So I laid him down on his changing table, did a mock diaper change for him, and rubbed his forehead while we talked about how he is the big brother and how he needs to teach Yaya how to sleep in his big boy bed. We talked about how I know it's no fun that Yaya gets to sleep in Mama's room and Christopher doesn't, and about how soon Yaya will be sleeping in his own room next door to Christopher. We talked and talked and talked. And you know what?

HE FELL ASLEEP. ON THE CHANGING TABLE.

I would have stood there with him all night if I could have. My precious boy. My sleeping angel. I wish we could do that every night.

So I don't know. Maybe it's time to mix things up a little. Maybe we should adjust his crib to toddler bed stage so that we can lay next to him and he can feel more like a big boy (although, the late night wandering is keeping me from doing that at this point). Maybe we should just continue to pump him full of Tylenol to offset the pain of those (SLOWLY) emerging two year molars. Maybe we should call supernanny (which, honestly? that woman is a GENIUS....and most of those parents are complete DOLTS.)

It's hard being almost-two. That's really all there is to say.

On the plus side:
1. Christopher peed in the big boy potty two nights ago.
2. Jacob sleeps from 9pm until 7am. 8 nights in a row. !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Ave Maria!

2008-08-15T21:29:00.000-07:00

I love Holy Days of Obligation. I always have. Even before my life as a grown up who has studied and taken a sincere, educated interest in her Faith, Holy Days have always held a sort of mystique. Stepping outside of your normal routine of regular life during the week and Mass on Sundays really forces you to pay attention, you know? This, of course, makes me wonder about those who attend daily Mass. Do the Holy Days offer something different to these Faithful? For me, no matter how frequently I would attend Mass, these days always stood out as special. They were a time to really focus, to really celebrate our Faith.

There was a time in my life when I was far more frequent a Mass attendee. That remarkable period where I was so totally immersed in Catholic Culture that the peer pressure I was subjected to centered around going to Mass. Or Adoration. Or Confession. A time when I was the recipient of other peoples' efforts to bring my Faith to life.

Those were the days. I often reflect on how easy it was back then. How my four years on top of the hill were, faith-wise, the easiest I've ever had. True, they were years of tremendous growth. Of stretching. And, in that regard, came along with their own challenges. But everything I needed was available to me - whether I wanted it on any given day or not. Honestly, when else can you go to confession to a multitude of priests EVERY DAY OF THE WEEK? Where else can you pop in for Adoration at any time of the day or night on any day of the year? (Those people who can do this? SO. LUCKY.) Boy oh boy. It was so easy. And I didn't even realize it.

My current life still has me immersed in Catholic Culture, but now it's just different. I'm no longer the recipient of other peoples' efforts to create that culture. Now I find that I am the creator of that culture. I now live in a world where, if daily Mass is going to be available, it's becuase I'm motivating the family (okay, myself) to get ready in the mornings. In this world, if my kids are going to understand the extreme privilege of visiting Our Lord in Adoration, it's because I'm the one making the house call. Fostering a love for Our Blessed Mother comes as a result of my loving my children the way that she loved her own Son. Encouraging daily prayer will not come as a result of my prodding, "Did you say your prayers?" Rather, it will develop out of giving my entire family the gift of praying together....and teaching them to respect the fact that sometimes, we need to go into our rooms and take some time alone...just us and Jesus.

Naturally, I am blessed in that the responsibility does not lie with me alone. My boys have a phenomenal, faith-filled dad who takes such a keen interest in practicing his faith. He recognizes that, in order to be a full participant in the Faith, one must study and truly understand it. He is the head of the household, both literally and metaphorically. He directs us well, and he educates us well. Often, though, I will find myself frustrated when Tim reminds me that "we need to be praying more. We need to be praying the Rosary." This is always true, but I admit that sometimes my back goes up when I hear that direction. Rather than humbly thinking, "he's right. We do need to be praying more," my thoughts will sometimes turn to, "he is the head of the family. It's one thing to say we need to be praying more and completely another thing to make sure we DO it."

Not surprisingly, Our Lady always seems to provide the gentle reminder that I need (and it's always immediate.) I can practically hear her whispering in my ear, "but you are the mother. You are the HEART of the family." And I sheepishly remember that she is right. His job is to direct and to guide. My job is to give that gentle nudge into action. By allowing the head and the heart to work together, we're providing that organic combination that is creating our own Catholic Culture right here in our very own home.

That is the lesson that I've taken out of this most beautiful solemnity. On this day that we almost forgot to go to Mass because we've been so distracted with other things. On this day that I spent the entire homily seeing to the needs of my little ones rather than soaking in any little bit of the homily. On this day that I didn't even talk to Our Blessed Mother even once (not even to say, "help!" which is a frequent conversation that we share), I've learned that Mary's path to holiness was through her "yes" to motherhood and everything that entails.

So lies mine.

Things I LOVE

2008-08-12T20:55:00.001-07:00

...warm, squishy, sleeping babies who have a drop of milk rolling down their cheeks.

...almost two year old little boys who climb and run and jump and go down big boy slides backwards without any help from their mommy whatsoever.

...pretending to have my own food network show while I'm cooking dinner.

...having friends nearby who I can laugh so hard with that we both start to cry.

...getting compassionate, understanding, loving emails from my dad when I least expect it.

...knowing that, regardless of how hard life gets, I have my best friend by my side. Always.

...shoes that light up when my little boy jumps. and stomps. and just walks.

...that every time we walk to the play structure at church, Christopher mandates a stop at the mural of our Lady of Guadalupe, sits down, makes the sign of the cross, and waits for me to pray a Hail Mary with him.

...hearing the church bells, right now, as they chime the Salve Regina.

...the peace that comes from knowing that we have our entire lives ahead of us and that it's okay if things aren't PERFECT this very instant.

...sitting with our 4-year old little friend on the park bench and listening to her while she shares her anxiety over her baby brother coming to live with them from South Korea.

...the fact that my friends are adopting this precious little one, and that he'll be here SOON!

...novenas. And friends who willingly pray them when you ask.

...an entire day with no temper tantrums. Well. From the toddler, at least.

...dancing with Christopher.

...good emails that are moving us forward with starting the business.

...precious friends, who, although I haven't spoken to them in a while, are always there to listen, love, and pray.

Welcome to the Family, Jake.

2008-08-08T20:31:00.000-07:00

It's 8:32 pm. Tomorrow morning, my little Jacob will be baptized into the Catholic Church. As I sit here, the first time today, I finally have a minute to reflect on what all of that means. We've been preparing so much over this past week. Shopping. Cleaning. Painting. Vacuuming. Cooking. Dusting. All to prepare for the massive celebration that will take place at my in-laws' house tomorrow.

AFTER the Sacrament.

It will be a grand party, that's for sure. Tim's wonderful parents have opened up their home to the 45+ people who are coming to celebrate this joyous day in the life of our little one, and for that I am so very grateful. But just because the party is at someone else's house, doesn't mean that our share of the work has been any less. And I wouldn't want it any other way.

But now, as I sit here with my mind still swarming of what needs to happen tomorrow morning before I even hit the showers, I can see the irony of it all. Or the ridiculousness, really. Our focus ALL WEEK has been on the party. I, for one, have reflected very little on the real celebration of the day. The honest-to-goodness celebration that will be taking place in the Church Triumphant as another soul is added to the ranks. Another member of the Church Militant signing on for battle. The beauty of the ritual. The glory of the rite.

The blessing of the CHILD.

Once all is said and done, it will have been a wonderful party. So many family members and friends will gather to celebrate our boy and to enjoy each other's company. I know it will be just lovely.

But when you ask me how the day went, don't let me get away with only telling you how lovely the party was. Don't allow me to ignore the real celebration of the day - the splendor of my precious son beginning the process of full initiation into the True Church of Christ.

I asked Tim to buy me a pool with a house in the front yard, on the basis that it should be cheaper than a house with a pool in the backyard. Right?

2008-08-06T21:03:00.000-07:00

I like Bobby Flay. Really a lot. And I hope I'm not the only one. Right now, I'm watching "Throwdown with Bobby Flay" and it's rapidly becoming my favorite food network show.

My relationship with Food Network can most simply be described as "love / hate." I can't turn it off. It's my channel of choice whenever I sit down lately and I'm always so inspired by the deliciousness of what is presented to me. As a matter of fact, the saddest TV moments for me these days are between the hours of 3 and 8 am (or so) when my favorite foodies are replaced by infomercials of one type or another. (Side note: sleeping is getting SO MUCH BETTER with Jake....we only get up twice during the night right now. Sadly, though, one of those...and sometimes both....are during the generally AWFUL and often IN POOR TASTE infomercials.)

But I digress. The challenging part of my love affair with channel 35 is actually transitioning from sitting on the couch watching delicious food to actually bringing it to life in the kitchen. This is not for lack of skill. I'm not too humble to admit that I've got some mad cooking skills. (And the cooking show I put on for Christopher, which always involves dancing, could EASILY stand up to ANY of those Rachael Ray types.) Sadly, we're not too adventurous when it comes to the edible arts here. I can't even blame Tim for this, although it really is TOTALLY HIS FAULT, because he generally is willing to try new things if I want to do it. The problem is that I am too quick to cater to the ease of cooking a guaranteed favorite. You know what I mean? Why invest the time and energy (and emotion, because seriously? I am totally invested in my cooking) when they may not be a hit?

I know. I need to just get over it and try it out. So that's my plan. Next week, once we're past Jakie's Baptism and everyone has recovered from the stress of the party (more on that another time) I'm going for it. BRING IT ON, BOBBY FLAY.

-----------

Well, as usual, the above is NOT what I intended to write when I sat down tonight. What I INTENDED to talk about was our visit to the swimming pool today - about how much Christopher LOVED swimming last week and about how we couldn't wait to get back there when his Nonna arrived today. OH - and also about how cute he was when he was waiting at the door for her to arrive this morning and practically EXPLODED OUT OF HIS SKIN when he saw her walking down the path. It seriously made me cry, what with all the jumping and the waving and the repeated "Nonna! Nonna! Nonna!s."

So we get to the pool and jump right in. This kid has NO. FEAR. (Which, of course adds to my own fear quite a bit.) It's the cutest thing to watch him jump off the side and splash around and come up, all drippy and wet, after I've dunked him completely under. And do you know that he didn't. even. cry. the first time I did that? He was confident and adventurous starting with the first toe he dipped into the pool last week and I wanted nothing more than to capture that confidence on film. My camera was even CHARGED this time.

There we were, all smiles, looking up at Nonna as she snapped away (unfortunately, a little too slowly) when the lifeguard approached her with, "I'm sorry, Ma'am. We don't allow cameras here."

WE DON'T ALLOW CAMERAS HERE.

Um. SERIOUSLY? Who does this lifeguard think he is getting in between me and my photo of the first (okay, second....see above note about charging camera) time my son went swimming?! And doesn't he know that my mom is not the speediest person in the world and that instead of snapping away the way I would have done, she only took ONE BLASTED PICTURE? ONE!

Needless to say, I was less than pleased. And then I realized that they probably have very good reasoning for not allowing photographs, etc. at the pool which probably involves protecting children from TOTAL CREEPOS. This, of course, makes me even more mad that there are such sickos out there that I cannot even photograph my own children.

Thus, we arrive at today's biggest revelation: I am no longer totally opposed to the possibility of owning a home with a swimming pool in the backyard. Don't get me wrong, I'm still about 90% opposed due to all of the safety issues EVEN WITH THE PROPER FENCING AND COVERS AND ALARMS AND EVERYTHING ELSE I'D FORCE MY HUSBAND TO HAVE IN PLACE BEFORE I'D EVEN SET FOOT ON THE PROPERTY. But now I also see how much fun there is to be had at the pool, and since my kids won't have the luxury of growing up like their mother did, on the best swimming pool in the world....well, I'm willing to consider it.

Because, you know, buying a house is SO IMMINENT. sigh.

****Bobby Flay just lost the meatloaf throwdown. Do you know that I've never seen him win? Very sad, Bobby Flay. Very sad.****

Talk To Me

2008-07-31T20:59:00.000-07:00

Stacy and Clinton are right. Quality fabric + quality workmanship = higher price, but also = better fit. That being said, I FOUND A SWIMMING SUIT. Praise the Living God. I'm so happy. Sure it's not fabulous (It's hot pink. Not my first choice.), but I do feel comfortable and confident in it. Thus, tomorrow's trip to the swimming pool has already gotten off to a good start. And, can I just say, that I LOVE this whole "swim mini" concept. What in the world took so long to come up with this? This is not your average swimming-suit-with-a-skirt of the days of old. No no no, my friends. This one is actually cute. It's actually flattering. Land's End is my new best friend. And Sears is my newer best friend for selling Lands End stuff without my having to order it online.

Sears, however, is not my new best friend for their photo studio. I'm still mourning the loss of our local Picture People. Oh, Picture People, how I miss thee. How I miss your perky teen-age employees with their funny sounds and their overbearing enthusiasm for bringing staged smiles to the faces of my children. Oh how I miss being able to use your "free 8x10" coupon that you're still sending me (which, seriously? MUST you pour salt in my already open wound?). Oh how I miss the agony of trying to figure out just which photo to actually BUY, rather than the searching and searching to find a photo of high enough quality to merit actually bringing home.

Sigh.

And yet, I signed up for the year-long Sears Photo membership anyway. Beggars can't be choosers.

All of that being said, NONE of the above was in my plan when I sat down at the computer tonight. Tonight's topic is even better than a swimming suit that fits. Even better than the kids at Picture People. EVEN BETTER than the brownies that I made tonight that totally flopped, BUT in their flop-ness actually turned into one of those "molten chocolate" cakes that you have to order at the beginning of your meal at a fancy restaurant because it takes so long to cook and is so delicious because of the gooey chocolate that pours out once you put your fork into it. (Honestly - if a recipe is going to flop, then this is the way to do it. Wouldn't you agree?)

Tonight is all about my son TALKING. Using words. REAL WORDS.

Now, I freely admit that this is something that we've been anxious about. As we find ourselves racing towards "two" at breakneck speed, we also find ourselves counting down the days until The Deadline. The time when Christopher should have a good number of words that he uses with frequency. Words that he uses with meaning. And (gasp!) word combinations that express intent.

Don't get too excited. We're not reciting Shakespeare here. But today we did have a breakthrough. Over the past week, I have been teaching Christopher to sing "Do Re Mi" and boy is it cute. I'll say, "do do do." And he'll say "do do do." Then we'll do the same with Re and Mi. But today. TODAY! After our normal "repeat after me" session in the car, I heard a little voice from the back seat say, "do re mi...."

AAAHHHHHAAAHAAAA! IT WAS AWESOME.

And then, tonight, as he was jumping off the couch and bouncing on his pillows on the floor, all of a sudden I hear, "OW." Ow. Ow. Owwww.

Perhaps you find this to be anticlimactic, but Tim and I were thrilled. Thrilled, because WE NEVER TAUGHT HIM "OW." Which means he's picked it up from someone else - we're guessing his big cousin who came over to play on Tuesday. HE PICKED IT UP. He picked it up without my saying, "Christopher, say ow. Ow. Say Ow. Christopher say it. (hopeful waiting) Okay, Mommy say it: ow. Now Christopher say it. Ow. Owwwww. Christopher say it."

Yes, this is the way we've been living our lives. It's a wonder he hasn't packed his bag and moved out by now, what with all the pressure.

Thus, we've experienced a joyful day around here. Not because of the impressiveness of the word, but because it feels like we're moving forward. He is getting it. The synapses are firing. So it really will be only a matter of time before the "MOM!!!!!" that I hear from the backseat when we pass a bus or a fire truck on the road, followed by enthusiastic pointing and waving of arms actually becomes "WOW MOM LOOK AT THAT TRUCK!"

And that will be SO. AWESOME.

Brotherly Love

2008-07-27T09:39:00.000-07:00

Because he cares about personal and oral hygiene....and because he feels it necessary to pass these traits on to his little brother.....

I turned around this morning to find Christopher sitting next to Jacob. BRUSHING HIS TEETH.

You can imagine Jacob's delight.

Am I the only one here who thinks that my gift-giver's name was NOT a coincidence?

2008-07-25T13:34:00.000-07:00

Seeing as how I'm always about three steps behind where I'd like to be these days, I figure it's no problem to put everything off just a little longer to sit here and write about this and that. So many things to say, so little energy to sit down and do it. So of all the mishmash from this week that would pop into my mind with a "I should write about that!" and popped out before I gathered up the energy to sit down and do it, here's the highlight.

Ha. Energy to sit down. This is my life.

On Monday, I received a card from my dear Nonna which read, "Happy Anniversary! I can't believe how quickly these two years have passed." And it's true - especially considering it's been three years. Three years a Troy. Three years of joy, despite the many struggles we've been dealt. Three years of opportunities for growth in holiness....hopefully some of which have actually taken. It was hard to remember it was our anniversary, actually, as this was probably the busiest week we've had in quite a while, but when Wednesday came around, BAM there it was. And it was awesome.

The day started out with my reading of this post on faith and family. I wish there was a camera set up in my computer room so you could see my reaction - sitting at the desk, crying, because I was so excited. SO AWESOME!!! MADE. MY. DAY.

After that, Jake and I headed out to Target where I purchased THREE, yup THREE, maternity swimming suits. Argh. Maternity. Lest you be mistaken, I am NOT pregnant. But I figured that these would fit my newly postpartum body better than any others and leave me far less depressed. It needs to be said that the last time I wore a swimming suit was FOUR YEARS AGO. I was in Hawaii. It was a bikini. Four years, two pregnancies, and zero sun later, I stood in my bathroom trying on these swimming suits and DYING because they were so very awful. There really are no words for how horrible they were. Remarkably, I was having such a good day that it hardly bothered me at all. And, it certainly helped to have such a loving husband whose response to my declarations of how hideous I looked was, "let me be the judge of that." Sometimes he just really knows exactly how to make me feel good. That being said, he has still not seen me in those suits. Nor will he ever.

They are all going back to Target.

Tim and I went out to dinner that night and it was fabulous. The boys stayed at Oma & Pop's house with some help from their Auntie Erin. This was the first time I've left Jacob for that long (I never left Christopher for that long until he was well into solids) and off we went, just the two of us. And it was AWESOME.

We did a lot of reminiscing - the first time we met...our wedding day....you know, all of that fluffy stuff. Of course, we cried. (We do that here.) But we also remembered upon anniversaries past: anniversary #1 where it was 108 degrees outside (for real) and I was 500 pounds pregnant (almost for real). Anniversary #2 when Tim was so incredibly ill that his gift to me was suffering through a couple of days to save his very last percocet so that he'd be able to take me out to dinner. Anniversary #3 where we're in the midst of starting our own business and the financial numbers in our lives are all written in red.

We did a lot of dreaming about the future - looking forward to when our boys will be old enough to join us for these anniversary dinners and we can celebrate as a family. Wondering when we'll have a year (or even just a summer) that's not wracked with stress, or illness, or worry of some sort or another. Recognizing that, really, that's just life. When one thing ends, another begins. And realizing that regardless of what is to come, we can handle it because we've got each other. We've got our boys. And, most importantly, we've got our Faith.

Speaking of our Faith, we went to Adoration today. (Please excuse me if I wrote about this last week, but I'm just so touched by this....) My little Christopher brought tears to my eyes as he bowed before the monstrance, kissed the cross, blew kisses to our blessed Mother. Of all of the things he will do in his life to make me proud, none of them will beat this. Nothing is more important to me than forming my boys in their faith. This is going to be a challenge, considering everything else that will be vying for their time and attention, but I think we're up to it.

This weekend we will watch our wedding video, as we do every year, and will sit on the couch and CRY!!!!! just like always. The difference this year will be that Christopher will watch with us, and Jacob too. And as we watch we'll be thanking and praising God for that day three years ago. Not just for what it was, but for the fruits that have grown from it.

Go to sleeeep, little Jacob....go to sleep liiitle Jacob.....

2008-07-18T21:23:00.001-07:00

At the beginning of this week, I was beginning to wonder if I'd ever sleep again. My little Jacob, my precious little peanut whose mommy was bragging to the whole world about what a good sleeper he was (at least during the day...which, really, I'll take what I can get) suddenly abandoned his afternoon naps. This is not OK. Naptime in our house is PRECIOUS TIME WHICH I DO NOT GIVE UP EASILY. I am not one of those "go with the flow" moms who is happy to see her child sleeping when he needs it but can deal with the days when he doesn't. No no no. Naptime in the Troy household is at 1pm. Sharp. No negotiations.

I CRAVE this routine. I THRIVE on this routine. (And, luckily, so does Christopher.)

Oh, the wonderfulness that was having two babies sleep at the same time! But then, to my dismay, Jacob decided that, no, he would not sleep. Not until about 4:00. You know, when Christopher wakes up. He would eat and sit in his chair and look around and coo. You know, all that cute little baby stuff. But he would not sleep. AND! We even were starting to get into that dangerous territory of him falling asleep in my arms but then waking up immediately upon the transfer to the chair. I've done that whole thing before. We're not going there again.

With Christopher, there was no such thing as a daytime nap until he was 5 months old. That was rough. However, he did sleep quite well at night - a trade off that I was very happy with. That being said, one would think that it would be reasonable to expect similar behaviour from Jacob. ONE WOULD BE WRONG.

Two nights ago, he slept his normal three-hour first stretch, getting up the first time at midnight. And then he got up EVERY HOUR ON THE HOUR from that point forward. THE NEXT DAY HE DID NOT NAP. There was much groaning and gnashing of teeth, you can be sure. I was beginning to think that my life was seriously over. That I would just stay awake until I faded into oblivion. Seriously. If Descartes was right, then my lack of ability to maintain ANY thought in my mind would cause me to simply fade away. (Which, at least then maybe I'd get some rest.)

With a few nights like that behind me, you can imagine my SHEER DELIGHT when Jacob fell asleep during his lunch yesterday and STAYED! ASLEEP! for the chair transfer. You can also imagine my UTTER HORROR when his dad (my darling husband whom I adore) MOVED HIS CHAIR ACROSS THE ROOM AND WOKE. HIM. UP. Thus, no nap for baby. And, selfishly...but honestly....no nap for mommy. I informed said husband that he would be responsible for some serious pampering of the wife later that night to make up for his indiscretion.

Naturally, my darling came down with a splitting headache later that afternoon (it really was bad and I really did feel for him - even to the point of forgetting about the pampering that I wasn't getting). This headache lead to less attention being paid to Christopher's post-bath pee in the tub, which lead to the following course of events:

(Deep breath in....)

Christopher pees on my bed, through the sheets to the mattress pad.
Husband feels sick, due to headache, goes downstairs to make sure he doesn't die.
I clothe Christopher, read him stories, put him in bed, race through changing of sheets because of screaming baby downstairs who is not assisting the daddy with the headache.
Finally got the bed made while thinking, "there is no mattress pad on my bed. Something bad is going to happen tonight."
Get husband to bed.
Get baby to bed.
SLEEP. FOR FIVE HOURS STRAIGHT. PRAISED BE JESUS!
Wake up at 2:00am to change baby's diaper.
Place blanket under baby's bottom to avoid poop on the bed (I learned that lesson last week.) Get nailed my missile poop that OVERSHOOTS the blanket straight to the sheet (and my jammies).
Whisper choice selection of swear words.
Scramble to get new jammies for baby, new jammies for mommy, towels to go between mattress and poop sheet. Blanket to go between poop sheet and my clean jammies.
Swear some more.
Get baby back to bed, where he sleeps for THREE MORE HOURS.
Get up.
Feed baby and replace in crib where he sleeps for TWO MORE HOURS.
Awake, happily, to realize (unhappily) that I have to wash both poo-poo sheets and pee-pee sheets all in one day.

All of that being said, I can't complain too much. Jacob took a morning, afternoon, and dinner time nap today. AND he's asleep right now. Knock on wood.

On the Christopher front:
Today he used his own "imaginary color finding goggles" to help the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse gang replace all of the colors of the rainbow, ran around Babies-R-Us like the biggest boy you've ever seen, and made his mommy cry because of his beautiful reverence for Jesus and Momma Mary in adoration. OH - AND when I said to him, "Say Pizza!" His response was "Peee!" Close enough for me.

Next time: My Love Affair with Ebay. Happy Weekend!

Good Read

2008-07-16T19:40:00.000-07:00

Check out this website - http://faithandfamilylive.com/blog/

It's a collection of women bloggers writing about all things woman, mom, and Catholic. I've only been reading it for one day and have already found it to be informative, entertaining and very very inspirational.

Enjoy!

Angel, Unaware.

2008-07-15T20:18:00.000-07:00

I think it's time that someone got some action figures.

Decisions, Decisions.

2008-07-13T20:57:00.000-07:00

Well. We finally settled on Godparents for Jacob. And, believe it or not, it was a lot easier this time than last. When I was pregnant with Christopher, we must have mulled it over for months. As Catholics, it is something that we take quite seriously. So Tim and I set up some criteria.

Criterion #1 - Catholicity. They must be practicing Catholics. And that means PRACTICING. In the Dictionary Of Me, "practicing" can be defined as REALLY GOES TO CHURCH. EVERY WEEKEND. AND HOLY DAYS. And, perhaps....maybe they even go on a weekday from time to time. It also means that they know their faith and have a love for it. Perhaps a devotion is exercised here or there. Maybe they even own a Rosary. And use it. In most cases this would narrow the candidate pool....but in our circle of family and friends, it really only shaves a few people off the top.

Criterion #2 - Proximity. As the role of Godparents is to provide a lived witness of the Faith to the child, we both feel that it's really important that these people are a frequent presence in our lives. I want my children to see them more than once a year. For both boys we considered family and friends who lived out of town, out of state, even out of the country. But we keep coming back to this consistency issue.

Criterion #3 - Family. There are certain things that, I feel, you have to use family for first. Whether it "should" be that way or not. Whether it's annoying or not. Whether you really want to or not. It's kind of like the whole issue of who you have in your wedding. There's a progression, and lest you have complete disregard for the possibility of alienating people who are bound to you FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE, you should really start there.

I tell you, we AGONIZED over this issue with Christopher. Is this person going to pass on the Faith to him the way WE will? Is that person around enough to really have an impact in his daily life? Is anyone going to get their feelings hurt if we ask so-and-so instead? Good grief.

But, the agony was worth it because I'm confident that we chose the PERFECT people for him.

And then I got pregnant again. I chose not to think about Baptism AT ALL FOR THE DURATION OF THE PREGNANCY because it's just too stressful. All of a sudden, Jacob was one whole month old and we'd only discussed the issue once. Maybe twice.

We both knew that we wanted to ask Tim's sister. She is the perfect match. We both adore her. And she adores our kids. Easy peasy. The real challenge was going to be finding a Godfather. Because, after all, what about THE CRITERIA?! So Tim says, without taking a breath, "What about your brother?" Once I regained consciousness, I asked him if he was serious. And then I asked him if he was sure. And he said yes. And I started crying.

You see, my brother lives in L.A. We see him maybe twice a year. And when it comes to criterion #1....well let me just say that when I told my mom who we were asking, her response was "are you hoping for a back-door conversion through Jacob?"

I finally called him last night to ask him if he'd do it. He provided a good deal of comedic effect when he asked me "how Christopher and...um....the other one...why can't I think of his name?" were doing. But when I asked him if he'd be interested in the job, he was speechless.

When he finally spoke he said that he'd be honored. And that he was humbled. And then he thanked me profusely. The conversation ended with a slew of dates that he'd be available to come up, even if he had to come up the weekend after he was up here for something else, he'd make the trip to be here for Jacob. With this, I knew that we'd made the right choice again.

The agony was different this time. And I should know by now that God often works in ways that are opposite to what I'm expecting. The first time we were looking for the people who Christopher needed in his life. This time, maybe we've found the people who need Jacob in theirs.

Another day in paradise

2008-07-12T14:01:00.000-07:00

Me: Christopher! Don't eat that! That's Jacob's boogie! OH. Too late.

Tim: Here, at least drink this so you can wash it down fast.

Update

2008-07-10T08:52:00.001-07:00

This just in on the breastfeeding front. I've become rather intrigued by this whole situation. I think that this follow up article says it all.

Life in the Land of Burps and Farts

Because We All Know If I Try to Write This On An Actual FRIDAY It Will Take Three More Weeks To Post.

Because Who Doesn't Want An Excuse to Eat Donuts For Dinner

Whatever You Had Planned For Dinner Tonight....Make This Instead

Ingredients

Directions

Friday Afternoon Hodgepodge

I Kind Of Feel Like Someone Stuck Me In The Dryer.

I Even Brought In the $100 "Processing Fee." Now THAT'S Commitment.

Why I'm Participating in Biggest Blogging Loser In 7 (Not-So-Quick) Takes

And He Was Really Disappointed That Santa Didn't Leave Any Presents There, Too.

7 Quick Takes - Picture Wall Edition

Five.

I have 30 seconds. Let's see how fast I can type.

On Laundry and Ground Turkey.

Of Note.

Ash Wednesday. Again. Already.

Jumping on the Food Blog Bandwagon.

All In A Day's Work. *updated with appropriate linkage*

Sure Target Has Moved On To Valentine's And Summer, But I'm still Back At Christmas.

I Do Believe We're Due For A Rant From My (Self) Righteous Soapbox.

So Much For Installments...

You Should Have Known I Wouldn't Be Back In Just One Day (aka Nate's birth story, part deux)

Now That I've Finally Sat Down To Type This, Someone Will Start Crying Or My Battery Will Die. TRUST ME. (Also, now, Nate's Birth Story: Part One.)

The Calm Between The Storms

My Parents Were Awesome.

Not Sure If This Is As Bad As The Time I Trapped A Moth Between My Ear And My Pillow Or Not...

Perhaps You Don't Always Have To Feel Guilty For Being Honest.

I Suppose It's Time I Jumped On The Bandwagon.

Because I Can Never Sit At A Computer Without Typing Way Too Much.

Just Real Quick...

Letters on a Family Vacation

Seven Quick Takes

I Had No Idea I Could Be So Linky.

It's Friday - You Know What That Means!

It's really more an issue of "Does The Radiology Dept. Have Enough Tissues On Hand For The Tears My Mother Will Shed?"

Seven Quick Previews, Saturday Edition.

7 Quick Takes

If "Let's Make A Deal" were still on TV I'd be SO. RICH.

Seven Quick Takes...

In Which I Use Far Too Many Caps And Still Solve Nothing.

Dear Blogger, Why Do You Hate Me?

Makes You Want To Hold Your Husband Close.

To Whom It May Concern

A Sad Day.

Seven Quick Takes...

Things That Go "dee" in the Night

There was even a candle burning on the table.

It only took me about 3 sentences.

He's afraid to get out of his crib now, for fear that I'll take it apart again.

Walk On, Mama!

Yes, Virginia, There Is A Santa Claus.

Stats.

The Nitty Gritty of Parenting

Sorry. I just don't care to figure out whether or not I used that big word correctly at this point in the evening.

I've Got You...Under My Skin....

Legos. Seriously? The BEST TOY EVER.

I'll bet you didn't know that turkeys have tender loins...

Ave Maria!

Things I LOVE

Welcome to the Family, Jake.

I asked Tim to buy me a pool with a house in the front yard, on the basis that it should be cheaper than a house with a pool in the backyard. Right?

Talk To Me

Brotherly Love

Am I the only one here who thinks that my gift-giver's name was NOT a coincidence?

Go to sleeeep, little Jacob....go to sleep liiitle Jacob.....

Good Read

Angel, Unaware.

Decisions, Decisions.

Another day in paradise

Update

All In A Day's Work. updated with appropriate linkage