Watch the Grass Grow

Of a Lazy Day

2012-01-31T23:06:00.001-06:00

Today was a lazy day in our house. I was telling myself it would be convenient if the baby came tomorrow because today just felt like a Friday and I'm ready to stay home with my family for a little while. Alas, it most likely isn't so.

Either way, my waking way earlier than my body really wanted to and feeling rather uncomfortable when doing anything other than sitting or reclining (I'm pretty sure if this baby dropped any lower, that would be what they in the medical profession like to call "birth" - it seriously can't have anywhere else to go), led to a morning of whatever would keep the kids distracted so I could lay on the couch reading a magazine and, all-around, not moving.

Thus, Micaiah spent the hours before lunch doing one of her ultimate favorite activities: playing on the iPad; and when Emmett got bored of looking over her shoulder, he begged for Dora - and I happily obliged.

The evening has been filled with game playing and contraction counting - which is quite a fruitless activity as they are anything but regular (or intense) - which actually renders them annoying at this stage. If you're not bringing a baby into the world, I don't want to deal with you - go away (that's what I say to those lame Braxton-Hicks).

So, we keep waiting - not really anxiously - we're not to the point of pulling out every old wives' tale in the book to encourage labor. Just waiting. Knowing it will come. Someday. But not today.

Also on the agenda today, apparently, Emmett added knocking himself silly. I truly think he was trying to get a concussion (a plan which, fortunately, failed). This is the photo after his first goose egg of the morning (it looks like a shadow on his forehead in this picture, but it's not, it's a ginormous bruise), when he tripped while toting in a stool for sitting to watch his beloved Dora. The second (not pictured), landed in a direct line above the first when he tried to bend over near the entertainment center and banged his head on the edge. This kid needs a helmet, clearly.

This picture encompasses the most work I did all day, de-seeding three pomegranates - my first experience with the fruit - ever. It made me feel exotic, encouraging the blood-red seeds from their rind and, later, adding a few to my yogurt. Quite a pleasure, indeed.

Of Another Day

2012-01-30T20:51:00.000-06:00

Today was just another day in this house - another day of waiting and of living life as we know it. The TV was off and the kids just played. And this is how it went.

- Micaiah and Emmett spent the morning alternating between drawing and arguing over toys - sometimes, when they wanted the same markers or same paper, they combined the two activities. And, yet, I still heard Micaiah announce, "I draw Emmett. And it has two eyes and a mouth and two hands, just like Emmett." As she was showing it to me, she added hair.

- During a coloring break, Micaiah decided to rest on the hearth. She pulled her blanket from her room and settled in. As Emmett waddled in, trailing his own blanket and pillow, she announced, "We're camping out!"

- Nap time, as has been known to happen lately, began with 45 minutes of Mommy continually re-entering the room for another round of spankings and, "Lay down; stay in bed; go to sleep!" The stress brought on unnecessary uterine contractions, which threw me into a whole different kind of tizzy. An afternoon bath, though, calmed both my muscles and my mind. And baby is settled in for just a little longer.

- Every member of this household had his/her first encounter with Brussels Sprouts this evening - and, surprisingly, it was not even traumatic for three out of the four. The fourth had a difficult time grasping the concept that as a result of his not eating he would be denied a cookie - that actually doesn't happen often for him (and, no, it wasn't Philip).

- After dinner, Micaiah requested to play her "Somic Game" - and my quick, "Just a minute," to hush her away while I read something was mis-interpreted as consent. But she was so excited, I just couldn't inform her of her error. So, she played. And by "played" I mean, she held the remote as Sonic the Hedgehog sped across the screen in the demo version which plays as it waits for someone to push "Start" - she never pushes "start" - she just watches him run. And when he completes his goal, she cries, "I won! I won!" Meanwhile, Emmett stands by to offer pointers.

- And when she tired of this, Daddy got to play his "Boy Game", while the children watched in amazement and enacted, with much vigor, their own fighting off of the giant monsters. They're good helpers.

And that was our day. Nothing amazing, just an ordinary day - filled with wonder, joy, tears, anger, hugs and laughter. Just another day.

Of Being Ready

2012-01-29T21:21:00.005-06:00

I've been saying for weeks now that I am really in no hurry for this little one to enter the world. I've been addressing the reluctance to enter the realm of late-night feedings and an extra body to clothe before running out the door. What I did not realize, though I knew I was anxious to attend this weekend's retreat, was this event was truly the one thing holding me back. Now that my weekend with the girls has passed, I find myself actually ready.

My arms are eager to hold a tiny wrinkled body.

I am eager to see my daughter kiss a tiny head.

I'm nervous about not having a name for this little one, but it's not enough to wish the arrival would wait.

I am looking forward to the first rhythmic contractions - not the ones that will disappear with a change of position or a sip of water.

I am looking forward to putting my breathing practice to work.

I am looking forward to not remembering life before this newest one joined us.

So, little one, we're ready to meet you any time you're ready!

Of Retreating

2012-01-28T22:56:00.002-06:00

I have just this evening returned from our church's first ever Ladies Retreat to Falls Creek (if you don't know what Falls Creek is, you're clearly not from Oklahoma - and that's about all you're missing out on). We were able to rent a ridiculously luxurious "cabin" at this typically-reserved-for-youth-groups "summer" camp for the night. It made for a great 24-hours away to re-charge our batteries and re-connect as girls.

Of course, my traveling an hour and a half away from home at nearly 39 weeks pregnant made everyone around me a little anxious - but I had been praying for this baby to just wait until after today*. And baby (and God) listened. I was given the time I needed to remember how to dwell in God and come up under His wing as His beloved daughter. What a breath of fresh air.

And now that this retreat is complete and I am safe at home, this baby has the green light to come whenever it is ready. Bring on the contractions! (Ok, let's be honest, they've already been brought, but I would appreciate it if they were more real than those I've been having over the past couple of days.)

*Please note: For those who are even now questioning my sanity, I am well aware that my body, in the past, has taken well longer than an hour and a half to deliver a baby, so even if typical signs of labor had appeared during the 24 hours I was away, I was quite certain I could return home. And, in the extremely unlikely event something of a more emergent nature had occurred, I was surrounded by a wealth of nurses, both past and present - two of whom are currently labor and delivery nurses at our local hospital (one of whom aided in the delivery of our son) - so I knew I was in good, safe hands in either case.

Sunrise out my window. I did not even get out of bed for this picture (seriously, it was sunrise, not "wake-up time", as Micaiah would call it).

The three "Preg-o's" who couldn't take the discomfort of the plastic chairs for another session commandeered (with the help of more able-bodied friends) a couch for the back row. Yes, I look like a whale - don't judge.

Of Fondue-ing It

2012-01-26T23:08:00.000-06:00

*If you're only interested in a midwife update, skip to the bottom, otherwise, read on!

I realized only a couple of days after picking up my first Food Co-Op purchase that the additional produce on hand would combine nicely with the best use of Christmas money ever - our new electric fondue pot and Melting Pot cookbook. Fresh broccoli, apples and cauliflower would dip quite nicely into our first-ever homemade cheese fondue. And, of course, if we're going so far as to do the appetizer, might as well go the full mile and make the entree as well.

I have been looking forward to this all week, and my mouth has been watering at the thought of dipping my Mojo-style veggies into our own homemade Greek Goddess sauce.

I was not disappointed.

After working together to create the Cheddar Herb and Garlic cheese, we made hot dogs for the kids (just in case - no point in wasting fondue amazing-ness on picky toddlers!) and settled into our dipping.

Oh, and that bread is homemade - we had a really ambitious meal!

Absolutely amazing! We subbed the alcohol in the recipe with milk (and vinegar), because I don't like the bite of the aftertaste. It was still pretty delicious!

The most exciting part for me was how much the kids actually enjoyed the meal, as well. They didn't do any dipping themselves, of course, but Micaiah loved her cheese-covered veggies and, later, the potatoes which had boiled in the Mojo juice for the main dish. Meanwhile, Emmett loved the meat. So, a fun and delicious meal everyone enjoys - now that's a rarity in our house and makes me super excited about future family fondue nights!

After we finished our first course, Philip and I left the kids to munch on the leftover carrots and apples while we prepared the entree. They were incredibly patient as they awaited our return to the table and, really, were quite pleasant throughout the entire meal - they honestly did not seem to mind having to wait for their food while it cooked in the broth. Anyone who knows our kids and their love for food knows this to be a miracle - these kids like to eat, and they like to eat now!

The main course: beef, chicken, potatoes and broccoli.

Watch that fondue sizzle. Micaiah kept squealing, "Ah! Fire!" because of all the steam. She thought it was hilarious.

So, yes, overall, fondue night was a hit and shall return to our home. I'm not sure we'll ever be able to muster the splurge for the Melting Pot now knowing how easy it is to re-create the experience. But I'm not really complaining!

After dinner, just before heading to bed, Micaiah treated us all to dessert - a slice of her wooden Melissa & Doug birthday cake for everyone - complete with sprinkles. Now, she knows how to finish off a meal!

And for the curious, my midwife appointment went well today. Baby is still posterior, but seems to always hang out on the sides, meaning he/she is not entirely posterior, it's just that my anterior placenta isn't giving the baby anywhere else to go. Also, there is still hope for the baby to re-adjust when it hits the pelvic floor. So, just keep praying!

Of Encouraging a Revolution

2012-01-25T23:16:00.001-06:00

For the past couple of weeks, our midwives have been warning us that this little one is "posterior" - this means the baby, who should be facing toward my spine, is facing forward. This is nothing life-threatening for us, but it can mean a more difficult (and uncomfortable) delivery. Thus, they recommend I do this twice a day for about twenty minutes each:

Doesn't that just look like a ball (ba-dum-ching)? At least, that's how I interpreted their suggestion of being "hands and knees on the ball" - because, um, there's a giant bump on my tummy that won't really rest on the ball, so I was not sure how I was to be on both hands and knees with a giant ball somewhere underneath. If you have any better ideas, you let me know.

Not that it really matters much at this point, anyway, or so I'm beginning to presume. Because as of today, it's definitely beginning to feel this tiny human has settled in for its impending delivery - leaving me to believe if it hasn't turned by now, our chances are it won't. So, definitely hoping for good news at the midwife tomorrow!

In other news, the third of the six of us due next week or shortly thereafter has just had her little boy. Just in case you're keeping count.

Of Our Candlelit Hour

2012-01-24T22:54:00.001-06:00

Just as Philip and I were about to turn out the lights in the nursery, satisfied with a job well done of re-arranging the furniture in preparation for our upcoming arrival (more on the nursery's final results another day - when they're more, you know, final), it would seem the recent "storm" (which had seemed more like a harmless spring-like rain - in the middle of winter) did the job for us.

We were thrust into blackness.

My resourceful husband had a flashlight in hand and was looking for solutions before my brain had even processed the fact that it apparently wasn't coming back on as quickly as we're used to. Within a minute or two he even had the first couple of candles lit. He had much less faith in the power company than I, it would seem. And by the time half the house was bathed in a flickering glow, I was hoping he was right - I kind of liked the mood lighting.

As we had few other options (as in, Philip's latest video games are, of course, powerless without, well, power, and my laptop, while able to function for at least awhile, is somewhat useless to me without internet), we were forced to actually spend time together. Thus, we pulled out the strategy card game we've been playing lately and sat down at the table, presided over by three tapered candles, to compete.

While we have been actually enjoying more game nights such as this over the past month, the added ambiance was a nice touch. Perhaps candlelit date nights should come out to play more often.

Of Peer Pressure

2012-01-23T19:09:00.002-06:00

I am one of six women I know through various channels who are all due during the first week of February. One of these had her baby last night and the other is in labor as I type. We're dropping like flies.

Meanwhile, I alternate between feeling so ready to be in labor and crying in the fetal position (on the inside anyway), "I'm so not ready for this!"

Yes, it would seem with my third one it would be no big deal. And on the one hand it isn't. But the idea of orchestrating our life around a newborn so soon is exhausting.

At the same time, I do look forward to those first couple of contractions, the ones that are so clearly not Braxton-Hicks that will tell me, "This is it!" Because I love me a good birth story and I'm looking forward to feeling this one unfold. The anticipation is always exciting.

So, I remain torn. As far as my schedule goes, I'd prefer this little one to hold off at least one more week. Here's hoping I'm one of the final holdouts of these early/pre-February baby mamas.

But for now, I'm super happy for the latest ladies to join the Mommy club!

This is what are kids are up to tonight. They're big fans of balloons. Do you think they'll get all of this energy and noise out before baby comes, leaving quiet, calm siblings for the little one? Yeah, I don't, either.

Of Cultivating

2012-01-22T21:40:00.000-06:00

While waiting for our latest human baby, Philip and I have been putting our care-taking energies into providing for our latest plant babies.

Our little herbs have been thriving (ok, two out of the three have - the Chives still haven't show much activity - we are a little concerned for their future). We enjoy taking turns watering and checking for the latest growth. Philip takes delight in noting how they lean into the sun, soaking it in. Last weekend, when the weather warranted open windows, Philip even made the comment that if the Dill had feelings, he was sure it would enjoy the breeze.

Now we have to figure out how and when we're to actually harvest our herbs. And what on earth to do with them after that. Baby steps.

Of Being Pampered

2012-01-22T00:07:00.001-06:00

My wonderful husband, who has been working on building a predictable schedule for his body and has, thereby been waking up at a consistent time daily (even Saturdays!), gave me a most wonderful gift this morning - the ability to sleep in - without having to think about getting the kids up!

About midway through my dozing, I heard the door open and in walked the most handsome man ever (that would be my husband, in case you're confused, though I'm not sure why you would be) with a plate of eggs and a glass of milk. In front of him walked the most adorable little girl with a tray to hold my breakfast in bed. He then asked the cutest little boy, "Emmett what do you have?"

"Nana!" my Little Man announced proudly from his position next to the bed as he held up the yellow fruit.

With that, they all deposited their goodies, wished me good morning and then scooted off for their own breakfast, leaving me to eat in peace and then get back to resting. Yes, I got to go back to sleep! Can you even imagine?!

What made this even more meaningful was knowing there is a good chance this will be the last time I'll be sleeping in for quite some time (I have a retreat I'll be attending next weekend, if this little one does not arrive before then, and then my due date is right around the corner!). Oh how sweet it is to revel in the final moments pre-baby.

I wish I'd thought to take a photo before I ravaged the deliciousness, but let's be honest, I had just woken up and been presented with food; photographing the moment was not high on my priority list.

Of Preparations

2012-01-20T16:51:00.001-06:00

While I understand this newest Little One may not make it's arrival earlier than initially expected, I also have to live in reality and realize it's not completely unreasonable that this baby could arrive literally any day over the next month.

Any day.

That seemed to finally hit me last night, as we went "homebirth shopping" (ie we took the giant list of suggested supplies from the midwives and hit up Wal-Mart for all they had). On the list was snacks for both ourselves and for the midwives (because let's be honest, they could be there awhile). I kept thinking we didn't really need to worry about that too much now, because we'd get things like fruit or cheese as we got closer.

That's the moment it hit me. We are closer. At this point, the only "closer" we'll get is when it's actually happening, and, frankly, I'm not sending my man to the grocery store for a fruit tray while this baby is working itself out. So that was it, we have to be prepared. We need this stuff on hand now.

Yikes.

Thus, in continued preparation, I packed up the kids this morning for a little field trip to the local fire department to have Little Bit's car seat properly installed - something I've always wanted to have done for our kids but never actually did. So, today was the day.

I thought it would be more exciting for the kids than it was - mainly because our little girl was more interested in watching cartoons in the firehouse than actually oohing and aahing over the big trucks. Other than the cartoons, a random stream of water pooled on the firehouse floor, which gave her a place to get her shoes wet and make footprints, was about the highlight of the morning for her.

Only a half hour later, all three car seats were snugly positioned in the middle row of our SUV - those suckers aren't budging. Thus, as soon as I get the cover for the infant seat washed, we will be officially prepared to haul three children around town and beyond.

So here we are, not holding our breaths, but realizing we really are prepared for this baby.

Well, except for that darn crib. It's still not assembled. But we do own a mattress now, does that count?

Photos of the two days of preparation:

All our supplies ready and waiting in the corner of our bedroom. The giant brown box is my "birth kit" we had to order, which contains all the little things (right down to the knit cap for baby) they typically have for a hospital birth which we'll also need here at home. And, yes, those are adult diapers in the picture. Don't ask how awkward those are to buy - but they were recommended.

Philip, being a good husband and inflating my birth ball. We might not have done this task so early if I didn't need to be leaning on it to encourage this baby to face the right way (it's head down, but facing forward, whereas it will be easier on everyone if it faces my back).

This is exhausting work. He takes good care of me!

At the fire station, Emmett got to sit up in the big seat. Micaiah was offered the position, as well, but she played the shy card and said she was scared. Then proceeded to change her mind about twelve times. The end result was no sitting in the fire truck for her.

I'm pretty sure this was about the time she was telling me, "I want to go inside and watch cartoons." Surrounded by cool fire trucks and that's all she can think of - nothing impresses this girl.

Emmett had fun playing with the stream of water, too (which you can't see in this picture, but was close to where he was standing). Again, cool uniforms to see and it's all about the puddle. Sigh. My kids.

Well, at least they were excited about the "badges" and coloring books the firemen gave them. Maybe there is hope for them yet.

Of Sisters and Animals

2012-01-18T22:21:00.003-06:00

Every morning for breakfast, my children enjoy milk, cereal, eggs (usually) and a banana. Despite the routine, Micaiah still insists on asking every morning, "What are we having for breakfast?" as if it's a huge surprise. And if I leave something off of the list, she'll confirm we're not deviating, "And milk? I want milk." "Yes, baby, and milk."

And every morning, without fail, after her breakfast is placed in front of her and prayed over, she reaches first for her banana, left cracked open but unpeeled as she insists on doing that part herself, and announces, "I'm a sister monkey!"

Every morning.

It's actually a pretty cute part of the routine. Sometimes she'll go on to explain that Emmett is the brother monkey. But I don't get to be a monkey because I don't have a banana (it's enough to have to buy 14 bananas a week, let alone extras for me - I get those if I splurge). Although, she once told me I was a bear, because apparently that's the kind of animal that eats oatmeal. Good to know.

My little "sister monkey" in banana-eating action.

On the topic, though, of sister animals, Micaiah is still very insistent that this baby is a girl. In fact, she's even transitioned from announcing she's having a sister and Emmett's having a brother to sticking with the idea that they are both having sisters. When we dare to suggest this might be a brother, we are emphatically rebuffed, "No, it's a girl!"

I'm almost really wishing she's right because I'm not sure I'll be able to handle her devastation otherwise. But I'm sure she'll recover - she does seem to love her Emmett.

Of Waiting Patiently

2012-01-17T21:26:00.000-06:00

As of Sunday I am 37 weeks along. That means this baby is considered full term. This is the moment I was waiting for when I was pregnant with Micaiah. Though at the time it had more to do with the fact that I had a wedding to attend at the end of an 8-hour road trip only 10 days after my due date. So, having her arrive sooner rather than later was a major goal for me.

Unfortunately, being the stubborn OCD girl she is, Micaiah had that date set on her calendar and saw no need to come any earlier than was already determined. I, however, did not yet know that aspect of my daughter's personality, so at 37 weeks, I figured I had the green light.

Every morning I awoke in anticipation - this could be the day! And every night I went to bed with sadness - as if admitting defeat - the baby wasn't coming, I might as well go to sleep.

Things were different with Emmett - I had no scheduling conflicts to hurry him along, but he had been riding uncomfortably low for a number of months. So by 37 weeks I was more than ready to encourage this Little Man out into the world. And it felt as though any day could be the day.

This time, while still looking forward to our homebirth (seriously excited to see how this goes!) and, of course, holding this tiny penguin in my arms, this isn't my first rodeo. I have a pretty good idea of how my body works and, as far it's concerned, slow and steady wins the race. So I'm not holding my breath. In fact, we haven't even finished shopping for the homebirth necessities as recommended by our midwives.

As with my previous two, I am probably already dilated 3-4 cm (I had been at that point for three-four weeks before either of them came - when I left the hospital after my labor stalled with Emmett, I was at a five - and stayed that way for three days before we induced him). But I know it means nothing, so I'm not arguing with the fact that the midwives aren't checking (they, like me, know it leads to false hopes or unnecessary disappointment).

Many well-wishers keep insisting that, this being my third child, this will go so quickly and my baby will come out almost instantaneously.

I know otherwise.

Aside from my aforementioned slowness in birthing babies, I know I was a third baby. My mom's due date was their anniversary - June 3rd. My birthday is June 28th. I'll let you do the math. And the only reason I came then is because I was induced.

So, again, I am not holding my breath.

I don't anticipate a baby in my arms any day now and I don't anticipate a one-hour labor. If either happens, I will welcome it. But, still, not holding my breath.

Picture of the Day:
While I understand this baby probably won't be here any minute, I am at the point where maintaining a spic-and-span home, so it's one less thing to worry about when the time comes, has become a priority. Thus, after a day of Winter Cleaning yesterday (with windows open to allow in the 72 degrees of warmth which showered the event with an air of Spring Cleaning), it has made me happy all day to see these sights.

Here's what you may not understand - that table and those counters have been unnecessarily cluttered since Christmas. Not unbearable, just filled with those little things you don't know where to put so you just ignore. And now it's a straight-shot of cleanliness. (Not spotlessness, mind you, but it's much-improved, trust me.)

Another bane of my existence lately. This kitchen is typically filled with toys - as in, if I tell Micaiah to put something in her kitchen, it gets dumped in that tiny sink. Philip spent a solid 45 minutes yesterday straightening it up. I love that man.

Of the Whining Game

2012-01-16T21:32:00.001-06:00

We had guests for dinner tonight and though I know Chicken Pot Pie isn't Micaiah's favorite (as she explained while I cooked, "It has vegetables. I don't like vegetables."), I'm a fan and it feeds multiple people, so Chicken Pot Pie it was. Of course, she still wouldn't oblige with the vegetables and being that we had guests, I didn't push the issue. I simply requested she finish the chicken. At this suggestion, she announced, "And I get dessert because I eat all my dinner."

"Well, no, if you want dessert, you'd have to eat all of this," I explained, pointing to the orange and green stuff she was currently refusing.

"I don't want dessert."

"That's what I thought."

Of course, when she learned dessert was fondue with marshmallows, strawberries, and bananas all dipped in chocolate, her tune was different. But by now it was too late. And it was very difficult to turn down her continual requests for just one marshmallow or just one strawberry or a little bit of chocolate. And while I was very tempted to relent because, after all, we had guests and I hated to deprive her of special treat, I realized I did not want to train her to whine. So I stood firm.

And it was only a minute later she finally said, "Can't you just say, 'Oookay' and I can have a marshmallow?" It was her way of saying, "I know this game, Mommy, and now it's your turn." I guess I didn't realize how much I had already trained her to whine.

Point taken.

On an unrelated note (as has been happening frequently), my photo of today is actually of Little Man, whose love of shoes is quite prevalent. He will often go in Sissy's side of the closet and start pulling out her footwear to try on. Today, he found my shoes ~~in the living room~~ in the closet where I always keep them and tried them on for size. He looked so fancy. I'm clinging to the fact that real gender preferences don't show up until they're three and hoping his love for shoes dies down, but until then, it's stinking adorable.

Of Our Grand Opening

2012-01-15T21:33:00.001-06:00

The church library celebrated its Grand Opening today. While it wasn't quite as Grand as I'd hoped, I'm just so happy to be officially open to the public. And we did have our first book checked out (Francine Rivers' Redeeming Love - I couldn't have made a better selection myself), so all is good!

I may not have been terribly surprised when no one came to our 7:45 opening (though the attendance at our later hour was much better), but it did leave me blaming myself, feeling as though others who had been counting on my leadership or initiative or whatever quality was necessary to spearhead this thing had been let down. I had not done my best and failed in so many areas I had intended to try harder. I didn't advertise enough, communicate enough - fill in the blank, I wasn't enough.

And then I went the familiar route - this isn't my area. I'm not a promoter, I'm a behind-the-scenes kind of girl. I am not up to the task - I am in over my head.

This was when I remembered that I did not choose this task alone. God chose me to lead this library - or at least initiate it. And His power is made perfect in weakness. I may not be the best person for the job, but I am the one God chose. And that, in itself, is enough.

This is not, nor have I ever considered it, my library. It is His library. I am merely His workman. May I be able to present myself unashamed.

The kids enjoyed the fact that the Grand Opening of the library meant leftover donuts and bundles of balloons (or "Noo!" as Emmett calls his) to take home. Meanwhile, I'm just grateful little man is still of the age where he is just happy to have one "Noo" and doesn't recognize his sister is clinging to four. (Okay, so maybe he doesn't look to happy here, but that has more to do with Mommy interrupting play time for picture time than an inequality in balloon dispersion.)

Of My Sous Chefs

2012-01-14T22:34:00.001-06:00

It has always been true that the time during which I prepare dinner is Emmett's roughest time of the day. Not only is he a snuggler, but he likes to be in on the action and when I am in the kitchen is the one time, guaranteed, that he wants to be held - a task which isn't so feasible when I am working over a hot stove or need both hands - which is every night. So most evenings, unless I don't need Daddy's help (which frees him to distract our little man), we endure Emmett's fussing until he is in his chair with food in front of him.

It wasn't until recently that I realized, it's not just being close to us that he desires - he just wants to see what's going on. Thus, I have begun inviting him to stand on the stool which has hitherto been reserved for Sissy - since the age when she first began to desire the same thing. This being up just high enough to witness the goings-on up above has made these times in the kitchen much more bearable for everyone.

Of course, now we have to pull in a second stool so Sissy isn't left out. But now they can both happily cook alongside Momma.

Please note in these pictures, Emmett is not actually cooking on a hot stove, but, rather, he is playing with the dirty dishes left over from this morning's breakfast. I don't know if that makes it better, but at least it's safer than it appears.

Of Swashbuckling

2012-01-13T23:33:00.001-06:00

So many times as parents of little ones we ask ourselves the question, "Where did they learn that?!"

Today, I had that question answered for at least one adorable activity.

As Emmett sat in Daddy's lap watching him play the latest release in the Legend of Zelda saga (a favorite activity of the kids, actually), I heard him repeating after Link, as Daddy swished his Wii Remote back and forth, "H-ya!"

Suddenly I realized, so this is why he came running into the kitchen today, wielding a cardboard tube, stance wide, yelling "H-ya!" as he brandished his weapon through the air. Watching the video game character on the screen I saw the spitting image of this morning's scene played out by my little boy.

At least that's one mystery solved.

Here he is, our little sponge, watching his icon. Later, he dashed around with his sword, beating up the closest object, which happened to be a ball.

Of Piano Time

2012-01-12T20:48:00.000-06:00

Earlier this week, while watching a movie, I posed a question to Philip about what it must have been like in the days before television or radio, when families had to find other pursuits to occupy their evening hours. Visions of activities such as story-telling, or family sessions around the piano, or, in the Jane Austen era at least, the playing of cards in the Drawing Room, filled my head.

This evening, after dinner, while the children enjoyed a rousing tickle session with Daddy, I settled onto the floor (quite a commitment for a pregnant woman of my girth) to entertain myself on the Learn-to-Play Piano the children received from their aunt and uncle for Christmas. Myself never having learned to play (though dabbling here and there), I opened the accompanying book to "Old MacDonald" (a favorite of Emmett's) and began to play. Intrigued, the children gathered round and Micaiah begged her turn.

As she sat on my lap, I showed her how the letters on the music page corresponded to the letters on the piano and demonstrated playing a note. From there, she successfully hit each key to which I pointed. It was clearly hunt-and-peck and did not yet resemble a tune, but for a three-year-old's first stab at playing music, we were impressed. And she was thrilled, of course.

And suddenly, minus the fact we were huddled around a miniature instrument painted red, green, yellow and black, it felt as though we were taken back in time, enjoying family time around the piano.

I'm sure it's just how Jane Austen knew it.

Of Weather

2012-01-11T21:40:00.000-06:00

Before showing you this picture of the day, I would just like to note it was 61 degrees outside this afternoon - or so told me my Weather Widget when I settled down to my computer after lunch. And from my before-lunch jaunts outside, I would have no reason to doubt it.

This is what my weather widget says now:

I'm not sure how closely you're looking (or if it's just too trippy to you to have that "blog within a blog" effect so you're not focusing on the right thing), but that says 34 degrees. And right next to that, there's a cloud. And what's falling from the cloud? That's right, snowflakes.

And from my brief jaunt out to the mailbox after putting the kids to bed, I can, indeed, attest to the fact that there was some not-so-liquid precipitation stinging my face.

Seriously. Oklahoma? It was 61!

Sigh.

As a result, tonight's before-bed snack is brought to you by Malt-O-Meal, my snuggly cold-weather alternative to your typical bowl of cereal (also something specifically advised against by the midwives two weeks ago thanks to raised glucose levels - I won't tell if you don't).

(Also please note, in the 15 minutes between when I took this picture and when I posted it, the temperature reported on my widget dropped to 32. This is lame.)

Further Update: After my initial post, I peeked outside to see if I could actually see snowflakes swirling in the air (though I knew it would only be in the air as the ground wasn't cold enough to sustain accumulation, right?). This is what I found:

I would be lying if I didn't admit it actually makes my heart a little happy inside.

Of the Year of Babies

2012-01-10T21:24:00.000-06:00

This year would appear to be the year that I birth not just this physical baby but a couple others in my life as well. As far as gestation periods go, this one which is nearly complete in my womb has been by far the shortest.

This Sunday will mark the Grand Opening of our church library - a baby which has been a couple of years in the making. I will be ever excited to celebrate it's Birth Day and present it to the world (or our church, whatever). I'm praying many will accept it into their lives and cherish it as much as I do.

And just today I made my New Year's Resolution (10 days late, but who's counting?) to finally give birth to my longest awaited baby yet - the book I have been writing about my semester in Russia - which will be about three-quarters memoir and one-quarter fiction (for the gaps my memory does not quite fill). I do not necessarily have high plans to publish for the masses (though I'm writing for it, in case God opens that door), but I know it will be nice to have my entire experience in one place, for myself, for my husband and for my children.

I determined today that as I will turn 28 on the 28th of June this year, I will, by then, my Golden Birthday, have a published copy of my book in my hands (and by "published" I mean printed in hard cover format by my friends over at Blurb - a company I LOVE). And that baby - five years in the making - will be a grand arrival. To have finally finished I goal which has been gnawing at the back of my brain for such a period of time will be quite the accomplishment indeed.

Here is what I need from you, my friends. As I labor long in this process, ask me about it. As many did with the Library, a constant nudge, letting me know my goal has not been forgotten and is anticipated by others serves as a nice kick in the tail. It is my hope that our shared birthdays will also motivate me where my self-discipline alone has not.

Here is to the year of babies!

Photo of the Day: Micaiah set up "cakes" for us this morning while she played, complete with candles to sing "Happy Birthday" - I did not until the moment of writing this caption realize just how well this would fit today's topic. My favorite part, by the way, is how our OCD daughter matched the "candles" to their cakes.

Of Cravings

2012-01-09T23:09:00.004-06:00

Here I have gone 36 weeks into the pregnancy, thinking all was dandy and I hadn't even endured so much as a single craving. But as I poured myself a bowl of Life cereal as a snack this afternoon I realized I was grossly mistaken. A mid-afternoon bowl of cereal (or a late-night one, such as the Cocoa Cools I just finished ingesting) was never really on the menu before this baby came around. And while I know cereal isn't the best for me (especially not the Cocoa Cools, but those are an exception to my typical snacking fare), I'm glad it's not worse (like the sour gummies I had to have with Emmett).

I'm guessing the fact that we always have this particular "craving" on-hand is what kept me from recognizing it as such - it's not like I had to send my lovely husband to the store at midnight for that box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch I had to have. And, yet, the regular introduction of multiple bowls a day into my diet would be a clear indicator - I have been suffering cereal cravings.

There you have it - I'm a typical pregnant woman. (At least I wasn't putting pickles in my cereal bowls, right?)

And as a complete side note entirely unrelated to any of the above, here are my photos capturing the highlight of the day - the installation of the kids' "Measuring Pictures" (as Micaiah calls them) which I ordered last month from Paper Coterie on an amazing sale. Aren't they adorable? And the kids just had to ham it up for us as they showed them off. For some reason Emmett always leans forward when he says (or yells, as you can see), "Dees!" And I have no idea where Micaiah got that pose in the second picture. No idea.

Of 36 Weeks

2012-01-08T22:38:00.000-06:00

I am 36 weeks pregnant. It seems like such a milestone and I hardly know why. In one week this baby will be considered "full term" and, while we still have four more weeks to go until the official "ready, set, go" point, it's really beginning to feel we're here.

I was asked on more than one occasion today if I was ready to be "done." It's a logical question, really, because so many women at this point are. While I've never been extremely eager to transition into the newborn phase with any of our little ones, this one seems to be the least so. No, I'm not ready to be done.

Of course, if I no longer had a growing one inside my body there are certain things that would be easier - I could bend over, for one. I could carry my older ones with greater ease. I could clean house without getting winded and I could chase my three-year-old around just because she wants me to. But at the point this happens I will also be waking multiple times a night to feed a tiny one. I will be too weary to do all the things my unwieldy belly currently renders me unable to do. I will be having one more tiny body to dress before we head out the door and one more schedule to coordinate.

Don't get me wrong - I love this little one with all of me, I know I will even more so when we look into each other's eyes for the first time.

But for now, I am very much cherishing our final moments as a family of four before I can no longer remember what it was like.

Also, the baby's room has no crib in it (we own it, it's just not where it should be) - so, see, we're just not ready.

We took a 36-Week Photo Shoot this morning before church.

And the kids were jealous. So, it turned into a Mommy and Me Photo Shoot.

They enjoyed kissing the baby.

And Emmett did not want to stop. He's our snuggle bug, that's for sure!

Love him to pieces!

Of Herb Gardening

2012-01-07T20:14:00.002-06:00

For Christmas, I received from Philip's grandparents a Chia Gourmet Herb Garden - which was exciting as this would be not only my first Chia experience, but also my first opportunity to grow our own herbs. It was a couple of days later that I realized the process of planting and growing would make for a fun family activity.

Not understanding just how much my daughter was gleaning from Sid the Science Kid, I entirely underestimated her enthusiasm for the project. At the simple mention of growing plants, my three-year-old cried with delight, "We're going to plant seeds?!" That's right, my daughter gets the fact that plants come from seeds - and I did not tell her that. Thanks, Sid!

And, so, we ventured to the backyard with our supplies.

I was genuinely surprised by how interested the kids were. I never had to ask them to come settle in so we could plant some herbs. From the second Micaiah saw me holding the box, she was by my side, asking what everything was as it was pulled from its cardboard home. As I laid it all out on the concrete, she kept an eye on the proceedings. And, of course, where Micaiah goes, there goes Emmett. So this photo of them seated and waiting was not contrived. They were intensely interested in the process.

Next, we watered the Chia sponges - because apparently that's what you do with Chia.

Finally, the pouring of the seeds. I would say this was Micaiah's favorite part, but I think the entire project was her favorite part.

And now, we wait for them to grow. (Yes, it looks strange seeing those seeds just sitting on top of the dirt, but the instructions were clear, and we followed them - we'll see how this goes!)

One thing Sid failed to teach our daughter is that, unlike on his half-hour show, plants take time to grow. After Philip and I carried our filled pots into the house and placed them atop the fridge (again, we do what they say), Micaiah continued to ask, "Where are the plants? Did they grow?" We continued to explain that it will be a week or so at least until she sees something, but she was undeterred. Clearly, those plants had grown and we were just hiding them from her.

And, so, she ventured forth and decided to plant her own garden. Using "seeds" of grass in a pile of dirt in the backyard. Frankly, I was just impressed the girl was putting her hands in dirt - the same girl who wouldn't get in a sandbox because, "It's dirty!"

Meanwhile, Emmett and Daddy just chilled. Herb gardening can really take it out of a guy.

Of Enjoying the Weather

2012-01-06T23:51:00.000-06:00

Three years ago - Micaiah's first winter - the only snow seen falling in our backyard did not come early, in November, or even during any of the normal winter months. It came the last day of March. I was very sad that winter - clinging to hope that one day we would see a single snowflake - Micaiah's first snow - and cursing the fact that we lived in Oklahoma - where we would never have any guarantee of a white winter.

Since that year I have had little to fear - ice and snow storms have plagued our winter months for the past two years. And it has been wonderful.

And right now, I am praying for a repeat of that winter three years ago. In planning for our Christmas travels and preparing for a baby who will arrive at the same time of year during which Snowmageddon 2011 hit, I have had not one inkling of desire to see any solid precipitation fall.

Thankfully, the weather has thus far cooperated. Now, I understand, we still live in Oklahoma - where we can have two blizzards back-to-back with a day of temperatures in the 60's sandwiched between them. So I hold no false delusions.

But for now, I'm rejoicing in the fact that today neared 70 degrees and praying our unseasonably warm January sticks around for the long haul.

And the family celebrated by taking to the outdoors today - for some late morning play until the kids' cheeks flushed red and an early evening walk followed by Tag in the front yard with Daddy. Maybe if these higher temperatures feel appreciated they will stay where they're wanted.

Fingers crossed.

Coloring her rock - the same one she railed at Emmett for coloring until she learned it wasn't off-limits.

He calls our cat (Annie) "Nee!" - it's pretty adorable. This is also about as close as he'll get to her at the moment.

I love family walks. This is actually Emmett's first time as a participant in the "walk" aspect of the activity. He seemed a fan.

Emmett didn't quite grasp the game - but he thought it was fun all the same.

Daddy was getting a little worn down by this point. This is why I don't play Tag.

Of Our Amazing Kids

2012-01-05T22:52:00.000-06:00

I will have to admit: a babymoon is one of the greatest inventions ever. I feel as though I came out of it more in love with my husband - thanks to the quality, child-free time we able to share - and ready to be a "mommy" again.

I've now felt myself truly cherishing these final moments, days, weeks before our time is channeled, once again, into caring for a newborn and suddenly divided between three, rather than simply two (not to mention time for each other!). It's these little moments, like snuggles with our little cuddle-bug of a son or playing dolls or hide-and-seek with our adventuresome daughter (whose favorite, and almost cutest, phrase is, "Wanna play wit me?") which are held so dear.

But it's also those moments in which I get to be simply an on-looker which are so priceless. Like yesterday when I really didn't want to put them down for a nap as they sat in the entryway of our home simply playing together - so happy, so peaceful. Or today, as Micaiah played on her own and Emmett came to see over her shoulder what she was doing; noticing him back there, she leaned her head back onto his shoulder and he placed his tiny arm around her. Seconds later, when I thought she was going to yell at him for playing with an unapproved toy, she, instead, leaned in and pecked him on the cheek.

I love these two. And I love how much they love each other.

Given the above anecdotes, I'm sure you can imagine how the room-sharing is going. They adore waking up to each other. When I went in to retrieve them this morning, this is what I found:

It took a full two or three minutes before Emmett even looked up and Micaiah never even noticed I was there until she saw the flash of the camera. They were both so engrossed in their reading material, as they lounged on her bed. Yeah, they're pretty much the greatest.

And on an unrelated note (except for noting the amazingness of our children), Micaiah announced this morning, "Mommy, I'm going to go into the potty and make water right now." And then she did! In case you're unaware, this is not exactly the first time she has gone on her own, but this is the first time she has done so on this particular leg of this seemingly endless potty training journey - as in, it's been months almost since we've heard her announce her intentions and then follow through. Just for that, she got not one "white donut," but two. She pretty much could have asked for a pony in that moment and I might have tried to figure out how to work it into the budget. Have I mentioned I am so ready for this girl to be potty trained?

Of Doubling Up

2012-01-04T20:37:00.002-06:00

While my official "due date" has remained February 6th, our 20-week ultrasound showed our little one as preparing to be ready by February 1st. I'm not sure if you've looked at a calendar recently (or, you know, remember celebrating the New Year's arrival), but the latter date is less than one month away.

Less than a month.

I knew this baby was coming, but for some reason, as others continued to inquire about the arrival of our newest and insisted "that's so soon," even in October, I have maintained the feeling that we still had plenty of time. I knew, though, that when the holiday season had ended, this baby was right around the corner.

And here we are, heading around the corner.

Yikes.

To prepare for the impending invasion, and also in recognition that a home-birth does not come with room service following the actual birthing process (a fact I will miss about the hospital - I'm a big fan of being lazy in a reclining bed, watching cable television and phoning in my lunch order - sigh), I had announced to my husband that during the month of January we would begin doubling any recipes that could be frozen and saving the extras for baby's arrival.

Today was the first day - the first real moment of knowing we were counting down the days - to cook that little extra in preparation.

Note to self: the Crockpot was not made for a double recipe of Chili. Good to know.

PS This recipe is called "Chocolate Chili" because of its secret ingredient: dark chocolate! We love it! (Further note, if you try to copy it, I started leaving out the marjoram and coriander after I realized they're just not my kind of flavor.)

Of Her Penmanship

2012-01-03T21:20:00.001-06:00

Had I been blogging over our Christmas vacation, this is a story I would have shared then. Instead, I'm sharing it now. And I'm vaguely cheating (although, recognizing this is my project and my blog, thereby my rules, there's really no cheating, right?) on my picture of the day, because it's not something that happened today, but I don't care. It's what we're remembering today, anyway. Deal with it.

After opening the last of her Christmas day gifts, Micaiah was settling in to play and began by doodling on her new art pad which came with the lapdesk given to her by Grandpa Ross and Grandma Veta (ie, Philip's grandparents). Noticing her name written on the desk, she decided to mimic what she saw. And, thus, she began:

"It's a 'M'!" - and then, carefully inspecting the lines in the letter, she began to draw her own - "and an 'i'" - at which point she drew a short line, topped with a single dot (and then did it again for some reason). And thus it went, looking between her inspiration and her work, she copied half of her name before moving on to another task (she is three, after all). Having never seen her attempt to write all on her own, this was an exciting moment for all the adults in the room. Our daughter is learning and her little brain is growing.

We are so proud of her.

Her "name" is in the brown (if you squint and tilt your head just right, you can see half of an "M", two "i's", a "c", a vague "a" and the clear sign she was ready to move on - I'm not sure if that's supposed to be her face in black or not). Clearly she's a long way from penning the great American novel, but recognizing she's three, we're hopeful she'll develop her handwriting in due time.

Of a Few Final Gifts

2012-01-02T23:03:00.002-06:00

Today, our family celebrated a vague rendition of Three Kings Day - which really had none of the aspects I had originally hoped for, other than opening presents. But it was a good day nonetheless. Watching our children, bathed in morning light, enjoy the few remaining presents (a couple from us and those which arrived via postal service from my family in the weeks surrounding Christmas) residing under our tree, and taking the time to be slow and extract each toy from its packaging as it was opened, giving them something to do as they waited for everyone else, was quite enjoyable.

It was also interesting noting their differences in attitude and/or age as Micaiah, throughout the day, took the time to play with each individual gift - moving from one to the other and back again until every toy had been thoroughly explored. Meanwhile, Emmett spent a few seconds with his newly acquired playthings before resorting to old favorites (or trying to hijack sissy's toys - another favorite activity of his).

Either way, enjoying the child-like simplicity of "Christmas" morning for one final time of the season was the best gift of all.

A few favorite photos of the morning:

Of Our Baby-moon

2012-01-01T19:58:00.001-06:00

I must beg forgiveness for my extended absence through the latter part of 2011. We enjoyed a splendid Holiday with Philip's family and, after, he and I left our children to enjoy a week with Gram, Grandy and Aunt Dia, while we spent a week at home, blissfully alone. Days spent on the town, nights spent playing games at home. We contemplated a thoroughly scandalous evening of a late-night movie (without having to call a sitter!) before realizing we were too much of home-bodies to really get any kind of pleasure from heading out once we were comfy at home.

Though we relaxed quite a bit, we accomplished some work, as well, procuring a vehicle large enough for our growing brood and also converting "Micaiah's room" into "Micaiah and Emmett's room" so we could begin preparing the nursery for its pending occupant (well, not that we've started that process yet, but it will happen soon). I feared the overwhelming amount of "new" might freak out the kids, but they were just so thrilled to see Mommy and Daddy, they didn't seem to mind.

Well, one of them was excited to see us, anyway. The morning after we appeared at Nenaw and Papaw's to retrieve them, Micaiah climbed up on our bed and asked, by way of welcome, "Why are you here?" Emmett's tears of anger any time his parents were out of sight did much more for our egos than his sister's inquiry.

And when we arrived home, they were both ecstatic at the new living arrangement. Micaiah, after inspecting the dismantled nursery, told me, "I want to show you something in Emmett's room!" - to which I responded, "Micaiah, this is Emmett's room. This is Emmett and Micaiah's room."

Her face almost couldn't hold her joy, "Yeah! This is Emmett and Caiah's room!" - then, turning to her brother, she announced, "This is your room and this is my room!"

We'll see how long it lasts, but for now the living is good.

PS It has been a goal of mine for a few years now to participate in what has been known as "Project 365": to take a photo each day of the year, to capture all the moments, both small and large. My determined sister-in-law accomplished the goal last year and has decided to embark on her second year. As I have long desired to include more photos in this blog, I am aiming to attempt the photo-a-day task as well.

Our new co-habitants playing in Emmett's newly-converted big-boy bed:

Of Child-Like Celebration

2011-12-24T20:32:00.001-06:00

We enjoyed a small and simple Christmas Eve service this evening at the church my father-in-law pastors. By way of Christmas Eve services, I would say it was just what we needed. Of course, you don't have to take my word for it. You could tell it was just right when our little 18-month-old on the second row spent the whole service dancing in his seat to the congregation's renditions of well-known Christmas carols. The end of every song was also punctuated with his enthusiastic, "Yay!"I feel it was a very appropriate celebration of the Baby we all came to worship. (Appropriate and adorable.)The ride home was filled with its own festive vibe as Micaiah led everyone in a rousing chorus of Jingle Bells. After a couple of rounds of the only carol she knows, she insisted we carry on with our own songs as she continued on with hers. And so it went - faltering versions of "Deck the Halls", "We Wish You a Merry Christmas", "Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer" and, finally, all twelve days of Christmas, all rang through Gram & Grandy's van with a background singer happily belting Jingle Bells. Certainly doesn't get any merrier than that.

Of a Not-So-White Christmas

2011-12-24T00:32:00.001-06:00

A couple of weeks ago, when I mentioned the holiday for some reason or other, Micaiah declared, "It's not Christmas; it's not snowing!". This was the point at which I realized an unrealistic precedent has been established in her life. For all the Christmases she is likely to remember (ie, the past two years), she has enjoyed a white Christmas. Having grandparents who live a little further north than Oklahoma has done well to increase the likelihood of this occurance for her.This year, however, the Midwest, in general, has experienced considerably less wintry precipitation than in previous years (thus far), and I fear she will learn the bitter truth - Christmas and snow are not always a packaged deal. It's sad she must learn the truth so early in life, but better to be disillusioned young than to allow oneself to become too cozy in a false assumption, right? It's kind of like ripping off a Band-Aid. Here's hoping this latest revelation comes about with few tears. I'm thinking the presents will help to ease the pain.

Of Finger Wagging

2011-12-21T23:43:00.004-06:00

We have known for quite some time that our daughter has an inordinate amount of sass. I mean, just look at this picture:

If that's not sass, I don't know what is.

And now she has decided to employ her sassy nature at times of discipline. A move that, maybe, isn't so wise for her and leaves me asking, "Where does this come from?!"

Yesterday, as we had guests and Little Miss was not so eager for napping (not that she ever is, but particularly not when she has others to entertain), I instructed Micaiah to put away the train she had just pulled out and head to the potty. Rather than listen to me, she (as she frequently does), yelled, "No!" and dropped the train on the floor. I gave her the look that says, "You're going to get a spanking when we're alone and unless you want to make it worse, I highly suggest you pick up that train right now" (parents sure can pack a lot of message into one look).

Her response was to put one hand on her hip and wag her finger at me, with a very smug smile on her face, as if to ask, "And what are you going to do about this?"

And then she saw what I was going to do about that. And it wasn't good.

It wasn't until I wagged my own pointer while scolding her about her inappropriate behavior that I even realized where she learned it - this is when I had to explain, "This finger is only for Momma - you do NOT wave your finger at Momma!" Since then, she has tried to sneak it out once or twice and the phrase, "Don't you point that finger at me" has been said (by me) more than I would like in this house.

That girl.

She's lucky we love her.

Of Charlie Brown

2011-12-20T21:34:00.000-06:00

After bath-time tonight, we cuddled with kids in footie p.j.'s, inhaling the soft scent of baby shampoo, and enjoyed A Charlie Brown Christmas. While Micaiah was upset any time Charlie, himself, wasn't on the screen, Emmett's sole purpose in sitting still for (most of) the film was so he could identify Snoopy whenever he made his appearance. Emmett did so by excitedly yelling, "Puppy!" each time the little white dog showed up.

The downside to this classic is that the beautiful message of the movie is relegated to the very end - which works by way of any typical plot-line, but unfortunately that puts the meaning of Christmas at just past our children's attention span.

Ah well, there's always next year.

Of Our Cookie Factory

2011-12-19T21:11:00.000-06:00

Because we had yet to do so this year, our family spent the evening creating sugar cookies, with the help of Aunt Dia and one of the young ladies I disciple through our youth group. And those girls, along with our kids, were cookie-making machines. Here's what was going on in our dining room tonight:

Dayla and Emmett made one cookie-making team, while Krista and Micaiah formed the other. Both did exemplary jobs.

Sometimes Emmett's fingers decided they wanted to leave a lasting mark.

He had fun! And, don't worry, none of that snot made it into the cookies - at least not that we know of.

She was awesome at getting the job done.

Icing!

She and Daddy made a couple of amazing cookies together!

Of Torturous Toilet Training

2011-12-17T22:15:00.002-06:00

We've been dousing our little girl in Kool-Aid lately (ok, not literally - just refilling her cup as quickly as it empties) in an effort to keep that little body needing to potty. The more she fills herself with liquid, the further cause she has to practice what needs to be a regular skill.

Yesterday was torturous. There were many outfit changes and floor cleanings and a couch cushion cover thrown into the laundry. Today was better. We had one accident and one definite success (I consider her showing initiative in this department to be a success - following our leading is a nice step in the right direction, but someday she'll need to know to go to the potty when Mommy and Daddy aren't there to tell her to do so).

What will tomorrow hold? We shall see.

God is definitely using this season of our lives to teach us patience. I have seen a lot of ugliness in myself in my never-ending frustration in this department. As I broke down in tears yesterday when my daughter simply would not learn, I fell into a shallow pit of despair. I felt utterly helpless.

She didn't care. Nothing could make her care. We could talk to her all day long. We could spank her until we were all red. Nothing was making a difference. The only results were a frustrated and angry family all-around. And she doesn't deserve that. None of us do.

She asked me, yesterday, after the above scene of sobbing and letting go, "Mommy, do you like me?"

If that doesn't break a Momma's heart, I don't know what does.

God has used this time to break me and remind me that I am not always the one in control - nor should I be.

And so we wait. We encourage. We discipline when necessary. But we will always love.

Of Completing the Task

2011-12-16T00:10:00.000-06:00

I have very exciting news for everyone:

The church library is hereby complete and ready for its Grand Opening in January!

I'm not sure how many people realize just how exciting this day is for me, but for those of you who may not realize, I began my training to learn how to do any and all of this process over two and a half years ago. While I have had many a hiatus since that very beginning, work has been done since then - sometimes with the help of magnificent volunteers and sometimes with none.

For the last three to four months, at least, I have gone in (as much as I was available) two to three mornings a week (most often with kids in toe, which always makes a task more interesting, if not hair-pullingly frustrating) to take the to the work of organizing nearly two thousand books, first in one order (the order the computer wanted to print their spine labels, which was not necessarily the most logical for library organization) and then in the final order.

I have gone through the labeling process of each of these two thousand books three times (the first time with bar codes, when initially entered into the computer, the second with spine labels and the third with spine label protectors) and have stamped every single one with the name and address of our church (well, almost every single one - I did have some help).

And now, dear friends, now it is done. And this library - my blood, sweat and tears (mostly the latter two) will be opening before this tiny little one arrives.

Rejoice!

(Please pardon the blurriness of these shots, but my actual camera was at home, so I had to go with the video camera, which has no flash.)

You can't tell, but those labels at the tops of the shelves list which call numbers are on each shelf. They make me happy. Plus, just knowing those books are in order makes me want to do a dance of victory.

This little mobile shelf for the children's books is also a source of happiness for me. Isn't it just too cute.

(Also, please ignore that some of the books look haphazard as they fall over - I don't actually have bookends yet. But that will NOT stop me from opening, so we're just dealing with it.)

Of Angels

2011-12-13T22:47:00.001-06:00

Micaiah's conversation with Daddy at the dinner table tonight:

"An angel came into my room and told me, 'Caiah, don't be afraid, there are no monsters in your closet.'"

I'm not sure how much of this statement was seasoned with her frequent hearings of the Christmas story, with the angel telling Mary, and later the shepherds, to fear not, but either way, we're intrigued.

Of Babies

2011-12-12T22:54:00.001-06:00

It was a busy baby-birthin' day in our family. No, not for me (this one's still got some cookin' time left on it's little biological clock!), but after hearing about their admittance to the hospital last night, I received word this morning that my newest niece, Miss Nella, was born at 8:51am - weighing a whopping 9lb, 5oz and measuring 21 inches in length - Whoa, Nellie! (Sorry, I couldn't resist.)

Then, after Facebook-stalking Philip's cousin (the original Angela in the family), who went in for induction early this morning, all day, we finally heard of her arrival via C-Section not too long ago (I'm sure the wait was much more difficult on those actually involved, rather than those watching closely via status update). And, as my mother-in-law stated, today was the day of big babies as little (or not-so) Evalynn beat my niece by a solid 6oz - weighing in at 9lb, 11oz and measuring, also, 21 inches long.

Whew! Glad today wasn't our day - and praying February brings the day of small-ish babies.

Congratulations to all the families who grew in number today!

Of Christmas - the "Right" Way

2011-12-11T21:33:00.001-06:00

I've struggled for the past couple of years, as the weight of the responsibility, as mother and wife, for such decisions has really begun to press upon me, with how to celebrate Christmas the "right" way. What traditions will we take on? What customs will we skip? How do we really impress upon our children, and ourselves, the true significance of our celebration?

I know it sounds empty in our culture today to say I'm sick of the commercialism of the holiday. For we hear that everywhere and yet under the trees of all of us who say that are still a plethora of wrapped packages. Our stockings are still hung by the fireplace with care and our children still ooh and aah over the blinking lights on the tree and on their brand new toys.

But I just don't know what to do these days.

I am not opposed to gifts - only because that's my love language and I do like an excuse to show others I care by giving them that just right wrapped something, not because I feel I have to or because I desire something in return. But is making the giving (and receiving) the focus of this "Holy Night" really the right thing to do? Clearly not.

I am also not opposed to not doing gifts - in fact, at times I feel I'd really prefer it. But that is not my decision to make alone and I refuse to be the Gift Nazi - "No gifts for you!"

So, what do I do. How do I do it right?

I realized just today that this Christmas season isn't about a "right" or "wrong" way of doing things. It's not about guilt. It's about worship.

And learning how to "do Christmas" the right way should be no different than working out how we do our lives. Because, as Christians, aren't we to be in constant reminder of Who Christ is - allowing Him to reign supreme, especially over the worldliness that ever threatens to take over? Not just at Christmas, when we ponder His birth, or at Easter, as we appreciate the sacrifice, but in all things, at all times (Colossians 3:17).

This struggle between the worldly and the Divine is not just a December dilemma. Or, at least, it shouldn't be.

So, here's my answer, for now. We will worship Christ always.

This Christmas season, as with those past, and those to come, I am learning so much about Christ and His purpose on this Earth. And this learning, this focus on our Savior, will always be my greatest joy at Christmas. We will spend time with family, we will give tokens of our love, but never to extravagance or to the extent of breeding greed. We will sing carols - both "Jingle Bells" and "Silent Night." We will delight with child-like wonder at the joys the season brings, but we will not allow the simple joys to be swallowed by the worldly gimmicks or glimmer.

And, always, we will worship.

Of Spinning Our Wheels

2011-12-10T22:23:00.001-06:00

I know I sound like a broken record, but you can trust me, it's even more annoying for me to still be talking about potty training as a process than it is for you to be reading about it - again.

I look around and see Micaiah's friends who all potty trained in different ways and at different times, but for them, the process is generally regarded as complete. Sure, they may still have hurdles, such as naptimes or night-times - I honestly don't know their routines. But I know they can go to church in their underwear and come home with it dry (as a general rule).

I still can't trust Micaiah to do that.

Because we still can't trust her to tell someone when she needs to go.

She goes when we ask her to - and even then, only if she's in a good mood.

Which is why the latest tactic is to try as hard as I possibly can to keep her in a good mood regarding the potty - so she'll at least go when she's asked.

Yes, I know, that's generally considered the rule - make it a positive experience. And that's what we tried the first six months (or eight months, or who knows how long, really), and then, as not necessarily the most patient parents in the world, we let our ugly sides come out. We saw her stubbornness - the fact that this overly intelligent three-year-old knows the process and chooses to to ignore it out of spite and sheer independence of will (as in, she won't go in the potty for the simple fact that she knows it's what we want) - and we bit back.

So, now we're back to the patient route.

Because we just plumb don't know what to do.

Unless potty training boot camp is an option.

It's not, right?

Of Blue's Clues

2011-12-08T21:01:00.001-06:00

As a new tradition this year (thank you, Pinterest), we have wrapped all of our Christmas children's books (and a few movies) and the kids get to open one every day until Christmas. They love taking turns between being the one to open the book or place the small wooden ornament on the felt wreath as a part of the advent calendar my mother-in-law made for Philip years ago.

Tonight was Emmett's turn to unwrap the story (this has also been wonderful practice to be sure he's ready for the big day at the end of the month - he totally has this process down!). However, he seemed less interested in his tale of the Nativity than in the Blue's Clues storybook he hijacked from my box of books waiting to be prepped for the shelves of the church library.

Rather than eagerly seeking a green-wrapped present under the tree, he sat next to his pilfered tale, pointing to the blue dog on its pages, declaring, "Boo-Boo!" (that's as close as he gets to pronouncing the title of his apparent favorite show - thank you, Netflix). Then, he would bob back and forth singing proudly, "Boo be boo be Boo-Boo!" to the correct tune of the show's theme song. He may have some work to do on his lyrical presentation, but this boy can definitely sing a distinct melody (he also has "Twinkle Twinkle, Little Star" down quite nicely - so much so that his sister starts to sing along when he starts babbling the tune).

Our children definitely earn their musical talent from their father (rather than their musically-declined mother).

Of Rosemary

2011-12-06T22:20:00.001-06:00

I love how effective our olfactory nerves are at conjuring forgotten memories. As I stirred my ground turkey with mixed vegetables for the base of my Shepherd's Pie this evening, I was unexpectedly transported to the dining room of the dorm in which I stayed for the first half of my semester in Russia junior year.

I was standing in the hall outside the entrance, waiting my turn in line as the aroma of dinner wafted out the door.

I was seated at a small table for four, surrounded by walls painted a bright yellow with orange trim in a sad attempt to brighten the room in a way the dim bulbs overhead could not.

I'm going to have to guess Rosemary was a key ingredient to much of the cooking in those Russian meals that semester - as this was one of few recipes I've found which uses the herb, and I strongly doubt it was the pepper or steak seasoning that brought about such a journey down memory lane.

At least I now know which spice jar to turn to when I'm feeling homesick for Mother Russia.

Of Pregnancy (and its Quirks)

2011-12-05T12:01:00.001-06:00

- When I'm pregnant, I pull out my giant body pillow, the kind that's shaped like a candy cane and just seems to hug me, to keep me from rolling to my back when sleeping. The thing takes up so much room in bed, he has become his own character in our pregnancy journeys - his name is Fred. When I get out of bed umpteen times a night (you pregnant/previously pregnant ladies hear me), I always snuggle up to Fred facing the opposite direction I was when I got out. Every time. It does not matter if I just re-positioned two minutes ago, I always face the opposite way when I snuggle back up to Fred. I have no idea why. But I've tried not to and I just can't.

- One of the great things about being pregnant: not having to worry about "sucking in" for the last 4-5 months. For just a short time, I have an excuse to have a pooch - and besides, it's not like it's going anywhere no matter how hard I try to tighten up those ab muscles.

- I love it when my baby gets the hiccups. I started giggling in church yesterday, which was somewhat inappropriate when the pastor was preaching on the severity of the Garden of Gethsemane in the course of Jesus' life. And there I am on the front row with a perma-smile on my face because of my baby's rhythmic hics.

- When I have a baby in my body, I have Braxton-Hicks ("false" contractions) a LOT. Last night I was getting them so frequently, I started timing them (even though I knew, at 31 weeks, this baby wasn't going anywhere). Is it any wonder I've gone into the hospital with "false labor" for BOTH of my previous children?

- Another great thing about pregnancy: you never a button or belt to undo on your pants, because they all just stretch on and off (which is nice when you're visiting the bathroom about 30 times a day)!

There are so many fun/crazy/quirky things about pregnancy (at least as far as mine have gone), but I'll just leave it that for now.

Of Her Big Performance

2011-12-04T21:07:00.001-06:00

Tonight was a rite of passage for any Southern Baptist child (not to alienate any other denomination, this is simply the one with which I have had most direct contact, so I know it to be true here, whether or not it might be elsewhere): it was her first time to file onto the steps of the sanctuary stage to sing her little heart out for the congregation (although, being that this was during the evening service time, the "congregation" was mostly limited to friends and family of the other pre-schoolers and kindergarteners performing alongside/after her).

As we arrived (a little late) to her classroom for practice, another little boy was having a difficult time leaving his mother. To encourage him, the teacher told him, "We need our best singer!" At this Micaiah announced, "Teacher, I'm here!" At least I had assurance she wouldn't be facing any confidence issues on that stage.

She had only two songs to present: "He's Got the Whole World in His Hands" and "Jingle Bells". Truth be told, she seemed to have a better handle on the latter, but her practicing this on Sunday nights in children's choir definitely helps me understand why she seemed to have such a grasp for the lyrics as we read through a book based on the song earlier in the week.

I was so proud of our little girl, standing in front of everyone, not exactly singing, but at least paying attention and not causing a commotion - which is about all you can ask of a three-year-old in the church choir.

Now it will only be a matter of time before she's dressed like a donkey wreaking havoc on the peaceful manger scene while the Christmas story is read in the background (as was the scene directly following the performance of she and her peers). Oh, how it flies.

Our Little Performer (Please pardon the quality.)

Of Snuggles and Tickles

2011-12-03T22:16:00.001-06:00

Best moment of today:

Watching Emmett and Micaiah snuggle with Daddy as we enjoyed Disney's A Christmas Carol. The moment lasted about that long - a moment. Turns out neither of the little ones has the patience for a full movie quite yet. But it was sweet while it lasted. The tickle-fest that ensued between the smallest two was also quite adorable (at least from the outside looking in - I'm not quite sure how it felt being the play-mat stuck in the middle, but Philip seemed okay, really).

Of Reaching the Goal

2011-12-01T22:44:00.001-06:00

And the moment we've all been waiting for . . . . (insert drum roll here) . . . .

We are the parents of a full-blown toddler! Woohoo!!!

Okay, so maybe it's not quite as big as other moments people may be waiting for, but it's a pretty big "tada" moment for us.

Though I still have to carry him from the car to the door when we go out (are you kidding me? It is not warm enough to wait for toddler-sized steps out there), the fact that I can set him on his own two feet when we get inside wherever it is we're going and he will stay on his own two feet? Priceless.

Within just the past week he has given up on crawling almost entirely. In fact, after crawling up the stairs at church just yesterday, he made it a few more paces on the top landing on just his hands and knees before he seemed to come to himself and realize, "Hey, I'm on level-ground again, what am I doing down here?" And up he went, to biped mode.

He can walk just about anywhere he wants to go, with no tipping over, and doesn't even require a hand to hold.

It's true that the big hurdles these days are cracks in the sidewalk or the gap in the elevator door (might as well be a canyon for his refusal to step over it), but he's working on overcoming his fears. The important thing is, our boy walks.

I love it.

Of Ethnic Diversity

2011-11-30T08:35:00.001-06:00

After three years of playing with her Noah's Ark set brought back by her Aunt Dia from a mission trip to Kenya when Micaiah was only four months old, Micaiah finally noticed Noah was a little different from her.

As I changed Emmett's diaper this morning, Micaiah came in from her room, holding Noah, "Mommy, this is my friend Ester." Now, Ester is our sponsored child from Africa to whom Micaiah knows we send stickers and other fun things she gets to help pick out (but gets in trouble if she tries to play with them herself). We keep her photo on our fridge and our little girl often refers to going to her friend Ester's house and has even called her her sister at times in the past. This is the moment when I realized she has finally seen the differences between herself and her African friends.

"That doll is Ester?"

"No, this isn't Ester, but Ester has a brown face."

"Oh, like your doll. Your doll and Ester both have brown faces because they're both from Africa. But there are lots of people here who have brown faces, too."

"Oh, Africa. And when we have brown faces - "

"Well, Micaiah, we won't ever have brown faces. God made them with brown faces and he made us with not-brown faces."

"Oh, well what color am I?"

Uh oh. I wasn't sure about the politically correct answer to that question.

"Well, technically, you're white."

At this, she laughed as only a three-year-old can at the ridiculousness of the misnomer. "I'm not white!"

"I know, it's kind of a peach."

"Noooo!"

"Well, what color are you?"

"Oh, I don't know . . . maybe . . . orange?"

"Yeah, I guess it's kind of orange."

"No, not orange. Maybe . . . yellow?"

"Are you yellow?"

"Yeah, yellow."

"Ok."

And that, my friends, was our first lesson on ethnic diversity.

PS She later pulled out her book on glaciers and attempted to identify Africa on her world map all on her own. And, by pointing to South America, she wasn't very far off! That's one smart girl.

Of Our Dancer

2011-11-29T16:18:00.001-06:00

I sit here taking a survey for our local Christian Radio station, wherein I listen to a variety of songs and give my opinion. Well, Penguin certainly has an opinion. This typical late-night mover is definitely a fan of all kinds of music as it wiggles and grooves to each tune as it begins to play through my laptop speakers. The movement slows between songs but kicks back up with each new tune. I love it.

Should have figured we'd have another dancer on the way - this one will get along great with its siblings. I foresee many living room dance parties in our future.

PS I will also have to admit, my opinions on this music survey are definitely being swayed by this little person, as well, as my joy in this baby's enthusiasm is giving me a heightened sense of enjoyment from each song. Sorry, House listeners, every song is my favorite today.

Of Melmo

2011-11-28T21:47:00.001-06:00

I was folding my son's clothes this evening when one of his shirts reminded me of this story:

While watching the Macy's parade on Thanksgiving morning just last week, the kids were most excited to see the Sesame Street float (though, to be fair, Emmett was a big fan of the whole thing - the overwhelming amount of music did much for his love of dance - in fact, the Rockettes got him rolling his little fists while his sister only feigned interest, for my sake, for about 1.4 seconds). Watching their favorite Sesame Street residents making merry music made the morning for both of them.

Then they saw Elmo - and the world was even better.

At this point, Emmett, remembering the striped shirt he'd worn earlier in the week with a large profile of the lovable, red-furried monster, pointed to his belly and announced excitedly, "Melmo!" At this point he noticed there was actually no Elmo on the front of his top, so lifting his shirt he pointed to his naked tummy and inquired, "Melmo? . . . Peese?" He accompanied this with most pathetically adorable expression imaginable.

I asked him if he wanted to wear Elmo and Gram pointed out he had even said the magic word - at which point he even threw in the sign language, rubbing his chest emphatically. He needed Melmo.

Sadly, the shirt in question was at the bottom of his laundry basket (thus it was being folded tonight) - but fortunately he's only 17 months old - disappointment doesn't tend to linger at this age and the next Macy's float had his attention 7.9 seconds later.

But I'll tell you, I've never been more sad to see Elmo in the laundry.

Of New Symptoms

2011-11-27T23:41:00.001-06:00

My husband and I would agree: I have succumbed to a much greater amount of hormonal breakdowns as a result of this pregnancy than during the former two, most likely combined. Though I have had mood swings in the past, the spontaneous weeping is relatively new.

It seems nothing is safe for me these days. A sappy TV moment? Tears. One mis-spoken word from my husband? Sobbing. One well-spoken word from my husband? The snot flows.

It's ridiculous, really.

I wish I could control it, honestly I do, but it seems my tear ducts have a mind of their own.

Thus, as we wait out this pregnancy, we're investing in tissues and my eyes seem to be in a constant puffy state.

So, if you see me start to tear up, please ignore it and know, it's nothing personal and I'm not broken. I'm just pregnant.

Of Bookends

2011-11-26T20:58:00.001-06:00

It may have begun a little too early with a little boy covered in sickness, requiring a bath and being returned to Mommy and Daddy's bed to snuggle for awhile more - though Mommy kicked herself out when she feared her own coughing would keep the men awake - but any day that ends with that same little boy chasing his sister around the living room, both giggling like mad as she screams with delight about the monster coming (while Littlest Bit seemed jealous as he/she began kicking like crazy upon hearing the squeals of his/her siblings), is a great day in my book.

Of the Season

2011-11-25T18:48:00.001-06:00

I teared up in the car today hearing the lyrics, "Simply having a wonderful Christmas time!" I suddenly realized, with Thanksgiving behind us, Christmas time is, indeed, upon us. It may have been because lack of travel caused Thanksgiving to, somehow, feel less like Thanksgiving, but either way, despite the months of seasonal tunes playing on retailer's airwaves or displays of evergreens in the aisles, the actual dawn of the Christmas season did not truly register until the melody of that first Christmas song emitted from the car stereo. 'Tis the season.

Accordingly, after the children awoke from their naps, Daddy pulled the Christmas tree and other seasonal décor from the attic and we went to town. Micaiah and Emmett both helped decorate the tree this year and, with the help of the 24-hour ornament-emergency doctor we have on call, only one confetti-filled ball suffered irreparable damage (of course, it was one I was not sad to see break - do you think I'd really let them hold any other kind?).

While Micaiah's excitement at hanging ornaments of various shapes and sizes from the branches of our tree was to be expected, I was actually surprised at how eager our independent little boy was to take non-breakable ornaments from us to place on the tree. Of course, the hooks were still a little complicated for him, but that did not stop him from trying to nestle his treasures among the lowest-hanging boughs.

The season definitely continues to get more interesting as our children grow older.

Of the First Thanksgiving

2011-11-24T23:23:00.001-06:00

For the curious, my first Thanksgiving (with the help of everyone present) went off without a hitch. The turkey, though still slightly frozen in the morning, thawed with a little help from some hot water and roasted up beautifully (and, might I mention, with much moistness). The table, though not very elaborately decorated, looked gorgeous with the bountiful spread, whose leftovers will feed our family for the next week, leaving me grateful for the overwhelming provision of our Lord.

Our children enjoyed the feast as well - Emmett's favorite part was, of course, the most difficult contribution to the meal - or not. Unless uncanning free (thank you, coupons) jellied cranberries (which were only present for the sake of my in-laws as no adult in this house is a fan) is considered grueling work. For Micaiah's part, the mashed potatoes were a homerun, but, sadly, neither stirred with excitement at the main dish.

Overall, it was a wonderful day of food, relaxation and family (oh, and some manual labor which lived up the standards of societal gender roles, as the women spent the morning in the kitchen while the men got their hands dirty outside, fixing a gate and setting up a compost pile).

Grateful for days like these to take notice of all we have been given.

Of Omens

2011-11-23T22:52:00.001-06:00

Between a bread machine that failed to properly mix the dough for tomorrow morning's cinnamon rolls and two failed chocolate pies for my mother-in-law, here's hoping that the kitchen failures are behind us. While unexpected bumps make for a humorous (and memorable) holiday, I'd really just rather have some super good food and low stress.

Fingers crossed.

Of Assumptions

2011-11-20T22:29:00.001-06:00

It's time for another "Let's Awkwardly Stare at the Growing Belly" photo, so here you are:

In related news: This week, on the way to our Midwife appointment, Philip and I were briefly discussing names (again. We got nothin'.) and Philip casually mentioned he forgets to ponder the girl side because he just keeps assuming it's a boy - which I found surprising, actually, because I keep automatically assuming it's a girl, and figured we were all on the same page. Apparently not.

Meanwhile, Micaiah maintains her "Sister Penguin" stance, so I guess we'll have to wait and see how this all pans out . . .

Of Hormones

2011-11-19T21:46:00.001-06:00

Sometimes the hormones take over. My husband will tell you it's true. And sometimes it's scary and sometimes it equals tears for unknown reasons and problems the mountainous expanse of a molehill. Today was of the latter sort and my man did a great job handling it, by covering me with blankets, praying over me, and, eventually, kissing me good-bye as I headed out the door, demanding that I relax (even going so far as giving me the last $3 in his wallet on the off-chance I found something I just couldn't do without - now that's sacrifice).

I love him. Even (especially) on my crazy-mixed-up days.

Of Traumatizing my Son

2011-11-18T16:06:00.001-06:00

After two haircuts in his young life, my young 17-month-old has already been shaggy beyond necessity for a couple of months now - his hair has the growing curse of his mother's. Not that I have ever considered it a curse on my own head - but as the one whose responsibility it is to keep up with this mop of hair on a little boy upon whom there are certain societal standards for length, my perspective has changed.

For his previous two encounters with scissors, he has had the wonderful privilege of having his hairs clipped by a fantastic friend of mine. She does a glorious job and as long as there are Cheerios or an entertaining light show (provided by her son and a laser pointer) nearby, he has done fairly well. Unfortunately (well, for me, not for her - I know she loves it most days), this same friend has recently entered the realm of working motherhood and, having tragically bad timing in a previous hair-cutting request, I haven't been able to broach the topic since. Her life is hectic enough without the worries of my son's hair issues.

Which leaves me with a Jonas-brother look-alike and no desire to pay to fix it (I rarely even do that for my own curly locks).

So, what's a mom to do?

Well, apparently, the answer is NOT to assume that breakfast and Qubo are enough to distract him from noticing the buzzing sound of the clippers approaching his head. Be warned, if this technique is attempted, you may find yourself with a little boy bending as far over his booster-seat tray as physically possible, sobbing with enough intensity to leave snot dripping into Raisin Bran. And, apparently, once sufficiently traumatized by the clippers, scissors are no longer acceptable either. And once an appropriate hack-job has been accomplished, even the feel of his mother's fingers running through his hair may be enough to leave him in weeping fits.

Not that I've tried it or anything.

Of Paying it Off

2011-11-17T21:38:00.001-06:00

It was a big milestone in the Rowland household today. We paid our midwives!

This payment deadline has been looming over us and sucking every extra dime for the previous four-ish months (since our initial consultation). Though we looked forward to having this baby "paid for" (a task which was not accomplished for our other children until we approached their first birthdays) before its arrival, the inflexible nature of our budget was definitely a bit draining. Thus, while we are still not allowed to splurge in celebration (the money was just entirely depleted from our bank account, let's remember), there may be a happy dance of victory.

Now, on to the next hurdle, as I put it to our Sunday School class: locating (and procuring) a vehicle large enough to transport our growing herd. Three carseats will not happily coincide in the backseat of our Ford Taurus - nor would we want them to. Now taking applications for vehicles (that won't further increase our debt factor) . . .

PS I forgot to mention - none of this would have been possible but by the grace of God. "What is impossible with men is possible with God." (Luke 18:27) And we are continuing to rely on the grace of God to meet all our needs - including this vehicle expansion endeavor. Thank you for joining with us in prayer!

Of Preparations

2011-11-16T21:38:00.001-06:00

Something I'm sure I've mentioned before, but bears repeating in order to understand this post: I love organizing. I am terrible at keeping up with organization (thus the oft-referred-to battle against clutter in our home), but I love to start it. I love checklists and, when I was younger, I adored creating packing lists for vacations - I would do so up to two or three months in advance, using vari-colored markers and even decorating them with stamps and drawings depicting our destination. I was always most sad when I realized I would not be allowed to start packing the items on my list for a number of weeks.

I think, in a way, this obsessive need to plan ahead is my way of keeping in touch with something I'm so excited for that I just can't wait, but the calendar forces me to do so anyway.

This is the state in which I find myself as we approach the coming holiday. This year will be the first Thanksgiving at home for Philip and I and we're blessed to be able to share the day with his family, as well. I am stoked about creating our own holiday dishes and possibly discovering some new must-have recipes or family traditions.

Thus, in preparation, I have tracked down a recipe for every course of our meal - there are no short-cuts or boxed goods here, honey - and selected those with only the highest reviews (while still not being too complicated, either in ingredients or in preparation - I'm excited not psychotic). I have created a spreadsheet detailing the ingredients necessary for each individual recipe (including one for using the leftover turkey the next day), as well as a master ingredient list to be sure I have everything on hand (it's easy to think you have what you need when reading over a recipe that calls for an egg or two, until you realize you need a total of ten eggs spread across your entire menu - quite a difference!). In fact, I have already finished my shopping and have every item on my list safely stowed in my newly cleared refrigerator and pantry (though I understand the possibility of needing to re-stock a few basics within the next week) - minus the turkey, for which I am merely awaiting a gift check from The Pampered Chef (thank you, Mom!).

Is it ridiculous? Maybe. Anal? Most definitely.

But you can just take this atypical Type A behavior as a mere sign of my anticipation of what's to come in a week - a day of cooking for my family on the biggest cooking day of the year. Woohoo!

Of the "Tree House"

2011-11-15T22:25:00.001-06:00

We enjoyed the cloudy, yet beautiful, weather yesterday morning by trouncing, once again, to the back yard. Only this time it had yet to rain, so the ground and, most importantly, the plastic tree house (I hesitate to call it that, because it might inspire grand visions of an exciting home atop our tree branches, when, sadly, it is simply a small plastic house squatting on the ground whose walls are molded to resemble a tree - not nearly as thrilling, but still fun for the wee ones), were dry. This was Emmett's first experience in the little house and, while he spent most of his time simply sitting in it watching Sissy scamper about, he did really seem to enjoy it. He even ventured down the tiny slide once or twice, but each time took a lot of motivating self-talk before he finally pushed his little booty down. What a splendid morning.

Chillin' in the house.

(PS This house used to sit on a cushy patch of grass - that has somehow turned to a mere dirt pit in the past year. Isn't it lovely?)

Scampering.

Thinking about where to go next.

She's SO tall these days - she could even see through the peep-hole!

Enjoying the beautiful fall-ness of this morning.

Of the Things They Say

2011-11-13T19:57:00.001-06:00

Today, after their naps, Micaiah, at her cranky best, insisted she did not need to potty and declared, by yelling at her Momma, that she had already done so in her diaper. Needing to deal with her equally cranky brother I calmly told her to go tell her Daddy what she had told me (so he could deal with her dirty duds while I handled Emmett's). Thus, she turned in the direction of the living room, but suddenly stopped, turned, gave me the sweetest look and said, "Mommy, I'm sorry I yell at you."

File under: The things that melt a Momma's heart.

Later, as we were leaving church this evening, a little girl was tugging Emmett behind her through the nursery. She announced, "One of these days, he's going to get bigger." Feigning surprise, I turned to Emmett and asked, "Is that true? Are you going to get bigger?!"

To which he replied, very emphatically, "Nya-o!"

That's right, Baby, you just let your Momma keep dreaming.

I love these two.

Of Fevers and Teas

2011-11-12T22:20:00.001-06:00

Though it makes him more snuggly and stinking adorable when he simply stares at me with little-to-no expression, a little boy with a fever is always awfully sad.

Which is why it was nice when he awoke from his long nap this afternoon, groggy, but in a much better mood (and two degrees cooler, though still slightly higher than normal) than he had been immediately following the lunch which he never finished.

In fact, as we settled in to watch Gnomeo and Juliet via Netflix, he was downright thrilled, getting upset when I paused it for a restroom break, pointing to the television and exclaiming, "Be-be!" (this would mean, "Baby" and would be what he calls any living - or non-living - being smaller than himself). When the film resumed, he actually giggled at the antics of the animated lawn ornaments - this was the first time I had ever seen him react to something on T.V., other than by dancing or singing. A giggle was delightful, especially from a feverish boy.

Later, he and I enjoyed a miniature tea party as he retrieved a pot for himself from his sister's kitchen and poured into my tiny blue cup, then took a sip from his own and sighed, "Aah!" What a little sweetheart.

His temperature as he headed to bed was still not quite normal (which almost makes me re-think my decision to accept his offerings of the tea spoon he was sharing with me by shoving it directly into my mouth after having his own "taste"), but our hopes for a speedy recovery remain high.

Here's praying for a happy and healthy boy come morning.

Of Clearing the Way

2011-11-11T21:07:00.001-06:00

Cleaning out our overflowing fridge, and the pantry in which I could barely step, has been on my to-do list for a couple of weeks now. Having a walk-in pantry is lovely, unless you can take only one step in and then are forced to lean way forward, hoping your front-heavy load doesn't pull you down with it. And a fridge filled with leftovers and a remainder bottle of sparkling grape juice from last holiday season (yes, that would mean this appliance has not been cleared for a year - at least) leaves little room for the foods we actually eat.

The real fire under my rear, though, was the realization a few days ago that, in hosting Thanksgiving in our own humble abode this year, our kitchen will be abundant with foods that need a new home - and if things remained the way they were, our squatters would edge out the good stuff, leaving it homeless.

So, I tackled the big job. And one filled trash bag later (plus three bulging grocery sacks from the pantry), suddenly the vacancies are abundant. In fact, there now remains an entire shelf in the refrigerator to house a freezing bird that will need days to thaw - who would have imagined?

And the bonus? My chores for the day allowed me to check four (okay, I cheated and checked a fifth that I didn't really do, but no one but you and I will ever know that) items off my fall-cleaning checklist. Now if that doesn't satisfy a girl's home-making heart, I don't know what will.

Of Bedtime Prayers

2011-11-10T20:21:00.001-06:00

We currently have two Bible Storybooks we read to our children at bed-time (not both at the same time, but now that we've finished one we went back to the other) and both are wonderful for different reasons.

The Jesus Storybook Bible is amazing in the way it breaks the Bible stories down into words that are easier for little minds to grasp and, also, the way it strings the entire Bible into one long story that culminates in Jesus as God's "Rescue Plan" for the world. I loved that!

The Beginning Readers Bible is wonderful in that the stories are taken directly from a child-friendly translation of the Bible - so they are actual Bible verses in words kids can understand (a little more advanced than the Jesus Storybook Bible, but still great). In addition, each story is accompanied by a memory verse, a verse to "pray" and an activity (most of which are for children older than ours, but I look forward to using them as our children grow).

Of course, the concept of memorizing anything, let alone Scripture, is a bit advanced for our little ones, but my favorite part of each story is reading those memory verses aloud and hearing Micaiah's tiny three-year-old voice repeating God's Word back to me (recently, Emmett has been getting jealous, so he joins in the repetition as well, though he's mostly good at mimicking the vowel sounds and not so much the consonants, but he's trying!). It is the most precious sound in all the earth.

Tonight, Micaiah wanted a turn after Daddy prayed over them before bedtime. After being given the choice, she opted to let Daddy tell her what to say, and this is what we heard:

"Thank you for Mommy." - "Thank you for Mommy."
"And thank you for Emmett." - "And thank you for Emmett."
"And thank you for Daddy." - "And thank you for Daddy."
"Help us to have good dreams. . ." - "Wait! You forgot about me!"
"Oh, and thank you for Micaiah." - "And thank you for Caiah."

At least she's glad to be alive.

PS On the note of being glad, when she woke up from her nap this evening to find out her Daddy was already home from work, she hurried into the hallway before heading to the potty to yell to him, "Hi, Daddy! I'm glad you're here!" What a sweetheart.

Of Potty Frustrations

2011-11-09T22:07:00.001-06:00

I know it's entirely common in potty training, so I'm not looking for sympathy, just an outlet.

Micaiah, it would seem, has decided, once again, that she just plain doesn't care.

For quite awhile she had been going when we asked (not always happily, but she'd do it anyway) and even had begun running herself to the potty when she knew she needed it. She was no longer even demanding a reward. Being a big girl, it would seem, was its own reward. We were living in a fantasy land of few accidents, dry underwear and happy parents.

Apparently the dream is over.

About a week ago she began going in her pants to defy us - if she was sent to time-out or told to sit in her booster seat until she'd finished her sandwich, she would sometimes emerge with wet pants. This, of course, was frustrating.

And then, just yesterday, she began just letting go - whenever she felt like it - and not telling anyone about it. She would be spotted with a large dark spot on her pants and, when questioned as to why she chose not to tell anyone, would shrug her shoulders and say, "I was playing." She did not go in the potty once yesterday - despite being sent to try numerous times (usually that's all it takes).

Oh, if ever there is a moment in child-rearing when you just want to throw in the towel and ship them to potty-training boot camp, that was it.

This girl is the most stubborn being on the planet. I have no idea where she gets it - I was certainly never that way (don't ask my parents, they're getting senile in their old age).

Of Rainy Days

2011-11-07T23:17:00.003-06:00

For the first time in a year, I took my kids out back to play. It's Micaiah's favorite activity on a rainy day: making footprints. The last time precipitation fell, she ran out front, found the closest puddle to get her little pink Dora shoes sufficiently wet and then figured out how to put her weight on her heels, so as to not waste the wet before she made her way to the dry porch to leave her mark - demanding I do the same, of course.

This morning, in the backyard, she discovered not just puddles but . . . mud. And she was delighted. Of course, if the mud had been on her hands life would not have been so pleasant - but on her hot pink boots, the muck was quite thrilling - it was a new way to stamp her mark on the concrete, smearing the brown every which way.

The joy that girl finds in the smallest things never ceases to bring a smile to my own face.

Of course, holding my son's hand as he stepped gingerly across the patio, practicing his newest skills, excited to be outdoors and also allowed to crawl all over the wet concrete when his legs gave out, was pretty great, too.

I'm not sure I could imagine a better way to spend a rainy morning.

Getting her boots wet.

Making footprints.

We love the Fall - and having a backyard again.

Toddling with my little man.

Of a Walker

2011-11-06T21:09:00.001-06:00

When Micaiah first began toddling about two years ago, we were eager to graduate her from the "Crawlers" Sunday School class to the "Walkers," where she could be with her friends (she had taken longer to reach the milestone than her comrades), but we were (only slightly) disappointed to be encouraged to keep her with the younger ones as she was not yet confident in her two-footed abilities and the Walkers, we were told, were a rough bunch.

And so she stayed, until she was running circles around those crawling babies and was finally forced to mosey along.

Thus, I anticipated the same slow transition with Emmett - who, at sixteen months was, by far, the oldest kid in his Crawlers class, but since a Crawler he was, in the class he stayed. Apparently, though, they were much more eager to move our slow developer along because at the first signs of steps, he was hurried on up to the Walkers class, where he enjoyed his first Sunday this morning.

And it would seem the title has done much to increase his confidence.

It seemed the moment we got home all he wanted to do was be on his feet, as if seeing all those other kids his own age running around made him realize he could do it, too. After lunch, while playing with his wooden train, he stood to play, only to bend over to actually roll the train along. And when I asked for help putting the toys away, rather than crawling quickly over as he typically would, he proudly pulled to his feet to toddle across the room, as if to say, "Sure, Mom, I'll just head on over - on my own two feet - just a walkin' on over, 'cause I'm a Walker now, you know!"

That's my little man, the Walker.

Of Quaking

2011-11-05T23:16:00.001-05:00

It was the middle of the night and I woke up to shaking - though, "woke up" is a loose term, because I was still dazed enough when Philip announced, amidst the wiggling of the walls, "Earthquake!", it was actually news to me - in a way. Until that very moment it hadn't actually occurred to me what I was feeling - I was in such a dream state I thought it all went together. In fact, I'm pretty sure Philip thought I was talking in my sleep as I, very much disoriented, attempted to describe just what I thought had been happening. I suppose he would have been half right.

We looked at the clock to verify the time, rolled over and went to sleep only to wake six hours later to a Facebook a-buzz over the latest natural "disaster" to reach our state.

Fast forward twelve hours to this evening, after bidding farewell to our neighbors following a wonderful evening of games, popcorn and cookies, we settled down only to feel an insane quaking that shook our entertainment center, floor, walls, and about everything else around us, and felt as though it would never end. Thirty seconds never felt so long.

And my stomach is still feeling the queasiness.

I'm pretty sure at some point in the next week the earth will be opening up to swallow Oklahoma. To everyone else, we love you and pray you love Jesus so we'll see you soon.

Of Three Months

2011-11-03T23:06:00.001-05:00

My due date is three months away (give or take).

Never has anything seemed so imminent and, yet, so far away. For some reason when I tell people I'm due in February, even a couple of months ago, the response is always, "That's so soon!" This reaction always surprises me because I have always felt February to be the distant future. Even now - "three months" - it seems like quite a long time.

But my body is telling me it's not as long as I think it is. Somehow, three months away, and I'm already having trouble getting off of the couch. My ever-sensitive husband is already singing "Baby Beluga" to me as he watches me attempt to sit up. And I already got light-headed trying to stand up while holding my 16-month-old son (who should totally be walking by now . . . but, alas, five steps does not get him very far).

And after reading through an entire book on birthing, I feel like I could just pop this baby out tomorrow.

And then I remember. Three months. Three more months of this belly expanding past the "cute pregnancy stage" into the "Oh my goodness, when are you due?!" stage. Three more months of rolling myself off the sofa. Three more months of potty breaks and endless hunger.

Three more months to cherish time with my two eldest and my wonderful husband before our life, our sleep-schedule, and our routine revolves, once again, around a little being weighing less than ten pounds (or let's hope). Three more months until I get to meet this squirmy, wiggly little child.

I can hardly wait. And yet, three months sounds good.

Of Leaf Art

2011-11-02T22:19:00.002-05:00

I would first like to reassure you this evening that I am nearly recovered from the "loss" of our dogs. My mind has been fully able to wrap around all the glorious aspects of not having two large animals taking up residence in our backyard and the trauma of last night's farewell has mostly passed.

Moving on, this evening I decided to tackle yet another item from our Family Fun Fall Checklist. As I have had a nice stack of dried leaves hanging out ever since our "Nature Walk" a few weeks ago, I named tonight our evening to "Make Leaf Art."

I'm wishing I took pictures for you, but, sadly, I tend to get caught up in the activity at hand and fail to run for the camera to actually capture it for posterity. Please forgive me for enjoying the moment.

We began with leaf rubbings, which I thoroughly enjoyed, though the idea kind of flopped as far as our three-year-old was concerned. She loved, of course, coloring as a family, but the fact that the image of the leaf under her paper was showing in her colored strokes did little to excite her. And Emmett was just happy to have a crayon in his little hand. So, after Daddy and I got our creativity out on our own papers, we moved along in the evening's activities.

Next, I traced each child's hand on brown construction paper and cut out the hand, making a tree trunk extend from the wrist. I then glued this bare tree to another piece of paper and planned for us to glue the dried leaves to the trees.

Micaiah actually really enjoyed this part and did a great job placing her glue-covered leaves. Meanwhile, Daddy had to do all the work for Emmett - but he still loved having a crayon in his hand.

Sadly, our Elmer's did little to help the leaves actually stick, so that was kind of a flop, too.

But the important thing is we spent time as a family and we made art, with leaves, so that's checked off the list. At least we I have priorities.

Of a New Home

2011-11-01T20:41:00.000-05:00

As you may or may not remember, 365 days ago, we embarked on a new journey as dog owners. You may also recall this has been a roller coaster at best. We've always loved the dogs - they're too sweet not to - but at the same time, with our three-year-old not being a fan of actual interaction with animals (though the idea of it always makes her happy, the execution not so much), we have not had the opportunity to spend near as much time with them as they deserve. Thus, we've mourned the loss of our backyard as a play spot for our children and a viable gardening location (these ~~little~~ big guys are quite destructive as they have been, for most of the past year, still in their puppy stage). So, we've loved the dogs, but hated what we've had to give up due to their presence.

And so it is, exactly one year after taking ownership, our journey has ended. Tonight we bade Bennet and Bingley farewell as they entered into the next stage of their life with a new family (found via Craigslist, but we trust they will provide our guys with a loving environment).

All day long, while Micaiah was sad at the prospect of her dogs leaving ("The dogs don't go! They have to stay with me! I have to stay with them!" - why don't you just rip our hearts out, little girl?), Philip and I have been rejoicing - thinking of all the things we haven't been able to do this past year, but now will be able to enjoy once again.

We can plant garlic again!

We can put screens back in our windows (they tore these out, too)!

We can take the kids outside to play!

Oh, how marvelous!

What I didn't count on were the tears that sprang from my eyes almost the minute we shut the door on our beloved puppies - and I'm not talking a tiny trickle, but snot flowing, crying into my husband's shirt-sleeve kind of tears. Having never had many visitors in the backyard, they didn't know anyone other than us. They were terrified. And I was heartbroken. Micaiah hadn't said, "Good-bye." Bennet is nervous anyway, how will he handle new people (and a new canine friend in his future home)?

While I know I'll recover soon enough, there is, apparently, a mourning process, still.

Darn those pregnancy hormones.

My shy, nervous and adorable Bennet

Our hyper, loving, and curious Bingley

Good-bye, Boys!

Of a Little Bit of This

2011-10-31T19:34:00.001-05:00

Micaiah felt "Baby Sister" move for the first time today (no we still don't know the gender, but Micaiah is insistent). The joy on her face with each tiny bump was contagious.

Also, I forgot to mention, Saturday was the first time a stranger recognized my pregnant state. I always feel this is a big milestone. It means the world at large can see I am with child and not necessarily overeager at the local buffet.

Unrelated to Baby, tonight's meal on my weekly menu listed "Meatloaf and Mashed Potatoes" and just as I was about to dig out my old recipe I remembered this recipe* I had pulled out of my Woman's Day magazine last month and decided, why not be festive? So it's what we (and by "we" I mean "I") did. And it made me happy.

*I used cut-up green beans for the eyes as I didn't want to open a can of peas. I also used 1lb of turkey rather than the called-for meats.

Of What I Am

2011-10-30T22:10:00.001-05:00

It would seem it's a Sunday theme for me: What I Learned in Worship Today. It's truly remarkable that of all the teaching I take in most Sundays (which is nearly always excellent), I receive the greatest amount of revelation through song. This is most likely because this is the only time in the week when I truly allow my brain to switch off from plan/worry/to-do mode and just allow God to truly have my mind.

This morning the song was The Stand:

"So I'll stand

With arms high and heart abandoned

In awe of the One Who gave it all.

So I'll stand

My soul, Lord, to You surrendered

All I am is yours."

I felt during the song it may be better to offer all I have because, truly, doesn't that include everything within me and without, but then when I really focused on the words, "All I am is yours," the question arose: "Who are you?"

Because when I offer to God all I have, I think first of all my earthly possessions, which mean little to me in true perspective. Yet, if they are worthless to me, why would I believe them of any value to God? He doesn't need my resources. He needs me. I think, then, of my abilities - my time, my talents. He can have those, too. But that's still not everything.

Who am I?

I am a wife. A mother. A teacher (whether in a classroom or in my home). A writer (even if I can't professionally claim the title). This is who I am. Have I offered these to God?

Am I mothering for Him or for the sake of quiet and sanity in my home? Am I acting as a wife for God or for my own comfort and security? Do I take seriously my role as teacher to my children? Do I write for His glory or my own?

These are what He wants. He wants returned not just what He has given me, but all He has created me to be. He wants me to be His. Nothing more. Nothing less.

It's interesting He would give me the fullness of this lesson today, because I believe He gave me the homework earlier this week.

I had seen in Reader's Digest (my husband hears this phrase about twenty times a week) information about a contest they were hosting: write a lesson, simple advice or funny story in 150 words or less and you could win $25,000. Well, I thought, I can do that! No problem! Funny stuff happens to us all the time - and I love to write about it.

So I sat down to write. And I had nothing. Not one inspiration. I made a few lame attempts but I knew they were nothing that would grab anyone's attention. The deadline was coming fast as I had heard of the contest late, so I hated to put it on the back-burner, but I needed to relax my mind in order for this writer's block to ease. I reasoned it was like looking for something you've lost - it always seems to come to you just when you've given up.

The next morning I woke up praying about it. And what I realized was this: I wanted to enter that contest for my glory. I wanted to be recognized and I wanted a prize - a way to provide for the financial needs of our family. I felt as though God had directed me to this contest, but I wanted to leave Him out of my entry because "God-stuff" doesn't tend to be gold medal material in these kinds of matters - not in a secular magazine anyway. His writing has certain venues and this wasn't it.

Ouch.

This was clearly not why God gave me any ability with words - not so I could pick and choose when He was allowed to be in it. And I realized, this contest was, like anything I write should be, not for me. It was for Him. It was for His glory. Whether it was read by five people or the world, it didn't matter. What mattered is that I honor Him with my words - no matter the audience. The only "prize" is making His glory known.

So, this is what I came up with. Now, you're welcome to go vote for it if you so choose, but I'm not worried about it.

This was my assignment, and today I received the lesson: All I am is His.

Of Unexpected Discoveries

2011-10-29T22:47:00.003-05:00

As Micaiah and I ran some errands around town (oh how I love our Mommy and Me shopping dates), I browsed our brand new Kohls for anything under $10 on which I could spend my coupon (with no out of pocket cost to frugal me). While in the housewares department, I heard my little girl exclaim, "Look, Mommy! It's a hole for me!" Sure enough, the wonderful store employees had staggered two display tables in such a way that there was created a tiny hole, just her crawling size, among all the legs.

Sadly, due to the breakable nature of the items on display I had to inform her she would not be shimmying through her tiny hole. It's a good thing she's fairly good at handling disappointment. It was awfully cute, either way.

Of Highlights

2011-10-28T23:14:00.001-05:00

I don't even know that I can pinpoint one aspect of this day which has made it what it is, but I do know I can walk away saying, "That was a good day." Here are some of the high points:

- Helping Micaiah create slime after watching Sid the Science Kid do the same in his class and seeing her joy as she allowed the gooey matter to ooze over her fingers repeatedly for a solid half hour.

- Enjoying quality one-on-one time playing with my little man while his big sister was occupied with said slime.

- Feeling productive by hanging in Micaiah's room the ten-cent clock and curtain panels I scored during Dollar General's summer clearance on Tuesday. Actually installing something within the same week it was purchased is fairly rare for Messie me.

- Reading through Ina May's Guide to Childbirth for the first time. It may be a bit hippie and cult-like in the beginning, but now I'm wishing I'd read this sooner. Can't wait to have this baby!

- Watching the Cardinals win their eleventh World Series in the year 2011 - little things like matching numbers make me happy (as if a Series Title wouldn't be enough).

Yes, my friends, 'twas a good day of enjoying the little things.

Of Dressing Up

2011-10-27T20:35:00.001-05:00

If you had asked Micaiah any time in the past couple of weeks, she would have told you, "I'm going to be a fairy! I have wings! I fly upside down." I continually reminded her the latter would not actually be happening, but she was excited nonetheless. Our costume creativity has definitely waned over the years, but I really was hoping to break out something different this year. When given her choices, though, fairy was the hands down winner. So fairy it was.

Then, as of today, as I was explaining how we would go Trick-or-Treating at the school where Aunt Dia works (even though it's not yet Halloween), she decided her face would be painted. Where this idea came from, I have no idea, but as she was laying down for her nap, she insisted, "You will paint me and Daddy will paint Emmett. And you will paint my eyes and my face and my nose and my chin and my ears!" Well, the ears didn't happen and I tried to get away without the chin, but she wasn't havin' it. So, the chin it was. And none of it really turned out how I would have preferred, but she's three - I'll do more planning when the mere fact she has paint on her face isn't exciting enough for her.

This girl is pure sass.

With a little bit of goofball.

I decided the hair shouldn't be left out, so we threw some ribbons in, too.

She loved it!

And then Daddy came home, ready for his task of painting Emmett, as demanded by our little fairy. His task of creating a bear was a little easier, but he sure did a great job with it. May I present the cutest little bear of 2011:

Seriously, I dare you to find cuter.

He was enthralled by his tiny paws.

She needed a car picture, too.

So ready for this! Daddy even taught him to "Rar!"

Our little trick-or-treaters. So adorable!

And now we're ready to tackle it all over again on Sunday night for our church's Trunk-or-Treat. By Monday, Halloween will be old hat to us and we'll most likely spend the evening in - with the porch light off. Sorry, candy hunters of Oklahoma, we're tuck-or-tired.

Of Our Walker

2011-10-25T23:51:00.001-05:00

If you have seen my husband's Facebook page, you have seen the latest on our little Emmett's walking abilities. This boy may be "behind" in his decision to start moving on his own two feet, but he sure is determined and independent.

He will now push himself to his feet confidently - still with that cocky little grin that shows he knows he should be proud of his accomplishments - but if you ask him if he's going to walk, he very firmly says, "Nao!" (which his adorable pronunciation of, "No!") - because he will take those steps when he's good and ready, not because you have asked him to.

And if you hold out your hands to encourage his steps in your direction, or to assure him you are there in case he falls, that little man becomes even more adamant, "NAO!" At this point, he very pointedly will turn in the opposite direction to test his legs.

So, we're letting him go his own way in his own time.

Yesterday, he was already taking as many as 3-4 steps on his own as he joined his sister and me out on the driveway for some Vitamin D intake (aka fun in the sun). In his little long-john pj's and socks, which were no longer white because of the sidewalk chalk and natural driveway dirt, he wobbled forward so excitedly.

Momma, however, was not excited when he began to venture onto the downward slope toward the end of our driveway - something about a brand-new toddler on uneven terrain that also happened to be concrete just seemed unwise to me. So we keep most of his practice indoor these days.

Because the sharp corners of the entertainment center and fireplace are clearly much safer.

When did our home become a toddler death trap? Where was I when Micaiah was learning to walk?!

Well, the good news is he's walking - and he's progressing at a very rapid rate, so soon those corners will be nothing to our confident little jogger - right?

Of Fanaticism

2011-10-23T22:57:00.001-05:00

Since moving to the Gateway to the West during my fifth grade year, from La Vista, NE, where my only regular stadium visits were to cheer on the Omaha Royals, I have been an avid fan of my hometown team, the St. Louis Cardinals.

Now, let me make this clear, my definition of an "avid fan" means I will go to the games as much as I have the opportunity to (which, now living out of state, means once every year or two) and I will watch on television if they are in the World Series - oh, and I purchased a set of Cardinals pajamas as Philip's Valentine's Day gift to me this past February, because they were on clearance. I know you are so surprised at just how hard-core I am.

Thus, this week finds me, for the third time since moving from home (which, ironically, is also the third time since my family first moved to the St. Louis area . . . huh), glued to Fox Sports nightly as I cheer on my St. Louis Cardinals as they take on the Texas Rangers in this year's Fall Classic.

And by "cheer on" I mean I have the TV on in the background while I work on other projects on my computer or read a book during commercials. I get excited when they score and sad when Texas runs past home plate. When they win, I get cocky on Facebook and when they lose I'm a little down, but I understand - everyone has their good days and their bad days. There's no yelling or jumping up and down (though that will come in the event of winning the Series Title - an event that has happened once since I have been following my precious Cards. Turns out it's not nearly so exciting when you run outside and realize the rest of Oklahoma is going about life as normal. Baseball isn't really their thing.).

For the most part, this roller coaster of fanaticism rides more like something from the three-feet and under corner of your local amusement park, but I can have my moments. Like waving my rally towel when we're behind in the fifth inning. Until I realize I have no idea where this towel came from because it's talking about the "1,000th Game" on December 7, 2007. No one plays baseball in December. I guess my real rally towel must be up in the attic with my other Cardinals memorabilia.

Because that's how we die-hard fans roll.

Of the Eagerness of Anticipation

2011-10-22T22:49:00.002-05:00

It finally happened.

After sixteen long months (although, really, it has felt so short and, really, I have only been anxious for this milestone for about a month or so), our son took his first step!

And his Papaw, his great-grandfather, had the privilege of being on the receiving end. Of not only his first step, but his second, fourth, and fifth attempts to do more than tumble over after one timid step - somewhere in the middle, I got a step, too.

That is how little man spent his evening: proudly standing for minutes on end. So improved has his balance he was even bending to reach his ball and righting himself to standing again with not so much as a waver - he can throw it, too, without losing his proud stance.

It's still true he prefers to bend and use his hands as aids to "walk" forward, but he definitely tried a number of times to move ahead unassisted.

He still has some time to go before Momma's arms will be baby-free for a short while before filling once again with Baby Penguin, but we're excited for our growing man. And if you could see the grin of pride on his tiny face with each moment of independence, you'd be pretty excited for him, too.

Of All Three of Them

2011-10-20T20:09:00.000-05:00

All of my precious babies have updates today - what a day!

Micaiah: We're on three days in a row where our little girl has consistently not only used the potty, but did so after telling us she needed to! And we've only had one wet pull-up in about four days (not counting sleep times)! Rejoice!

Emmett: As I tinkered on my laptop this evening, I noticed him watching me out of the corner of his eye and saw the most proud smile on his face, as if to say, "Are you seeing this?" And that's when I realized, seeing my son standing up with a toy in his hands - not touching anything else - is not a normal sight! I quickly applauded him and he finally gave his legs a rest by leaning forward on the ottoman. But he spent the rest of the evening standing for a second or two before dropping again and starting over. Yay!

Baby Penguin: Apparently he/she has experienced a growth spurt in the last month, according to the midwives, as they measured the size of my expanding mid-section. Meanwhile, this growth spurt has apparently not affected me negatively as I've actually dropped a pound in the same amount of time. That'll teach those midwives to ask me with a wary eye what I've been eating. (Please note, despite the smug nature of my previous statement, I am, in fact, eating, very much, just not more than I need and not tons of things I shouldn't be. Please don't be concerned for my health.)

Oh, and we'll end with proof of this growing baby:

Of Proper Training

2011-10-19T14:29:00.001-05:00

I'll admit, we were not very good at capitalizing on our daughter's need for clean at a young age. Though we occasionally remembered to ask her to clean up what she took out, we most often found ourselves facing a living room filled with toys after she went to bed and either cleaned them up ourselves or just left them out for the next day (after all, she was going to play with them again, anyway, right? - this was in our Messie stage). On the times when we asked, she was very good at putting things where we told her to (she was a neat freak after all), but without consistent training she fell away from the habit.

Now putting toys away at nap/bedtime is a chore for everyone.

Everyone but Emmett. It turns out, our decision to be more persistent about picking up now that Micaiah is of the responsible age has had more impact on him than his elder sister - who still acts like she's not sure what we mean when we use the all-encompassing term "toys" and must be told to intentionally notice and pick up each individual item ("Please put this doll where she needs to be," "Put your books away," etc.).

Which is why it's exciting to me when I'm helping Micaiah get up on the potty before naptime and I turn to Emmett to instruct him as he crawls toward us, "Emmett, please put the toys away" and he promptly does an about face, finds the nearest toy, crawls to the drawer where it goes, pulls open the drawer and deposits the toy, then proceeds to do the same with all of the other play-things on the floor.

Our little man may not be able to string two words together himself, but he is amazing at following orders.

Train up a child in the way he should go . . .

Of Our Little Hound

2011-10-17T22:03:00.002-05:00

It's been awhile since we've played hide-and-seek as a family, but tonight, as Emmett finished his cinnamon-sugar topped piece of pie crust (a remainder from last week's chicken pot pie), Micaiah begged to continue the hiding game she and Daddy had started before dinner. Thus, we began many rounds of the game.

She has still not learned the fact that, as Philip puts it, "This is hide-and-seek, not Marco Polo!" She still responds when we search for her and expects us to do the same (though we are typically much less compliant). At one point, as she and I cowered in Mommy and Daddy's shower, she was just about to yell out to Daddy who still, unfairly, calls her name while seeking, but I stopped her just in time, "Shh! We have to be quiet! Don't answer Daddy!" The anticipation and sneakiness of it all was just too exciting for her as she let out the occasional squeal of joy. We were found out.

When it was our turn to seek out Daddy, we made the rounds in all the rooms to no avail. So while she kept searching, I decided to release the hound. Emmett had finished his pie crust by now and was eagerly watching our every move. I knew he had not only seen Daddy, but this little sucker could sniff out his Daddy within a 500-ft radius. Daddy is, after all, his favorite person. After wiping his hands and face, I set him on the ground and encouraged him to follow us back to the bedrooms as we continued our search.

"Come on! Let's go find Daddy!"

Our stubborn boy sat still, though, just between the living room and the entry hall. Finally he lifted his little arm to point toward the front door and said in a confused tone, "Daddy." Being that the entryway is where we had counted before beginning our search, we hadn't thought to look there, but knowing Daddy is a pretty sneaky guy, I decided to follow Little Man's leading. Sure enough, there was Philip, squeezed into the newly-cleared coat closet, where he'd apparently sneaked while we peered in bedroom closets, and had now been for the past five minutes.

That little boy is the best secret weapon ever.

Of Painting

2011-10-16T22:55:00.000-05:00

Friday night, after much anticipation on my part, I finally got around to trying out this recipe I found on Pinterest a few months ago:

Micaiah was also very intrigued as I gave her no information what I was doing, but, in her general interest to always know what Mom is up to in the kitchen, she kept a pretty close watch over the proceedings, confused over the fact that Momma was cooking neither food nor drink. It was like 20 questions and Mommy was not cooperating.

By the end of the day, these six jars just made me happy inside every time I saw them:

So, having still not told our daughter of our big plans, it was a great motivator to get her to finish her nachos last night for dinner when we announced, "But when you're done, we're going to paint - with our fingers!"

"'Pink' [this is how she pronounces the word - so cute] our fingers! And I get a brush?!" she asks excitedly as she demonstrates painting her nails, an activity we have not done in some time, but she loves all the same.

"Well, no, we're not painting our fingers, and we're not using our brushes. We'll use our fingers to paint on paper!" At this point I realize we may have done things backward when our daughter is quite adept with paint and a brush and yet is baffled with the concept of finger paints. But anything involving paint is a good thing for her, so she's all set to finish those nachos.

"I want green paint!" This is what we hear non-stop for the entire process of spreading newspaper and preparing palettes on paper plates. Surprisingly enough, from a girl who doesn't always name her colors correctly, she actually reaches for the green paint first. Go figure.

And the rest of the rainbow follows quickly after. She may not have understood at first, but she is loving this!

Emmett, though, is still having difficulty with the concept. Though Mom repeatedly dips her finger in color and smears on his canvas of brown packing paper, he still insists the best place for the paint is his mouth.

Not wanting to encourage him, but curious as this corn starch/sugar/salt combo seems to be quite delectable to our little man, I sneak in a small taste, too - not too bad, actually. It's at this point I remember corn starch is a primary ingredient for home-made pudding. I have essentially made our son a plate of very vibrantly-hued pudding. So, whatever. I tried to take the plate away after he finished orange and yellow, but he was so darn disappointed and it really wasn't that bad for him, so I let him finish. He never did do any painting (other than of his lips).

Micaiah finds this all very strange.

"All done!"

Meanwhile, Micaiah has run out of brown paper and turns to Mom's method, just using the palette as the canvas - we're all about re-purposing in this household.

Overall, a rather fun evening and, I think our kids would agree, not a bad way to spend a half hour. But we might wait to give Emmett his own paint again for awhile.

Of Creeping Me Out

2011-10-15T15:47:00.001-05:00

One of Philip's three goals for this weekend was to clean out his closet. I had thought I might join him in his Saturday afternoon ambition, so I headed in the direction of my closet. I took one step in, made a sweeping look around, and walked away. Well, let me re-phrase that because I feel I implied there was room to step into my closet. I stood on the threshold, rather, took one sweeping glance, and turned around to walk away.

A ~~more lazy~~ better use of my time, I decided, would be to grab the plastic purple treasure box I've had since elementary school (it came with a box of Crayolas - so awesome) in which I keep my pennies. I toted the nearly-full box with me back from my parents' house in June and have planned to cash them in, but have yet to do so. And one of my many useless enjoyments in life is counting change, so even though there is no point, as the machine at the bank will do it for me, I settled down to count out my pennies - just to see what kind of hidden treasure we would find.

Making conversation, I pondered to Philip, "I bet I have $10 in here. What do you think?"

In his wordy, yet manly, way, he responded, "Yep."

"Seriously? You're not even going to throw me a guess?"

Exasperated, though mildly amused by his adorably childish wife, he tossed out, "$7.63."

Satisfied he was at least pretending to play along, I began to dole out the change - creating stacks of ten pennies each, lined up in groups of ten. After about the first twenty cents, I was beginning to believe I may have overshot a little bit. He might be a tad closer - darn it.

I weeded out the dimes (they didn't count in my mind) and the one wheat penny we won't be cashing in.

After six dollars, I was beginning to see my husband was most likely going to win this silly game (of which I was the only one who cared). After seven dollars I was beginning to get a little freaked out. There was clearly not an entire dollar left in my diminished pile - he probably wasn't going to be exact, but he'd be darn close.

With each stack of ten, I began to giggle a bit more, piquing Philip's interest. "What?"

"I'm at $7.50," I announced as we both eyed the meager pile of pennies remaining.

"But it's still probably not exactly $7.63," he doubted.

I counted out the final ten-stack.

Here was my finished product:

This man creeps me out.

This is the same man who, when playing Loaded Questions with 11 other people, half of whom were virtual strangers, he correctly matched each person (something that never happens in that game, especially with so many people) on the amount of time we all spend in the bathroom on average.

Creeps me out.

But I tell you what, I'm taking him to every "Guess the number of marbles in the jar" game I can find from here on out. Either that, or he's getting a job as a Carney guessing weights and birthdays. We're definitely marketing this talent.

PS When you count the silver coins (which I had never intended to do, so it still doesn't really matter), I had $9.98 - I was only two cents off. Not nearly as impressive, but makes me feel a little better about myself, so let me hold onto it.

Of Matching

2011-10-14T23:44:00.001-05:00

Today, as I was trying to herd my children to naptime, Micaiah became very excited about a reference I made to her Potty Book - so excited, she ran to retrieve it right away, despite my protests.

Because she seemed very eager to show me something in particular, I relented and gave her my full attention. Quickly she flipped the pages to a scene depicting the potty animals on the bus. After pointing to the tiger on the bus, she then directed my attention to the cars in the background, where a silhouette of a tiger family driving their cartoon sedan down the highway could be seen.

"That's his baby and that's his Daddy and that's his son," she said with much excitement.

Likewise, the showed me the rabbit and his family in yet another drawn vehicle - "That's his parents and that's his Dad and that's his baby."

The simple fact that our daughter had examined this picture closely enough to match the animals to their much smaller and less-highlighted counterparts in the background of the picture, found them to go together and named them as a family is remarkable to me. And, what's more, she knew it was a remarkable discovery and had to share her revelation with her mommy.

That girl is just too smart.

Of Getting There

2011-10-13T21:09:00.001-05:00

I have good news! After months of putting books in Accession Number order (which probably means nothing to you and, in reality, means nothing as far as the library goes, as the books will still have to be re-organized according to call number), I am done with that step of the process! Done!

Woohoo!

Now, after fixing in the computer all the erroneous information I found while re-organizing (which are mainly due to my learn-as-I go technique of library management), I will actually be able to put spine labels on the books, which will allow for further re-organization and . . . finally . . . an open church library!!!!

Praying that all of this can happen while I'm still able to move around comfortably and before a certain little baby enters the world and occupies the majority of my time for a season.

Of My Blessings

2011-10-12T21:42:00.000-05:00

On days like today, when I want to spend all day annoyed with my son for his silly tantrum that made me abandon my work in the church library to save everyone's ears, and then he turns around and does something cute - which totally does not get him off the hook, though it helps - or when Micaiah uses naptime to spread sunscreen all over herself and then lies about it, even though she smells like the beach and a contraband tube is on the floor in her favorite hiding place, it's a good idea to focus on the things my children do well.

Like when Emmett helps put away the toys just as I ask - even his favorite glowing, spiky, bouncy balls - so he can go take a nap.

Or when he gives his sister her toys back when I remind him to share.

Or how happy he is at diaper changing time - even if his lightning fast leg kicks make changing a challenge.

Or Micaiah, when she runs to the potty all on her own, getting her seat situated because she has to go (even when that means leaving behind her favorite toy - the iPad - so she can do her business).

Or how she has actually been eating her meals lately without much fuss - even the meat at which she typically turns up her nose.

Even in the frustrating moments, I recognize the blessing I have in my children. So grateful to call them mine.

Of Getting it Done

2011-10-10T22:06:00.000-05:00

Slowly but surely I am sticking to my commitment to check off my lists - both the mundane and the memorable.

I realized, as the cleaning list is rather long and somewhat cumbersome, I needed to stop avoiding it and take advantage of these fall days. So, as the sun peeked out from the clouds today, I was inspired to see that sunshine more clearly through our clouded windows, the ones which have never seen the likes of a washrag or glass cleaner. Today was makeover day and they sure do polish up nicely. Of course, it was easier to get to some of them thanks to the destructive nature of the canine claws in our backyard and our subsequent lack of screens.

Sadly, however, due to an issue of dead shrubbery adorning the front bedroom windows, with which I did not want to tangle, and a rather formidable spider web (with equally formidable resident) spanning the width of the side bedroom windows, those were largely walked away from - which I figure is just as well for the time being, as those blinds are never opened anyway. The unfortunate part of this is that there is still a certain tiny check-box with no happy check indicating the completeness of the activity.

But at least sunlight now permeates the primary living areas of our home with a greater clarity than ever before. I consider that a win.

And to reward myself for my hard work, I decided our family would be taking a "Nature Walk" after dinner. However, being under-ambitious, living in the suburbs, and parenting two children, ages three and under, who cannot tell the difference between a small patch of grass with trees bordering a nearby creek or Yellowstone National Park, we opted to stroll on down to the said small patch of grass at the bottom of our street, admiring the fallen foliage and damp-grass smell of our recent rainfall to the point just before wandering across the creek into Private Property. And the forest was just dense enough to cause Micaiah to declare, "This is scary! Let's go home!"

Nature Walk. Check.

We'll have our bucket list wiped out before you know it!

Of Pumpkin

2011-10-09T21:30:00.001-05:00

It was only a year or so ago I first opened my distinguished palate to the fine flavors of pumpkin - in any form. Thus, having missed out on this autumn wonder for so many years of my life, I have made it my mission this fall to discover all the wonderful forms of pumpkin I can find.

And Pinterest is aiding me in my glorious task.

This weekend, as we had company in the house to aid in the consumption of any pumpkin endeavors, I undertook my first project: Pumpkin Cookies. And boy was I a fan. Although the sugar-overload of the icing does not allow me to enjoy more than one tiny cake-like cookie at a time, I'm definitely appreciating these little wonders.

I was also able to recently partake of Sonic's Pumpkin Pie Shake, so giddy to finally share in the joy so many others have expressed this time of year when restaurants begin to break out the seasonal fare. And if that shake is any indication of what I have been missing out on, I am so ready for more.

Bring on the pumpkin!

Of Babies (and Boys)

2011-10-06T22:52:00.000-05:00

Of Emmett's expanding vocabulary, his current three favorite words are: "Hi!", "Daddy" (which is somewhat universal for both Mommy and Daddy - it's basically his way of saying, "Hey, you're an adult I know and love!"), and "Baby." Of the three, while hearing him proclaim, "Daddy!" at the end of every work day when Philip walks through the garage door is pretty special, I find the most precious to be his newfound love for "babies" - which are any and all stuffed animals and dolls (of which there are many in this home).

When we find him in his crib snuggling his Build-a-Bear, basketball-playing, monkey, he'll hold it out and say, "Babeee!" (he always draws out the last syllable - it's absolutely adorable).

When he found in the kitchen the tiny McDonald's toy of a little girl dressed as the Big Bad Wolf (dressed as Grandma - it's a very confusing toy), he pointed to it excitedly and said, "Babeee!"

And when he was cruising around the living room on their push and ride truck, he stopped to retrieve from the floor his sister's handmade rag doll from Grandma Veta and declared, "Babeee!" while he hugged her, held her out to see her again, and hugged her once more.

Tonight, after we cleaned the kids' rooms for Grandma and Grandpa's impending arrival, he was coveting his sister's Glo-Worm which she was carrying everywhere, so I asked Daddy to retrieve my old bald-headed Cabbage Patch doll (it was a "Baby" Cabbage Patch Doll - it was meant to be bald - I'm not that destructive!) from Micaiah's bed - she was not giving that baby the correct amount of loving and, besides, it was wearing one of Emmett's own newborn onesies - it was like the pair were meant to be.

And sure enough, he was so happy to have his very own baby. He pulled his baby up with him to sit on the futon and patted the space next to him where Momma sits for story time. Thus, he hugged his baby all during their bedtime story and carried it off to bed with him when it was time.

Clearly he's learning to be such a great Daddy from the wonderful example provided for him in our family.

I'm just hoping this loving tenderness for babies holds for a couple more months, so he can greet his real life Baby brother or sister with the same amount of affection he shares with Sissie's dolls. Fingers crossed!

Of Lunar Companionship

2011-10-05T22:26:00.002-05:00

Micaiah was so proud of her coloring sheet from Awana this evening, depicting the carrots God made when He created all the vegetables, she would not allow me to put it in her tiny Puggles backpack, as she would rather grasp it in her own two hands.

Holding tightly to her carrots, she peered out the window, where it was "very, very dark" and searched for the moon, which she excitedly kept an eye on the entire way home, as it was "coming with us!"

As she bounded out of the car upon arriving home, she announced with much enthusiasm, "I want to show the moon my carrots!"

And, thus, she rushed out to the driveway, far enough to see the half-moon lingering over our home and proudly held her orange-scribbled paper as high as her tiny arms could reach, shouting, "Look, Moon! See my carrots?!" She held it there for a full minute, allowing the moon to fully soak in the wonder of her artwork.

It was possibly the sweetest thing I have ever seen in my life.

Of Standing on His Own Two Feet

2011-10-04T22:59:00.003-05:00

For awhile now, it has seemed Emmett has wanted to initiate a standing position in the middle of the room. I would catch him pulling up to his feet, but leaning forward on his hands, and then, suddenly remembering he doesn't know how to do that, he would often move on with his life.

Apparently, though, it was the wood floors that scared him (and who can blame a banana-skinned little boy like himself?), because tonight he found in the hallway the changing pad that has been waiting to join the garage sale pile (which the children actually commandeered yesterday as their rowboat, with Micaiah captain, of course) and decided the padding on that would work nicely for his standing practice. And he went to town.

Multiple times, he would hike his little haunches up in the air, knees bent, and tentatively release his hands from the floor, reminding me of a little surfer catching his carpeted wave. Occasionally he would make it to a full upright before toppling over, but mostly he lost his balance while still squatting. But progress is progress and for each moment his hands were not making contact with his makeshift tumbling mat he earned a great deal of applause from his captive audience of Mommy and Daddy. And he loved it.

Mommy is particularly excited because standing on his own is the final step before those big first steps. And I (and this growing belly) cannot wait to have a walking boy in this house*!

*Please don't remind me of these words when he is running like a madman through this living room and I am begging for him to slow down so Mommy can just catch up. That would just be rude.

Of Checking Them Off

2011-10-03T09:59:00.001-05:00

I know I am not alone in this, but I have a confession to make: I love checklists.

A dear friend of mine always teases about herself that you know it's bad when you add something to do your "To Do" list after you've done it, just so you can feel good checking it off. Yeah, done that.

So, when I find checklists created by someone else, that I didn't have to put thought into but still puts a little fire under my widening behind to get some things done, I fall in love. And, via my favorite blog, A Holy Experience, I have found two wonderful checklists for the fall: one to inspire a little family fun, and one to inspire us to get some work done. Hopefully we'll strike a nice balance and still be able to check 80% off each list (a noble goal, I think, especially when you consider there's no way this house is getting pressure-washed).

I hope to blog about some of it, but either way, I encourage you to download (or create) your own checklists and take a little control of your time!

Of a Tender Heart

2011-10-01T20:41:00.001-05:00

I love Micaiah's sweet heart. She can be having the crummiest day attitude-wise, but the minute she hears someone isn't feeling up to par, she's there to make them feel right.

The other day, as we got home from a day of working in the church library, a task this pregnant body is finding more and more difficult with each passing day, I sat for a moment in the car after pulling into the garage, just to catch my breath. Concerned I wasn't moving to eject her or her brother from their respective seats, Micaiah asked, "Mommy, you alright?"

"Well, the baby is hurting right now" I explained as I rubbed a sore spot on my expanding belly. This explanation, though sad to her, seemed to make sense as she confirmed, "Oh, your tummy hurt?"

Later, after lunch, as I released her from the booster seat, she asked, "Mommy, you okay?"

Feeling just fine, and forgetting our conversation from earlier, I answered, "Yeah, I'm okay; are you okay?"

"Yeah, your penguin not hurting anymore?"

Man, that girl is the greatest.

Then, this evening, as Daddy spent the day away, having valuable guy-time, a second-trimester morning (aka evening) sickness was hitting me. Trying my best to bear through the day when I could barely move off the couch, the kids spent a lot of time in front of the television. At one point, she turned to me, hoping to cuddle with mama - something I would have loved, if the squirminess of a three-year-old wouldn't send me over the edge. Sadly, I had to decline. It took her awhile to understand, which just broke my heart as she asked in as many ways as she could think of. Finally, I started to cry.

"Mommy, are you sad?"

"Yes, baby, because I want to spend time with you, I just can't."

I covered my eyes to compose myself and when I re-opened them, she had vanished. Emmett sat slapping and squawking in my face (thanks for the empathy, buddy), but his sister had disappeared. Seconds later she re-appeared with the blanket from her bed.

"Here you go, Mommy," she said tenderly as she spread the covering over me in an attempt to ease my sorrows.

I will ever be grateful for my little girl.

Of Taking Steps

2011-09-29T20:02:00.000-05:00

Over the past couple of days, the burden of the tiny being growing inside of me has begun to take its toll on my body. Already simple tasks are becoming more difficult. Bending compresses the little one inside and I feel it immensely - so I already (at slightly past halfway to the goal) have begun to avoid this motion to the best of my ability.

This shift has led to a sudden urge for my baby boy to learn to walk - finally. I lament over the fact that by this point in his sister's life she had just begun to run from room to room, while he has yet to take his first timid step on his own. I am not sure how much longer this bulging belly will allow me to bear the weight of a toddler-sized child in addition to a growing fetus.

Thus, walking practice has begun in earnest in our home. And Emmett actually seems to be enjoying it. He takes pride in hiding his tiny hands in ours and boldly, yet confidently, taking one stiff-legged step after another. He may not be able to even hold his own weight on his two legs, yet, but at least he's showing interest in upward motion.

It's all about the baby steps. Literally.

Of Emmett's Game

2011-09-28T16:04:00.001-05:00

Every day when I change Emmett's diaper, he has a favorite game he plays.

Each morning, I will remove his pajama bottoms and drape them from the bar on the end of his changing table* until I need them again.

And each morning, Emmett watches carefully for me to release his clothing on the table, at which point his little monkey feet grasp the pants to pull them up to his hands where he happily pitches them over the side, either into his crib on his left or on top of the trash can to his right, wherever Mom is doing a worse job of goaltending.

The first couple of times he did this, I thought it might be an accident - as though he felt something at his feet, wanted to see what it was and then thought it wasn't very interesting, so he tossed it aside. And this may have been how it started, but now it is definitely deliberate. And he will monkey anything on the end of that table into his little grubby hands - a burp cloth, the clean diaper that is waiting for his tushy, his shirt for the day - whatever. And each item gets tossed happily out of Mommy's easy reach.

Despite the number of times he has been swatted for this very same behavior, he seems to find even more delight in our game each day. In fact, this afternoon, before nap time, as his tiny feet grasped for his jeans, there was a devilish little grin on his face and a very mischievous chuckle.

Yes, he definitely enjoys his antics. At least he's amusing someone.

PS I have, actually tried, holding the clothing tight under my arm while I work on the diaper, at which point he tries with all his might to tug them out with his hands. No one ever said this boy wasn't determined.

*For those visual folks who need help forming a mental picture, this is what his changing table looks like, including the fun little bar at the end from whence his clothing hangs, which is the source of all my son's amusement.

Of Morning Troubles

2011-09-27T08:49:00.000-05:00

Look at me, blogging so blasted early in the morning. Those of you (as in, most of you) who read my blog haven't even read last night's entry, and here I am throwing another one at you, typing at a time that only I would consider unnaturally early (as in this is just about the time I'm usually rolling over, looking at the video monitor, wishing silently I won't see any children moving and then telling myself they'll be okay for another couple of minutes because I still need that extra five minutes [at least] for my brain to open up and decide to really get out of bed).

Yes, I'm lazy. I know this. Get over it.

This morning, however, I was wrenched awake by a sound through that very monitor of a gag followed by a choke. I was almost sure it was Emmett and continued listening for further sounds (such as the small coughing that followed) to indicate he was okay - I had almost satisfied myself through sound alone that it was just saliva when the good parent in me decided I should actually look at the monitor to be sure my babies did not need my assistance.

The screen flashed to a view of Micaiah's room just in time for me to see her place her tiny ear against her bedroom door, listening for any signs of life to indicate she could effectively knock on her door and receive a response (her favorite method of getting out of her room lately). Then, after a brief flash over to the non-movement in brother's room, where he was sleeping serenely, I saw her once again, wander back to her bed and simply stand there, staring, as though she was not sure what to do with it.

Uh oh, I thought, it must have been her I heard and there must be a mess to clean up. Yippee.

Pulling all my pre-8am gumption (as in none), I hurried to her room, where she introduced me to the puddle, yes puddle, of urine on her bed.

Now, let's remember, my brain is not functioning properly yet (it hadn't had it's five minutes to open up) and my eyelids are still at half-mast. I slowly begin to process through this. She was wearing a diaper. And, yet, she has a puddle. What kind of diapers does she have? Were they really so low quality she soaked through an entire puddle? Wait, no, they were Huggies. We like Huggies. So, how . . .?

And then she lifted her nightgown, without my even asking, and I saw underwear. And the mental processing continued. Oh no, Philip forgot to put her in a diaper last night, this would be where the puddle came from. No, wait, those are not the same underwear she was wearing yesterday. And they're inside out . . .

And just as I realized that, she answered my unasked question, "I break my diaper and I put on underwear." At which point she pointed to her right and, sure enough, laying in front of her door was a half-torn diaper just laying there (or, what I mean to say is, it was in some dark corner I would never have seen because there is no way her room is cluttered enough that I would not notice a half-open diaper laying right in front of the door). And all the pieces started to come together. Yet my brain was still not comprehending.

Because something about it being not 8am made me think that I had to understand my daughter's mental processes before we could move on. So what followed was a series of questions like, "Why did you take off your diaper?" to which I received three-year-old responses like, "Because, I take it off and it over there."

More confusion, furrowed brow, "But why did you take it off?"

"Um, because I break it and take it off."

Clearly we were getting nowhere. Someday I'll understand three-year-old logic.

For now I have to settle with repeating myself over and over. "We only put on underwear if we're going to use the potty when we need to - not if we're going to potty in our beds."

"Ok. Is it breakfast time?"

Sigh.

Of Anticipation

2011-09-26T20:28:00.000-05:00

I don't know if it was a result of posting about my baby struggles or not, but this morning I woke up and realized it was the first time this entire pregnancy I was actually looking forward to the arrival of Baby Penguin. Not to say it was the first time I was happy about our third little blessing, but the first time I remember feeling anticipatory. As though I couldn't wait for February to come and for little one to make his or her entrance into the world.

I'm looking forward to the contractions - yes, I like contractions (and if you dare to remind me of this statement as I am in the throes of labor, you will be risking your own life - be warned). I like the feeling that my body is doing exactly what it should and that it can handle this process. And I almost can't wait for the day. Woohoo!

Of course, I know the dangers of wishing away time, so I will not do so. I know there are many wonderful memories to be made among the four of us while we wait for the newest member of our budding family and I do not wish those moments to hurry. But neither am I wishing time would slow down too much.

Hi, there, Little One kicking my belly, I'm your Mommy and I can't wait to meet you!

Of Struggling

2011-09-25T21:26:00.000-05:00

I have been putting off writing this post for some time now because I recognize there are many out there (both those non-Christian and also many Christians, including those I know and respect) who may not agree with me. And as previously discussed, rocking the boat scares me. But as this blog serves as a journal-of-sorts for me, I feel it important to share a recent struggle I had with God.

About a month or two ago, I stood in church, attempting to offer worship through song - a particularly favorite method of mine - but finding myself unable to truly connect with the words. If I was entirely honest with myself, I had felt this way for a number of weeks. It was as though I no longer believed the words and my faith was slipping overall. And I did not know why.

Longing to find the source for these feelings, I thought perhaps I could trace them back to when I first began in my unbelief. I initially thought I would never be able to pinpoint an exact moment, but almost instantaneously, it popped into my head: the moment I found out I was pregnant.

And then I got scared. How could I admit this to anyone without sounding like a horrible mother? One was supposed to rejoice in pregnancy, especially considering I never wanted to stop with just two children - so a third should not have been so faith-shattering. And, yet, for weeks I had been hiding behind a facade. I wanted this child, definitely, but just not so soon after the previous one. Having a positive pregnancy test the day after Emmett's first birthday would not be how I would have planned it.

This is where my faith comes in. And herein lies the controversy.

When Micaiah was only three months old, we acted on something I had been feeling for a long time. We stepped out of the realm of birth control and into the idea of completely trusting God to open and close my womb according to His will. It was a little scary, to be honest, but my argument for birth control was always, "If God really wants us to have a baby, He can do it - birth control or not. So, we're not really trying to stop Him." And I realized, if that was how I truly felt, why was I taking a pill every day? To give ourselves a warm fuzzy feeling of control? Because control is definitely my idol.

Thus, we gave it up. We gave up the control we tried so desperately to cling to and we handed over the responsibility of planning our family to the One we knew could truly be trusted to do it right.

I know this is not always a popular topic and I do not wish to open a can of worms. I do not look down on others who have not made the same decision, because I truly do feel as though it is a personal conviction. Like I said, control is kind of an issue of mine, so I really felt God was calling me to give it up. But it may not be your issue and it may not be your calling. That's not between me and you, that's between us and God. It is truly my desire that none read this blog as my saying I know the one right way of planning families - because that would just not be true.

But as I said, this is the path we have chosen. And I truly trusted that God would honor that. What I did not realize was that my belief that "God would honor our decision" was my telling myself that He would continue to give us children on our preferred timetable. I did not (and do not) want 18 children (or even close). I did not (and do not) want to be pregnant for the rest of my child-bearing years. And I told myself that God knows that and, thus, He would follow my plans - as a reward for trusting Him.

Funny how that's not how He works.

Thus, that positive pregnancy test scared me. Not because I did not (or do not) want this particular baby, but because of what I felt it represented for our future. This baby was coming earlier than I wanted. And if this pattern were to continue, we'd have a dozen kids before we knew it. What was going on? What was God doing? I had trusted Him. And now I was not so sure that was the wise thing to do. Could He really be trusted?

And this was where everything I thought I knew about God began to crumble.

I feared what others would think - that we were being irresponsible or just plain stupid. And it's true - the first question we received from almost everyone was, "Was this planned?" Because it is a common belief in our culture that planning our families is what the responsible adult does. Were we being irresponsible?

So there I was that Sunday morning a month into my knowledge that a baby was on its way, ready or not, crushed by the reality that I no longer trusted God, because it felt like He had failed me. I was scared of Him and did not know if His plan was truly what I wanted.

And, yes, it's scary to be that honest with so many people (though I can probably rest assured that this post is too lengthy for the average reader and no one will have made it this far - whew! ;) ).

The amazing thing, though, is that like so many recovery programs tout, the first step to overcoming a problem is recognizing you have one. And this was the place I found myself that Sunday morning - acknowledging my problem. And simply being able to name my fear and proclaim it back, in full honesty, to God was a breath of relief in itself.

Over the next days and weeks, as I talked to my husband and read through Scripture, I began to fully understand what I had always been taught. God's ways are not our ways. Though this timeline is not what I would have planned, I know we will be blessed through this child and whatever else God chooses to give us along this path called life. Giving control to God did not mean I should expect Him to work as I demanded - that was counter-intuitive. Though I had physically given Him control, I had not done so mentally or emotionally.

And, yet, what has my control of my life ever produced other than bitterness, anger, rivalry, jealousy and, well, everything falling apart? And what has a history of following God's leading produced? Joy in unexpected outcomes, peace, friendship and love.

Why would I ever trust myself over Him?

Thus, here I am - still struggling occasionally, but definitely on the road to mending.

And this is what I know:

God is faithful. God is forever. His love never fails. And I am grateful.

Of Our Little Postal Carrier

2011-09-24T21:41:00.000-05:00

One of Emmett's favorite activities is the daily checking of the mailbox with Daddy. This used to be Micaiah's job, but after awhile, she seemed less interested while his excitement grew, so while she still gets to join them if she puts on her shoes, Emmett is there rain, snow or sleet (alright, the snow or sleet hasn't been an issue yet and we may have to hold him back when it is, but it won't be his choice, trust me).

When he hears the garage door opening, to signal the arrival of his Daddy for lunch, I can quickly hear the slapping of his pudgy hands on the floor as he races over to the door to greet his "Ba-ba!" And as soon as he is in Daddy's arms, he points to the nearest door, demanding, "Ma!"

My favorite part, though, is when they return. Emmett always has at least one piece of mail in his hand, which he promptly hands over to me. Then, one by one, Daddy hands over the rest of the letters, catalogs and bills while Emmett passes them on to Mommy. Mail delivery is truly his calling.

Yesterday, while cleaning the dining room table, I came across a letter that needed to go into the mailbox, so, with other cluttered papers from the table still in my grasp, I hurried out to the box to stick the envelope in. Emmett watched and hurried to see what was going on. He arrived to the glass door just in time to see me returning with papers (the ones from the house) still in my hand. The world may as well have ended. Did Mommy really just check the mail without her little mailman?!

I tried my best to explain that Daddy was still going to come home soon and he would still get to check it, but I don't think the concept is within the one-year-old capacity of understanding. Poor thing. I was a traitor.

Don't worry, when Ba-ba got home, the world was right again and my little man proudly handed over our weekly K-Mart ad. Whew. Disaster averted.

Who won't be making that mistake again?