Of Submission

Our oldest two children were both sucking down bottled milk by the age of three weeks.  Of course, I nursed them as often as possible, but a Momma likes the freedom to go on a date, or a night with the girls, or an out-of-town retreat.  Or even just Sunday School.  Yes, sometimes a little time without my tiniest sidekick is treasured.

Which is why you might be able to understand my frustration with our youngest who had decided he was too cool to be seen with a bottle hanging out of his mouth.  Yes, it was mostly our fault.  While he took his formula bottles like a champ when he was only a week old because Mommy's Benadryl had kept him from getting his milk the natural way, as soon as that 24-hour window was closed, I rushed to get him back to Momma and stayed away from bottles for several weeks.

Thus, you can understand how he might be averse to the idea of sucking his milk through some rubber topper rather than the way he has grown accustomed to eating during the first two months of his life.  And since we didn't force the issue, it got to the point where he would simply rather not eat than take a bottle.

And now we have a problem.

Because Mommy still likes the freedom of not having to be attached to the little man at all times.  Mommy likes the freedom of expressed milk stored up in the freezer on the off-chance she can sucker a free baby-sitter into giving her and Daddy a night out of the house.  But when Baby refuses said milk, those frozen containers of liquid gold turn to stress - a stressful reminder that it's being stored for nothing, because this kid won't take it.

So, Philip and I came up with a plan - Joseph would be given a bottle at every meal until he learned to accept it as the same milk Mommy has, just in a different form of delivery.

Joey didn't like our plan.

So, after a heated discussion (because, let's face it, when your child has just spent a half hour denying his lunch and is now screaming his head off, no discussion is going to be pretty), I finally realized I was pushing to do things my way and ignoring my husband's ideas for how this process should be approached.  And when I realized how sad it was that I was not only not listening to my husband, but I was forcing him into something he didn't think was right, I relented.  I submitted, rather.

Though we were trying things Philip's way, I still knew Joey might not be too happy about the situation.  So, with much trepidation we approached his next meal.  I roused him from his nap so he could eat in time for evening church.  I placed the bottle in his mouth.

And he took it.

No questions asked (if he could, that is).  No crying.  No shaking of his head.

Just the blissful sound of a little baby boy sucking on his bottle.  Like it ain't no thang.

And then, just to prove it wasn't a fluke, he did it again for his next meal after that.

It would seem someone in this house simply needed a lesson in wifely submission.

Such a big boy - so proud!

1,000 Gifts:
426. Doing things God's way.
427. Eating shrimp in my own kitchen.
428. Free pizza.
429. An empty bottle.
430. Movie night.
431. Turning off the computers.
432. New friends.
433. Strawberries - lots and lots of strawberries.
434. Free plants.
435. Money back in my wallet.
436. Hard work for beautiful results.

Of Priorities

My children napped for two hours today.  All three of them.  In their own beds.

Well, one of them napped for two hours, the other two kept right on going.  And, honestly, this is not an entirely rare scenario for me (yes, I recognize how extremely blessed I am).

Now, typically when this happens, I either find innumerable stupid things that I think important at that moment to fill the time or I recognize this golden window and actually accomplish things - folding clothes, cleaning up the kitchen, making dinner.  Useful things.

But while going about trying to accomplish one of those useful things this afternoon, I found something I had printed for Micaiah over a month ago that I had meant to actually get ready for her so she could play with it.  I knew she'd love it.  But it was set aside, forgotten about, and, when remembered, set aside again, in favor of a million "useful" things.

Today, though, I realized I had nothing I would rather do than spend an hour cutting out cardstock cats that will probably be partially destroyed or lost in less than the time I put into them.  Yes, there is still unfolded laundry in the dryer and, yes, the kitchen counter still needs de-cluttering and, yes, the bathrooms still need cleaning.

But those fleeting moments in which my daughter will delight in cardstock cats are so much more precious than a clean kitchen that, let's face it, will be destroyed in less than the time I put into it.

1,000 Gifts:
419. Cardstock Cats
420. A little man that can decidedly hear - only two months old and already passing tests with flying colors.
421. Evening plans.
422. A negotiable budget.
423. A calendar filled - with things I want to do.
424. Knowing what's for dinner.
425. Cupcakes (with sprinkles!)


My Life: My Friends
There are many people I could have included in a picture here, but, really, my husband is my best friend.  And I love watching him bond with our children, who are also our friends (but not to the point that they get away with things, of course).

Of Thanks

I have, at times, what can be considered a thank-less job.  There are days when it seems no one notices the folded clothes that magically replaced themselves in their drawers when they weren't looking or the home-made snacks that miraculously appeared in the fridge while they were sleeping.  It can seem I spend my days on one task after another that are all just taken for granted.

Gratefully, though, I have my son.  The one who can talk.

There are moments when I may, in passing, pick up his spoon, of which he has so carelessly lost his grip, and casually place it on the table as I walk by, to which I am surprised to hear, "Dank oo, Mommy, my spoon."  Or the times when I ask him to clean up the toys scattered about and I stoop to help, receiving a polite, "Dank oo" when we're done.

Yes, there are occasions when I deliberately perform actions for which I expect my children to thank me, because they know they should - when they are given a snack or when they are kindly handed the cup for which they have been begging.  These are things for which we have taught them to express gratitude.

But the random acts of kindness which I think nothing of, the things I do because I'm mommy and that's what I do, these are the actions for which I am surprised to receive a verbal expression of thanks.

Surprised, but oh so grateful.

So, thank you, Emmett, for making my day a little less thank-less.

1,000 Gifts:
412. Smiles at 4:30am.
413. Being on-time.
414. Girl time at Bible Study.
415. Time to get things done.
416. Help with the purge.
417. A sweet sister laying next to her brother so he will hate tummy time a little less.
418. A tiny co-conspirator in teaching her brother to ask first.


My Life: My Book
After finishing the second book during an early morning feeding, I'm almost done with The Hunger Games trilogy!

Of Facing Fears

Tonight marks a milestone for our oldest son.

This boy hates getting his head wet.  Hates it.  He screams and writhes at bath-time as the water is poured over him.  I have often felt like I was bathing a cat in the way he yells and tries to claw his way out of the tub.

He also hates getting his haircut.  Hates it.  No matter what we put on the T.V. to distract him, or what snack is in front of him or what Daddy does to divert his attention from the scissors at his hair, he wails, wiggles and tries to get away (which, of course, only makes matters worse).

But tonight.

Tonight he sat patiently as Daddy washed his hair ever-so-gently.  Even more surprising, the little man picked up the cup himself, pouring water down his face, declaring, "I do it!" and giggling.  Giggling.

And then it was haircut time.  Though he wasn't quite so brave as to try to snag the scissors himself, there was an impressive lack of tears (except, understandably so, at the point when Mommy accidentally nicked his ear, drawing blood, even).  Overall, though, with marshmallows in his snack cup, Blue's Clues on the television and Daddy engaging him in conversation about all of the above, he remained relatively still (for a nearly-two-year-old) and quiet.

That's our tough man.  We're so proud.

1,000 Gifts:
406. Chicken jambalaya - which everyone loved!
407. Overheard on the monitor - "No, Emmett, don't get up there; Mommy will be mad!" - a big sister trying to keep her brother out of trouble
408. A fresh haircut
409. Non-stop smiles from the littlest.
410. Making handprints
411. Releasing captured insects into the wild.


My Life: My Favorite Outfit
I love my convertible dress (that I got for 80% off!).  Pregnant or no, it's my absolute fave!

Of Self-less Celebrating

Somewhere (I'm thanking blaming Dora), Micaiah has learned that Mother's Day is the next holiday after Easter and has, therefore, been asking me daily, "Is it Mother's Day today?!"  Every day I tell her, "Not yet, Baby."

I've informed Philip of her anticipation and suggested he make this Mother's Day super exciting - you know, because we don't want to disappoint the children.

I'm all about the children.

1,000 Gifts:
398. Popcorn
399. A polite daughter
400. Micaiah:"Emmett, tell Mommy you're sorry you play with the wipes." Emmett: "I dorry, Mommy."
401. A cooking partner
402. A healthy meal for my family
403. A tiny baby who just wants company.
404. A nap to refresh a mood.
405. Small group


My Life: My Sweet Tooth
These are the buttermilk pancakes and buttermilk syrup Philip made from scratch.  The syrup tasted like caramel - it was absolutely amazing.  Nothing like a little dessert for dinner.

My Happy Place
So, I'm kind of cheating because I can't really think of one place that is my happy place.  I'm happy wherever I have friends and family.  Thus, I'm presenting Joey's happy place - his swing.  Sure, he doesn't look happy, but I know he's smiling on the inside.  And, honestly, this kid could sit in here for hours (and sometimes does).

Of Colors

Why is it we are always amazed at how our children have developed?  I mean, I knew someday Emmett would know his colors.  And I know Micaiah has (mostly) known her colors for a long time.  So, logically, it should not be surprising to see he's already beginning to pick it up.

But when I'm playing Draw Something on my iPad while he sits in my lap and I hear him suddenly exclaim, "Black!" as a black line appears and then, even more impressive, "Two black!" as another black line appears, I cannot help but be in awe.

Interesting, though, that black and blue are the only two he can confidently recognize.  And if all else fails, every other color is "blue", too.

But he's getting there.


1,000 Gifts:
390. A productive naptime
391. Great garage sale finds
392. Helpful neighbors
393. My man representin' at Regionals.
394. A successful end to a long search
395. Egg hunts at dusk.
396. An outfit coordinated by Sissy (consisting of an American flag t-shirt, bright green froggie swim trunks and brown sandals - to go over his white socks)

 397. Joey, lovin' on his "lovey"

My Life: My Favorite Color
I have multiple favorites.  Last night I told my husband I liked silver and purple best.  And then I found this nightstand (with coordinating dresser) and remembered my deep love for turquoise.

Of Bread

As referenced previously, I have recently undertaken the task of being my family's sole bread provider.  And when I say that, I mean it literally - as in I'm the only one making bread for our family, not some factory somewhere (which has given a whole new appreciation for the invention of sliced bread, though I'm still good with slicing our own when I know what's been put in it).

My first accomplishment in regular bread making was a honey-wheat loaf with which my husband fell in love instantly - touting the wonders of this fresh bread straight from the warmth of our own oven.  He could eat it every day, he said, and he especially loved the idea of making sandwiches with his new wheat friend.  Yes, he was definitely infatuated with this bread.

But then . . .

After partaking of the deliciousness of some home-made Italian bread from church friends, I discovered my own recipe.  I had never before considered the possibility of creating Italian bread in my very own kitchen.  And it turns out the affection my man had for that wheat bread was nothing but pure puppy love.  His feelings for the Italian variety?  These run deep.

Suddenly old wheat is nothing to him, tossed aside for a younger, sleeker model.  When I recently mentioned I'd be making more bread, he eagerly asked which kind.  I noted we needed more for sandwiches, so I'd be making the wheat.  To which he replied, "Well, I like sandwiches on the other, too."

Yep, wheat might as well be chopped liver.

In noting my disdain at his so easily tossing aside what had previously been like heaven-on-earth for him, his response was, "You're lucky I haven't met any Italian girls."

And when, during our date this evening, he partook in the soft, fluffy variety of bread at a local Italian restaurant, he mentioned it was a good thing I didn't have a recipe for that or he might be just as fickle toward his newer passion.

What I'm really thinking is I'm lucky I'm not a loaf bread.


1,000 Gifts:
384. The thrill of the hunt.

385. Date night with my man.

386. Bed-time stories with my boys.

387. Friendship re-kindled.
388. A stranger who chooses to be gracious and forgiving rather than bitter and hostile.
389. Overwhelming options (especially when it comes to dessert).


My Life: My Breakfast
Special K (Fruit & Yogurt variety) and scrambled eggs - the breakfast of champions (or stay-at-home moms).