Day 30

My hopes and dreams for the future, or something like that. Well, I guess now would be a good time to tell you that after years of toying with the idea, I am taking this year (or, next year or SO, I should say) to get certified with DONA as a professional doula. It's something I've considered doing ever since Eli's birth, but until just recently I've felt that my own kids/fertility issues/pregnancies were enough baby stuff for one woman to handle!

I'm definitely ready for a hiatus from my own personal baby-making adventures for the time being, though, so I feel I could now be free to concentrate on others. And after being present at both my sister and my friend's births recently, it was really confirmed to me that the whole pregnancy/birth/baby thing is a topic for which I can summon endless enthusiasm and interest. I've never felt that way about anything else. I also had a good talk with one of Jess's midwives, who told me that she thought I was a natural doula, and that she felt one day I could even be a midwife or a childbirth educator.

While the idea of actually being the one responsible for delivering the baby still scares me profoundly, I think I could DO it. Birth fascinates me and doesn't disgust me in the least, and I think for the most part I stay pretty calm when I'm at a birth. And I would absolutely, unequivocally love to teach birthing classes someday; it's something I've felt our area is sadly lacking in anyways.

So, that's that. Totally ready to get started on the doula path, and open to more someday, if that seems to be where the path is leading! I still haven't purchased the DONA kit, because once you do you're on the clock to get finished. Since a big part of the training is a (long) weekend workshop, I want to wait until I know Jameson can be without me for two or three days before I go. You're allowed to bring nursing infants with you up to six months old, but even if he were still young enough, he is an active and vocal baby, and I'd feel bad about inflicting him on everyone else trying to listen! So I think I'll be waiting until November, when there's a workshop scheduled at a really cool birth/breastfeeding resource center in Ann Arbor. Once I confirm that in stone (i.e. drop a deposit) I'll go ahead and buy the DONA kit, and get started on my reading list and on trying to find a breastfeeding class around here to attend.

I'm so excited, I won't lie about that. It's certainly not a highly lucrative or glamorous career path, here, that of birth junkie, but it's something for which I feel a lot of passion, and I was starting to think I might never find that niche. That maybe I just didn't HAVE passion for anything useful, or possible. (Like, I totally have passion for drinking red wine and getting in long winded religious/ethical/sociological debates in the wee hours of the morning, but that's not really something anyone gets paid to do, as far as I know.)

Introspection and Whole Grains

Ugh. I just ate like half a box of Frosted Chocolate Mini Wheats. My gut hurts. Not as much as it will later, though! Fiber ahoy!

Er, anyWHAYS, I'm in a totally spaced-out mood today, so I don't think I'm up for finishing my thirty day blog challenge with a bang. I was supposed to write about hopes and dreams, I think? Right now all I can think of is, "I hope someday I don't feel so incredibly tired and unable to function right about this time every day." (I'm sure consuming all those carbs and sugars has nothing to do with it...)

I swear, every day, dinnertime is a surprise to me. Five o' clock rolls around and I'm all, "Wha...? We have to EAT again? And I have to plan it and cook it?" Whenever we go over to our neighbor's house she has her weekly meal plan on the fridge, with things like, "Italian subs and homemade coleslaw" on it, and I think about all the times I have tried and then inevitably abandoned various meal plans. Eventually they start to annoy and bore me, like any form of routine or structure (except bedtime, which feels more like FRANTICALLY DARTING OUT THE ESCAPE HATCH TOWARD FREEDOM time- hard to get tired of that.)

I dislike this particular character trait in myself, this extreme resistance to schedules, and I feel it makes me less of a parent sometimes. Yet here I am, closing in on twenty seven years, and I still struggle with it daily. I want to be spontaneous, to go with the flow, to follow my heart, ride off into the sunset etc etc etc unrealistic dreamer blah blah. Instead I wash sheets and I mop the floor and I give baths, and usually manage to do it all on a somewhat routine basis, but then there are fails, too, like this morning when it was breakfast time and our cupboards contained NONE of the following items: bread, cereal, crackers. And we're not on Atkins. Or there's the zillion times we're running late and I'm snapping at the kids to hurry HURRY HURRY! even as my inner voice whispers that it is way more my fault than theirs that we're behind schedule.

Sigh. Tomorrow I'll remember my strong suits. Today it seems I'll be eating my (newly purchased) cereal for dinner and pondering, yet again, how to do better.

I Do This Stuff So You Don't Have To

So everyone knows that awesome April Fool's prank of having a pregnant friend pee on the test for you, and then waving it at your husband all casually over dinner, right? And it's so hilarious when he has a mini heart attack, and then so amusing to watch his relief/fury when he finds out he's been had?

Well, it turns out it's less funny on the other end.

The other day I bought a pregnancy test, since I'm nursing and still don't have the Monthly Reassurance of NOT being pregnant. I just like to check in every now and then, since I've heard plenty of stories (including one from my neighbor, whose girls are fifteen months apart) of women thinking they were without a period because of breastfeeding when it turned out they were actually, like, three months pregnant. Surprise!

So, it was negative, all was well, I threw it away and moved on. Fast forward a few days, and I'm out in the garage looking for something when my eye spots the white pregnancy test stick on the floor, the last remains of a whole pile of garbage bags that got ripped into and torn apart by some very determined animal when we forgot to put the garage door down that night.

I picked it up to throw it away, and... it was positive. Very positive. And then I had an embolism and stood stock still in the garage for like five minutes while my head exploded.

I told Jim, and told my friend, and they were both all "Pfft. That test is days old! You're not supposed to regard results after ten minutes!" But... this same thing happened for DAYS when I was newly pregnant with Eli: I'd get a negative, but then hours later, I'd dig it out and it would have turned positive. I finally got a blood test to confirm that I was indeed in the family way, but the experience forever made me suspicious of so-called "false positives" and also compels me to keep all tests out for at least an hour or so even if they're initially negative.

So of course I went right back out and got another test, and of course it was negative, and seeing as how it's a near impossibility that I could have been pregnant anyways, I'm going to go ahead and believe it. But holy crap that scared me. So I guess maybe a few hours is all right for an extended test observation period, but I'm going to go ahead and say PLEASE don't dig days-old tests out and panic if they're positive. It must be a fluke.

(I know you're all saying, "But maybe you're pregnant!" However, I really don't think so. I have no symptoms. And here's a classic cautionary tale about reading tests past the ten minute window, while nursing, that confirms my feeling of NOT pregnant.)

More Yucky LOVE Stuff!

Ok, I have to do my Day 29 installment: a person I love. Um, I feel great pains about playing favorites in any way, so whoever did the last nice thing for me is going to win... Come on down to the front, Mom, you surprise bringer of Reese's peanut butter eggs, you!

Seriously, though, my mom is one of the nicest people I've ever met. She went so above and beyond when we were little, it was crazy: I don't even ATTEMPT to recreate my childhood for my kids, because I am just not that patient/creative/generous with my free time. Or maybe my kids are harder and I am more tired. We'll just say a little of both. :)

She home schooled my two younger sisters and me until high school, including all kinds of field trips and unit studies and vacations (well, Dad came on those too!) planned elaborate tea parties and birthday parties and Christmas-in-July parties and slumber parties with out friends, sewed us matching outfits (wait, maybe that was CRUEL...) made us clothes and food and furniture for our American Girl dolls, and searched yard sales and thrift stores for awesome prom and bridesmaid dresses to add to our dress up clothes box. She baked the best oatmeal raisin cookies every week, without ever looking at the recipe, which amazed me. The week we all had chicken pox she went to the library and rented every single musical they had so that we wouldn't get bored on the couch.

She used to load our bikes into the back of her station wagon and drive us to safe neighborhoods so we could learn to ride somewhere besides our own somewhat dangerous-traffic-area street. We went to the library every week and came home loaded with books, and Mom never even looked for herself, just helped us choose what WE wanted. She let us redecorate/rearrange/switch roommates in our bedrooms whenever we felt like it. On Saturday nights after our baths I remember her spending ages braiding our hair into many tiny little braids so that it would be wavy the next day for church, just like we wanted.

I don't think it even occurred to me until I was about ten or eleven that maybe Mom would like to have a life beyond taking care of us three 24/7. By the time I was in high school, I actually felt relief that she had gotten a job during our school hours... I was starting to feel guilty and worried that she had no mental outlet and that we might soon drive her slap out of her mind! She has worked outside the home ever since, but it has never altered her priorities: anytime we've needed anything as adults, she's still there in whatever capacity we need without a second thought. I can't even imagine how difficult my pregnancies would have been without her (and other family member's!) help. It amazes me to think that she handled three little girls (ages four and under!) as well as a stepdaughter without any help at all from family, and really without much familiarity regarding the sibling dynamic, since she'd grown up an only child.

So, thanks for the peanut butter eggs, Mom, and all the talks on all the road trips, and all the advise, and all the hugs, and all the times you've felt even worse for me than I felt for myself! It's pretty invaluable to know that no matter what, someone is ALWAYS on your side. Even if you're wrong.

Zero to Six- Pictoral

Home from the hospital


One month old- Halloween


Two months old


Three months old.


Four months old.


Five months old.


Six months old- you're blond now!

(And here's the traditional "letter to baby" bit. Feel free to skip!) (Also, could the lighting quality of these pictures be any WORSE? Geez, I need a photography class. Or a new camera.)

Jameson, you are six months old today. Actually, TODAY you are six months and one day. So I guess this is belated... sorry 'bout that. But I did wish you a happy half birthday yesterday, so I didn't forget! I was just too tired to write. Being too tired has been a recurring theme of the last six months. I feel like it has gone by SO FAST, just like my pregnancy with you, because I'm too busy to even think about things too much. I wake up, make coffee, blink, and then I'm putting you to bed again and the day is done (unlike my to-do list.)

This is why I am snuggling and holding you as much as I can when I get a chance, even at the expense of mopped floors and dusted bedrooms. I keep joking to people that it took THREE kids to put my perfectionist pangs about housekeeping to rest. It finally happened that there literally are not enough hours in the day to properly take care of and enjoy my kids AND keep the house as clean as I prefer it to be. Something has to give, and most days, I let it be the housecleaning. It bothers me a little, but not as much as I thought it would back when I was fretting about the hypothetical reality of three small kids. Instead of taking pride in my smudge-free glass, I now feel accomplished when all my kids have been bathed in the last two days. Oh, and when Jamie's little butt is so completely rash free that the doctor praises it at his six month check up (true story!)

You are developing right on track for six months, and are finally starting to somewhat enjoy the tastes of oatmeal cereal and applesauce we've been giving you at night for the last few weeks. You are still pretty much strictly breastfed, with the occasional bottle on nights when you have nursed me dry and are still grousing for more. My milk supply has not been fantastic, unfortunately, and it's taken a lot of work to keep it up, especially while you had your ear infections and weren't eating well. You're making it up for it now, though, eating two or three times a night again like a newborn!

At least you WANT to nurse again, so I'm fine with it, but I do wish you were a bit calmer while you eat. Instead you grunt and grab and pull at me as though by digging in your nails you might somehow force out the milk a little faster. You horrified your Aunt Laura the other day, who watched you eating/groping and grabbing at me like a drunk frat boy, and demanded, "What is he DOING to you?" You remind me of a piglet, actually, who thinks if he doesn't force his way in at the teat he won't get his turn. Kind of a... graphic visual, but it's a pretty close comparison. And maybe it's just a subconscious third child thing... you know you'll have to fight for your share eventually?

Whatever hardships there may be in your birth order, I think your siblings' devotion to you should make up for it. I had no idea how MUCH they would adore and dote on you. I thought, when we brought you home, that we would have to protect you from occasional aggression. Instead, we've had to be ever vigilant for too violent expressions of LOVE from Adelay and Eli, who would happily stand over you and kiss your head all day long if you didn't eventually tire of it and start whimpering. We've recently let you start playing in your jumperoo (of which you are a huge fan) and I have to constantly check to make sure one of your big sibs isn't trying to elicit a smile from you by "swinging" you wildly or "helping" you jump, aka giving you whiplash. They will do absolutely anything to make you laugh, even if it's borderline dangerous to you or themselves. Or my brain.

This sounds dumb considering that the last two months I've been getting up with you at least twice a night, but you actually are a good sleeper. Before you got sick back in January, you were sleeping five hour stretches at night, and that was at three months old. I really think if you hadn't dealt with TWO bouts of double ear infections, and then this subsequent hunger fest now that you're feeling well again, you would be a model sleeper. You always go down to bed pretty easily, in your own crib with your nightlight and ocean sounds and snug in your sleep sack. You suck your fingers (no more paci for you!) roll over to your side and fall asleep within minutes. BUT once you wake up you generally won't fall back asleep unless you're in my arms, so I guess we practice an odd mixture of separate bedrooms AND co-sleeping. Whatever works, I say. And truth be told, your habits suit me well, because while I have a hard time initially going to sleep with anyone else in bed near me, once I'm in that dreamy, half-awake state, I don't at all mind tucking a warm little bundle on my shoulder and drifting to sleep together with you, listening as our breathing patterns become identical. Our cosleeper, which got a lot of use for about two months, is used now as either a playpen, when I bother to take it to the living room, or, more often, as a clothes rack for sweaters and jeans.

You finally enjoy the carrier, so we go on lots of walks now when weather allows, me wearing you on my chest, holding the dog's leash in one hand and grabbing for stray older kids with the other. You're heavy enough that it's kind of a pain to try to do any actual housework while wearing you, though, so I give huge props to anyone who manages to vacuum or do dishes with a sixteen pound baby strapped to their chest. What IS easy is plopping you in your Bumbo to watch while I do chores, though. Nine times out of ten this is the go-to spot for you, keeping you happy when other options have failed. That ugly purple chair is like the infant equivalent of a La-Zee-Boy.

You really like baths, and only cry when being REMOVED from the water. You also unfortunately have pretty sensitive skin, with what I think is eczema right along your hairline, so I have to be diligent about the lotioning and creaming, and you mostly despise that process, despite the fact that if I skip it even one day you're rubbing and scratching miserably at your scaly red forehead. Clearly cause and effect is not something you're yet aware of. (P.S The lotion I use, which works wonderfully on his sensitive skin and seems to control the eczema, is Nature's Baby Organics. It's a body/face moisturizer with calendula oil and aloe, and it works WAY better than the Aveeno for eczema stuff that I was using. I also used it sometimes in place of diaper rash cream, and I swear it worked just as well if not better at helping heal the rash.)

You're a very happy baby most of the time, and your hearty little chuckle is my favorite sound in the world. When you're happy to see me, you curl around me in your best imitation of a hug, bury your head into my shoulder and nuzzle happily. Your kisses are simultaneously precious and kind of... damp: you give a squeal of glee, then lunge at my face and gum wildly on my cheeks as long as I'll let you before I have to pry you away and wipe the spit off my skin. The kids find this hysterical, obviously, and dance around shrieking, "He's eating you! The Jamie monster is eating you!" Other times you settle for less violent expressions of affections, and instead engage us in very lengthy and vehement conversations. I think you're going to be an early talker; you've got most of your basic "ba-la-da-ma" sounds down pat already.

Not sure if you're going to walk or even crawl anytime soon, though, and that is JUSTFINE with me. You despise tummy time, and have only rolled over a couple of times, though you get yourself to your side constantly. You just don't want to flop over, and I could care less. Infant mobility is never something that has thrilled me, frankly, and I don't understand why people get all het up about it. As far as I'm concerned, you'll walk someday, and everything in between that first curiosity about moving and actual, independent walking is just a mess of falls and baby proofing and your own frustration with wanting to do more than you're physically able. So I see no reason to force you into having an interest in being vertical before you're ready. I wouldn't mind your staying my sweet little lap baby for as long as you want! (Er, up to a point. Probably past age two or so I might be nudging you from the nest just a bit.)

Your sweet, chubby little baby face, complete with multiple chins (despite the fact that the rest of your body is on the thin side and you are only currently in the tenth to twentieth percentile for weight) is a constant source of delight to me. You in general are a constant source of delight to me, actually, and have been since the moment I laid eyes on you and pulled you to myself from the water. I've never told anyone this, but while I was still holding you in the birth pool, I whispered "Hello Isaac!" into your ear. I still wasn't sure what your name would be, and had a suspicion that Jim would choose Jameson. I was fine with it, and love that name and think it suits you wonderfully. But I knew that in my heart you would always have a second name, and I wanted to be the one to give it to you, to christen you with this very special name before any other was given. You are my promised child, and I was reminded of it all through your pregnancy, even when things seemed (several times) to be going wrong.

I remember the morning after I had started bleeding heavily, when I was just five weeks pregnant and certain I was losing or had already lost you. I called my friend Jess to let her know what was happening, and ask her to pray for my own emotions as I went to the doctor to confirm by ultrasound what I thought was surely another miscarriage. She promised she would, and we hung up. But then she called me back to tell me that she also asked Adam (her husband) to pray, and that he had, and then told her that he felt certain everything was fine and that I was still pregnant.

This sort of thing happened several other times throughout my pregnancy- something would seem wrong or problematic, but I would be reassured by my own heart or by the assurances of others (including my mom, who told me she had been looking for comfort in the Bible and turned randomly to find a passage about Sarah being promised a son even when it should have been impossible) that all was going to to be fine. Just little things, here and there, but by the end of the pregnancy I felt so certain that you, your very specific little self, were meant to be in our family (going all the way back to your conception, in fact, when Jim and I both felt that it was time to "try" even though we weren't technically supposed to yet) that I had named you Isaac, my promised child, and I was sure you would be all right. (Isaac is the name of Sarah's son in the Biblical account, fyi- according to the story she gives birth to him at the age of ninety.) I didn't even care if that was your name on paper or if it was what we called you or not, I just knew that it needed to be your name as well as whatever your given name ended up being.

Many cultures have a tradition of giving multiple names, sometimes at different, significant times in a person's life besides their birth. Often these names are chosen for their spiritual meaning, including the Catholic tradition of adopting a saint's name upon one's entry into a monastic life- and I think also this is a custom for some at confirmation? So this is a little different, this extra name of yours, and following no particular tradition other than my own inclination. But it is yours, my sweet Jamie James, along with all my love and hope. We're so very glad you came!

Love,
Mama

A Place I Love

Day 28... almost done! Now I can go back to having nothing specific to post about and publishing lists of bullet-point complaints!

One of my favorite places is our family's coffee house downtown. I don't want to link to it or say the name, because it would kind of advertise where I live and that's something I've tried to avoid doing. But it's basically one really cool, fun spot in an otherwise fairly blech downtown area that is slowly struggling to make something of itself after years of neglect.

How to describe our town? Just large enough to have many of the problems that you find in bigger metropolitan areas, particularly within the city itself, and JUST large enough to not have that cozy small town feel. People basically hang out on the fringes of the town itself, at the strip malls and in the suburbs, venturing within the city limits only to use the library or on occasion to attend an event at the civic center. Oh, or go to the doctor! We have two hospitals and more medical offices than a town our size could possibly need, it seems, and yet they just keep building more.

But eight years ago my sister in law decided she wanted to open a coffee shop, and that she wanted to put it downtown, of all places. Her husband and parents all got on board to make it happen, and her brother came to work there, too. Despite a lot of resistance and roadblocks, their renovated corner coffee shop finally opened in 2003.

In the fall of 2003, I was driving back from my job at a coffee shop a town away, a town I had been attending college in until various issues (my own complete lack of interest in any specific major being one of them) led me back home. I had to finish out the month at the coffee house I had already found work in, though, so I was now driving an hour one way to a job making minimum wage. I REALLY needed to find a different place. But the coffee house had spoiled me for other jobs (such as my previous place of employ, ye olde IHOP.)

And then I drove past Family's Coffee House (best pseudonym I could come up with in ten seconds) and randomly pulled in. I walked inside, looked around, thought "This will do!" and asked for an application. As it turned out, my brother in law, the manager, was there and interviewed me on the spot. I had stumbled upon the one place in my entire hometown wherein my newly acquired knowledge of how to make a real cappuccino was an asset.

A few weeks in, I met the daytime manager, a guy I hadn't previously encountered as I was working nights and weekends. He was training me on the cash register, and I was kind of annoyed because I thought he seemed gruff and too business like. I also noticed that he didn't seem to appreciate my careful makeup application or tight pants or red sweater, and since most guys (in those days) at least gave me a PASSING glance, thanks to my hours of preparation before leaving the house to go anywhere, I was slightly miffed.

...And about a month later we had out first kiss in an alley outside the restaurant. Less than a year later, we were married. Oh, and I finally allowed myself to leave the house without makeup or heels.

So the coffee house has a warm spot in my heart as the most fun place I ever worked AND the place where I met my husband. I genuinely like hanging out there, the food is delicious, and they have a toy and game corner with a kids' size table, so whenever I'm downtown for doctor's appointments (which is on average about once a week) I try to stop in and recover while the kids play. They also host cool concerts and events frequently, and each month they feature a local artist rather than having generic print art on the walls. It's my kids' favorite place to eat, and mine too, and it's also incidentally their food which I always demand after having babies. Why eat the hospital food when delicious wraps and salads and smoothies are available just a few blocks away?

So in conclusion, I wish to thank my SIl and the fates for deciding to open a coffee house in the perfect spot for me to drive by, wander in on a whim, and meet my future.

Day 27- A Child I Love

How about three that I love?

Day 26

How I Fail to Get Rid of a Vacuum Salesman

Today's topic is a funny, true story. This is one of the funniest things that ever happened- in RETROSPECT- to me in many years, so I'll just refer you to the post above.

A Favorite Photo- Day 25

This was taken during my seventh month of pregnancy with Eli. It was by far my least pleasant pregnancy and in general I would characterize my mood as being fairly depressed, but I remember this particular day feeling such a strong bond with my unborn son, and a glimpse of the reality that all the current unpleasantness and discomfort was so very worth it. This was a day I felt joy, and I still feel it when I look at this picture.

Random Fret

I am becoming reluctantly suspicious that we may have mold in the house somewhere. In fact, I know we had SOME, because it was visible in a corner of our bedroom ceiling, a corner that faces outdoors on both sides and is very very cold. ALso, we keep the heat really low in our room since we spend very little time in there, so I wasn't super surprised to see it creep up and I cleaned it with Lysol and it's gone. It was the garden variety type that appears in particular on the corners and edges of the white, newer type windows all winter long, the kind you just have to wipe away, and which the internets assure me is fairly harmless.

BUT. We have all been so lingeringly, stubbornly sick all winter with sinus-y issues and coughs, especially me and the baby (i.e. the only two who actually SLEEP in our bedroom, generally) that I am starting to think we should maybe have an inspection. I also worry about the bathroom area, because it doesn't have an exhaust fan (old house + two people not super inclined to do Projects beyond the kind requiring glue sticks and glitter) and I wonder if it's possible that somewhere behind that old plaster ceiling and walls there is just a hotbed of disgusting damp mold reeking havoc with our respiratory systems. If it were just me I'd probably continue to ignore it, as is my way, but since our kids are involved I feel a parental obligation to do something.

However, calling someone to investigate a suspected problem basically seems to me like TELLING them, "Feel free to claim there's a problem, whether there is or not, because I will never know the difference and now that you're here I will almost definitely whip out my checkbook and pay you whatever you require to save Mah Babies from this potential, unseen danger." You know?

Anyone have any suggestions of more concrete ways to feel at least Fairly Certain of mold, rather than just suspicious? Or stories of mold problems you know of that were happily resolved? Or stories of kind hearted contractors who came to check and then said, "Nope! All clear here; you guys must just have crap immune systems and will have this cold the rest of your lives!"

Day 24

A travel story! How 'bout one from this weekend?

So my middle sister moved somewhat recently, from Wisconsin to... a place considerably closer. A place one can drive to and back from in one day. But I still hadn't seen her apartment, since that all happened right around when I was busy having ANOTHER baby. And after that, I... well, I had that little baby. So I was busy. But since he is now at the age where I am comfortable and used to him and he can go three hours or so without starving to death, the kids and I went to see her this weekend, along with my mom, and my youngest sister, and HER baby.

So my mom's minivan was seriously packed to capacity. A little beyond, even, to be quite frank. Like, I was wedged in the very back seat between Addy and Eli's carseats, sitting sideways to keep my hips from going numb, and my feet were buried under a pile of diaper bags. Unrelated to space issues but in keeping with the general theme of "indignities suffered by Sarah during the road trip," I spent a good hour singing and doing hand motions to keep Baby Smith distracted so he didn't cough until he threw up, which is his fun new trick, about which the doctor is unconcerned but we are all a little alarmed.

Anyways, we had tried to leave early, and in that attempt I had sacrificed pouring bowls of cereal and instead we drove through The Devil's Own Lair and got hash browns and one of those cinnamon-bite things to feed the kids. They gobbled it all down, and then settled in to listen to me read them the books I had packed. And then, just as I was beginning to think, "Wow, I need to stop reading; I think I'm getting car sick," Adelay threw up every bit of food in her stomach. Right next to me and a little bit on me and a LOT bit all over her clothes and car seat. Apparently I just kept saying, "Oh!" over and over again because dudes, it just kept coming. I have never seen someone throw up for that long!

Unfortunately we were on a back country road and it took a few minutes to find a place to pull over. That place was of course the grossest, worst smelling gas station ever, and of course the barf had gotten on every article of Addy's clothes, which my mom painstakingly rinsed out, dismissing my protests of, "Oh seriously, can we just throw them AWAY?" Luckily I had brought her extra pants on the off chance she had an accident, so we put those on her, and then I took off my fleece jacket for her to wear, and we called ahead to Rachel to have her buy Addy a clean shirt.

Addy stayed remarkably chipper about the situation, and insisted she felt fine now that the "yucky hash brown" was out of her stomach. We offered to go home but she still wanted to see Aunt Rachel, so we headed out again after nursing both babies in the van and rearranging the car seats so that Addy could be in a captain's chair instead of on the back tire. (Which meant that Jameson, in his much wider carseat, was back there with Eli and me, and this was when I switched to riding ON MY KNEES in the middle of the van.)

Things were smooth sailing from then on, until we tried to get back in the van after having dinner and realized one of the van doors was stuck shut. It's one of the automatic doors you open with a button on your key fob, and it sometimes acts up but you can always at least manually open it. This time, no dice. So from then out we had to get in and out of the van in a VERY particular way to manage all the carseat fastening and snapping of baby seats into their bases and passing of diaper bags and oh my GOSH, we must have looked like clowns spilling out of a toy car. It sure felt like it.

It was still a really fun trip, believe it or not, and at least once we got to Rachel's there was an adult to each kid, which is the perfect ratio in my book. Plus I found adorable stuff for the kids' Easter baskets in World Market and Target, neither of which are available in my hometown, so that was worth it right there. AND the check out guy at World Market flirted with me a little, which hasn't happened in a very long time and which I am directly attributing to My New Hair.

Day 23

Hey look! I remembered about that whole thirty day blog thing! So what if it's actually going to take me sixty days or so. Better late than never, I say. So today's topic is a video. Here's what I found... the kids and me a few days after bringing Jameson home. You've got my nasal-y voice from the hay fever I was still enjoying, both kids talking in bizarro baby voices, plus there's a bonus view of all the disorganized boxes in the nursery closet! And also of course the sweet newborn Jamie James, with his thick head of dark hair which has since vanished. Three little towheads around here these days.

Drumroll Please...

Here is my hair immediately following the chemical straightening:


And here it is two days later (immediately following having family portraits taken, which explains the sudden appearance of eyeliner and lipstick:)





Um, I can't even tell you how much I love it. This is not even my hair, you guys. Addy keeps commenting on it; she can't get over how that could possibly be my same unruly mop of waves and frizz and poofiness. I am so thankful now that I have in the past been so very negligent of styling/coloring my hair, because that's why it was so healthy going into the straightening process and why it turned out so shiny. I mean, I think it would still work on colored or frequently styled hair, but I'd be afraid of breakage and stuff.

Basically the stuff is like a backwards perm, though my friend assured me the chemicals aren't quite as harsh, and it certainly didn't SMELL as harsh as a perm. You just glop on the initial treatment, make sure every strand is saturated from tip to end, and then keep combing it through until your hair no longer waves or curls in the usual places. On my hair it took a full hour of combing and waiting and checking and re-combing until it was staying straight. Then you rinse, blow it dry- and voila! This is literally what my hair looked like just after DRYING it, no straightening! Then you put on a conditioning treatment and then a setting treatment, rinse again, dry again, and straighten with a flat iron.

Then you can't do ANYTHING to it for forty eight hours to make sure it "takes" without any little bumps or wrinkles. Like, I haven't even been allowed to tuck my hair behind my ears, which is a massive pain in the butt while doing things that require bending over. Hard to wipe butts with hair in your eyes, no matter how shiny and straight it is! And you have to sleep on a silk pillowcase for two nights so it doesn't crease (or you can just throw your old silk lingerie over your pillow. It might as well see SOME action, amiright?)

But it is totally worth it. Every time I see myself in the mirror I start smiling. I can't believe I finally (for at least three months, anyways) have Good Hair. The average cost is seventy five dollars an hour for the treatment, and for my hair it took four hours from start to finish, so, $300 without tip. But I paid... less than that. I won't say more for fear of getting nice people into trouble! It was still way more than I usually spend on my hair (that being nothing) but I am not sorry. And I am very touched that my husband gave me half of his Biggest Loser winnings! I WAS going to save it for boring house projects, but this is so much better!

You Can Always Tell

Wow. It's nine o' clock and I've already changed two diapers, given one child a mini-bath, stripped a bed and put linens in to soak, taken out the trash, cleaned up two piles of dog vomit and let the culprit behind the piles of vomit outside, then back in, then wiped up his filthy paws, and I haven't even gotten to PEE yet.

It's Monday, isn't it?

Pictoral Updates

First of all, my last post was totally lacking any baby shots because I left my camera at Jess's house after the birth. Whoops. And I also lost it in the shuffle during the labor, so I don't have any pictures of immediately after Grace was born, unfortunately. But here's a before and after of baby! With red eye of course, because I am the worst photographer/photo editor EVER. Seriously, it's all I can figure out to download and upload them, let alone tweak them. Ah well. Still cute!




Also, many requests were made for before and after shots of Teh Hair. I of course did not TAKE a before shot, so I had to scour my archives to try to find a picture of me that accurately represented how my hair usually looked pre-haircut. Here's the best I could find.


Basically, low ponytail/messy bun thing, because if it was a HIGH ponytail my head would throb by the end of the day from the weight of my hair. It didn't look terrible or anything, but it certainly didn't look especially pretty either, and there's just so much of it that I literally never ever did the work to straighten or curl it and leave it down around my shoulders in any sort of feminine/sexy style.

So when it WAS down around my shoulders, it just looked insane. How to describe it? You know how in movies, women are always releasing their hair slowly from it's bindings and then shaking it down all sexy-like and it just leaves the men drooling with desire? Yeah, imagine the opposite of that. Like it literally was so thick it was as wide as my shoulders on either side. It was kind of wavy, but the weight of my hair pulled out most of the wave, so it was more just like... bumpy. With a permanent crease from my hair elastic. HAWT.


Here we have post haircut, but not styled in any way, not even blow dried. I did brush it and try to tuck the craziest bits behind my ears. And yes, I purposely took this before shot right after rolling out of bed and without any makeup, to further enhance the better-ness of the following photo.


Hmm. I see my eyes look a little crazy. Oh well. Just trust me that it looks a lot better that way. Much silkier, and in the back especially lays much better- it's quite a bit shorter in back, and sort of stacked, though I do loathe that term for some reason. So that's presumably how it will look all the time once I do the chemical straightening. Or maybe even a little better! Dare to dream.

And then as long as we're doing updates, here's the two cousins together with my sister Laura:

Neither looks especially thrilled, alas. They'll grow on each other.

Welcome To The World, Baby Girl!

OH, you guys. Grace Ellen is here, and she is lovely. Jess delivered her in her home yesterday- right on her due date!- after twenty hours of labor, most of those hours being actual, active LABOR labor, not "labor" like I had with Jameson. She was a trooper, let me tell you. And going on about two hours of sleep and a twenty minute nap, plus a posterior baby! It was one of the hardest AND the most amazing things I've ever gotten to see. By the end I was sweaty and exhausted myself!

I've never been at a home birth before, and I have so many new thoughts and feelings, but it's not really my story to tell, so I don't want to ramble on and on. I'll just say that while I'm honestly content with my choices and really don't think I'm a good candidate for home birth, I was thrilled that Jess got to do it, and I couldn't imagine a gentler, warmer entry into the world for baby Grace. She was so alert, so peaceful and so healthy within seconds of her birth- pink and rosy and shiny eyed, staring up at her thrilled parents. A beautiful reward after a grueling labor! And I can honestly say I don't think the delivery would have been the way Jess wanted if she'd been at a hospital- her labor stalled out for several hours in the middle of the night, and while the midwives just told her to nap and rest and wait for contractions to return, I bet at most hospitals she would have been on pit, gotten an epidural, or even a c section by the end. Which is not the end of the world, obviously, but I know it's not what she wanted, and since the baby was fine there would have been no reason for it.

The name of the game for a home birth is watchful patience, is what I took away from that birth. Not reckless patience- not ignoring warning signs, certainly; those midwives checked baby's heart tones more often than my ob did during pushing!- but the patience of knowing that labor rarely follows a straight, simple path, and that you just have to go with it. The body and the baby usually figure out how to work together if you let them. And it's a miracle, every time. A common, everyday miracle.

Dang it, now I'm crying AGAIN. Congratulations, Adam and Jess! And thank you for inviting me to be there. It was the best night's sleep I ever missed!

P.S. I'd just like to add that I think c-sections are a miracle too; there are babies/moms alive that wouldn't be without them. Obviously nature doesn't ALWAYS get it together, and I don't mean this to imply that if you don't choose to give birth on your knees in a tub your baby's birth was not a miracle!

Randoms

*I got a new toothbrush about a week ago, a Crest Max White or something like that, and it is seriously tearing my mouth up. There's a special stain remover thingie on the end of it that's supposed to get between your teeth, but it provides less of a thorough scrubbing and more of a savage gum shredding. The sides of my tongue are also all raw, though maybe I'm grinding my teeth in my sleep or something. At any rate, let's just say the insides of my mouth are a mess right now.

*Addy has gotten to do a lot of fun stuff lately with me and other female relatives. She went with my mom and me to Riverdance a few weeks ago, which was really fun (though she was mortified when I started step dancing in the elevator of the parking garage) and then with Grandma, Aunt Jenn, her cousin Rachel and me to a kids' symphony production on Sunday which was really amazing. Plus she takes dance and her has own recital coming up in a few months... Not that any of this is bad, I just feel like Eli doesn't have much going on that's special for him. Not sure what to do about this though; it's not like he would have ENJOYED watching Celtic step dancing for two hours straight. But it feels like he spends a lot of time sitting at home with Jim while Addy and I are out doing stuff.

*I'm in the market for a chiropractor. Five months of nursing (and I'm a lazy nurser with bad posture, plus have a baby who is infamous for choosing weird positions/frequently changing positions while nursing) plus increasingly frequent bed sharing (which I can do, but there's a very specific position I have to be in so that I'm sure I won't roll over on baby and that he can't pull covers over himself) and my back is effed up beyond what even a massage could fix, I think. But I'm nervous. I've never been to a chiropractor. And a massage just sounds so much NICER.

*I got my hair cut. Like, significantly. About five inches. And it took the stylist (an old classmate of mine from high school) TWO HOURS just to thin it and cut it. I was planning on getting highlights but we didn't have time after unloading two pounds worth of hair on the salon floor. (The highlights were going to disguise the increasing number of WHITE HAIRS FTLOG that keep appearing, very noticeably, in my very dark hair. I am not even yet twenty seven. I would like to know to whom I may address my grievance.) As she was attempting to flat iron my hair, my friend noted that my hair is so thick and there is so much of it that I would be an ideal candidate for professional chemical straightening. And... I'm going to do it. I'm going in next week. Apparently it will take two to four hours, but then once it's done, assuming all goes well, my hair will be perfectly straight and smooth for months. I'm a little nervous just because it's so dang expensive (I will be blowing my share of Jim's winnings from his weight loss contest- man lost thirty pounds in eight weeks!) and it would really suck if it didn't work right or if for some reason I didn't like it. But I really can't foresee that happening. How could I dislike having my hair look smooth and stylish when I'm used to settling simply for trying to CONTAIN my hair in a ponytail or messy bun?

*Tomorrow is Jess's due date. BABY BABY BABY BABY. I don't know what I'm going to do with myself after this one's born. I've been awaiting someone's birth for the last six months straight, but this is the last one to arrive. Someone else needs to get pregnant! Oh ho ho no, but not me.

Day 22

A favorite joke... uh? I don't really tell jokes. And I kind of hate when other people do. So I decided to do favorite comedian instead. Mine is Jim Gaffigan. I could watch Beyond the Pale a hundred times and still laugh out loud. In fact, I first watched it when pregnant and I literally peed my pants like three different times thanks to that particular show.

Jim Gaffigan – Cake – Beyond the Pale @ Yahoo! Video

Progress

I just wanted to thank all you guys for your ideas, and sympathy. Where would we be without the internets!? I took Swistle's idea of giving the medicine just a drop at a time, which I kind of was already, but I took it to even more extreme forms. With the baby it still isn't working, unfortunately- he can drool out ANYTHING, it seems- but it worked with Eli. I also took Misty's idea and wrapped him in a blanket (gently!) and then straddled him so all I had to do was hold his face still with one hand and then squirt the meds with the other. So that made the process significantly quicker and less traumatic. I also went to the local health food store on Jess's suggestion and got chewable probiotics for Eli and a powder for Jameson. So hopefully that'll work out too, because Jameson's diaper rash is pretty epic right now. Ugh.

Also thank you to my mom for bringing me Kleenex and chocolate. Though, my scale does NOT say thank you. Most people lose weight when they get sick, but apparently I am not most people.

Oh, and the dishwasher is magically working again! So thank heaven for small mercies.

Surprise! More Whining! Oh Yeah, And A Recipe

Before I continue to complain about the Plague, I must refer you to Misty's comment in my previous post, wherein she explains how she used to have to basically straight jacket her son to get him to take his medicine. US TOO. He's had three doses of it so far and every single time, what should have been about a twenty second process has taken at least twenty minutes, beginning with a gentle talk about how everyone needs medicine, if he takes it quickly he'll barely even taste it, look, we can stir it into some juice! blah blah blah, then on to the bribery, then the frustration and threats of bedtime and lots of "Do you WANT to stay sick?! YOU HAVE TO TAKE THIS!" finally deteriorating into two adults grimly holding a child down and pouring medicine down his throat while he gags and sputters and screams and the other two children stare at what basically looks like some water boarding type torture. AND I now have to call the doctor to get more of the medicine because about three quarters of it has been miserably spat out and uselessly drooled onto the floor. Good bye, thirteen dollars worth of antibiotics! Good bye, sanity!

Oh AND AND Jameson's been on his antibiotics for two days now (with only barely more pleasant episodes of medicine administering) and is still only nursing enough to stay alive, basically. I have never had to pump so much in my life. I actually have milk in my freezer, for the first time ever! The baby is still wetting a few diapers a day, and crying tears, so the doctor said he's not dangerously dehydrated yet, but man does this suck. And he is so unhappy because he's hungry... he wakes up at night SCREAMING, and it takes me five minutes to calm him down before I can even try to get him to latch on. Then he'll drink for five minutes, if that, before returning to miserable angry screaming, then finally chew his fingers to get to sleep. The instant diarrhea (with subsequent instant diaper rash) from the antibiotics isn't helping him, any, either. Sigh. Anyone know if it's safe to give babies acidophilus powder? And yes, I've tried giving milk to him from bottles with no luck. Should I just use a medicine syringe and try to get a few teaspoons right down his throat?

OH HAI! AND ALSO MY BRAND NEW DISHWASHER IS BROKEN! The end.

P.S. Day 20's topic is a favorite recipe. So uh, here ya go: my current favorite recipe.

Sarah's Winter Special

1. Go to any drugstore
2. Casually peruse aisles/frantically comb store with the nose of a bloodhound to find section of clearance Valentine's Day merchandise.
3. Select as many giant boxes of chocolate as you can buy at once time without feeling shamed. (This will vary to personal ability. I for instance can buy up to four at a time without acting like a guilty addict at the check out counter.)
4. Alternate sips of coffee with bites of chocolate. Continue throughout day as needed for mental health.
5. Pump a lot of milk to try to suck the fat out. (This also will vary according to ability. You personally may not be lactating. In which case, eh, maybe don't eat the whole WHOLE box in one day. Or do. Who cares.)

That's Ear Infection For The Win

Well, whoever had their money on "ear infection" as being the culprit behind Jameson's increasing displeasure re: nursing just won themselves a big fat jackpot. I had my money on it, too, but you can have my share of the take. I'll be here in my house playing nursemaid, so I won't be able to go blow my winnings on manicures or massages just yet. Someone might as well, though.

Just for funsies, it's a double ear infection, and DING DING BONUS PRIZE Eli has a double ear infection too; both boys are enjoying the accompanying fever (last night, Jamie's was almost 104,) drippy nose, raw upper lip from wipe wipe wiping, and general disposition of an injured bull. That's the second round of ear infections for the boys in as many months. In a really timely turn of events, Eli has suddenly decided he hates any kind of liquid medicine and will ONLY take chewable tablets. This would be fine if he only needed acetaminophen, but since he now requires antibiotics, guess which lucky schmuch is going to get to wrestle a medicine syringe into his screaming mouth twice a day?

I'm going to need a breather before I attempt it, though, since I just used up every ounce of my strength trying to follow the doctor's advise and administer saline drops and then suction out Eli's nose. (Result: total fail.) Poor kid's lip is so red the skin is almost open, so the doctor said he's at risk for impetigo if it doesn't heal up a little. He strongly urged me to suction out his nose several times a day so it isn't running constantly. "Oh ok!" I said breezily, while my heart sank. No problem! I'll just SIT on him and then try to hold his flailing arms down with one elbow while I squirt liquid up his nose with my other hand, trying to block the heart wrenching screams out long enough to do the job. It'll be super fun and easy!

Meanwhile, poor baby has utterly refused to nurse all day long, and is sleeping wearily after screaming his head off for the duration of his check up. I've had to pump several feedings, which I sure hope he eventually decides to eat, since he's now on dehydration watch. Poor poor sad baby. Last night was so awful. First, the older two kids were in and out of my room, stuffy noses, needing drinks, needing medicine, the usual. Then when Jameson woke up at four to eat, he was just burning up. I took his temp (103.9,) gave him baby Tylenol, then tried to nurse him. He ate a little bit, weakly, then resumed crying. I sat up with him for an hour to make sure his fever went down enough that I could safely sleep again. It was hard to go back to sleep, though, when I'd been readying myself to take him to the hospital if he hadn't cooled off sufficiently. In the first twenty minutes it had only gone down about point six degrees, so I gave it another twenty and then I was totally going in if it wasn't significantly better.

This morning I was literally nauseous with fatigue, but off we went to the doctor. My hands were shaking a little bit as I got the kids ready, I noticed. Sleepiness does strange things to people. If anyone wanted to torture me for information, sleep deprivation would totally be the way to go. Pain? Eh. But a few more nights of this craziness and I'd turn in my own family members to make it stop. I should probably be napping now, as a matter of fact, but I really needed to vent for a bit first. Imagine this as a euphemistic method of smashing plates and stomping and screaming in rage, because that's what my mind is doing. Enough of the sickness already! My poor kids are miserable, and my own cope container is just about FULL, enough so that even though I know they feel badly, I'm getting kind of snappy and impatient with them, especially in the mornings, because I'm still sickish myself and am just so unspeakably tired.

Sigh. I should cheer up since my cousin's wife had her baby girl early this morning (they named her Siddalee, like in Divine Secrets of The Ya Ya Sisterhood) and I'm so happy for them. Poor thing was a week overdue, too! But all I can think about is my friend Jess waiting to have HER baby, and how I'm so excited to go over and be with her- she's having a home birth! But I can't do that if I'm sick, now can I? MUST GET WELL. EVERYONE MUST GET WELL NOW.

As The Saying Goes

There are two common expressions I'd like to discuss today: first, "Misery loves company." I suppose this is based in truth. I suppose, just theoretically, that if I were sick with a head cold, I'd much prefer to have various sizes of kids with varying kinds of disgusting coughs and colds climbing all over me/nursing from me at all hours of the night than to be, say, left alone to sleep in peace. And I'd much rather have Kleenex strewn all over the mother loving house, and snot and germs on just every surface imaginable, than to handle my own cold by myself complete with frequent hand washing and proper tissue disposal. I'd much rather have to fetch people juice and snacks and take temperatures and dole out chewable Tylenol than to lie on the couch motionless. Who would want to be ALONE when one is physically miserable? Goodness no. Bring on the COMPANY.*

Next expression: "Familiarity breeds contempt." Oh, certainly not! Certainly being shut inside a relatively small house with one's sick, cranky family for days and days on end only endears them to us further! One's family never does away with all niceties or compassion and just stalks around the house growling at each other in mutual discomfort! One certainly never texts their neighbor in desperation, threatening to send their kids to school even though they DO still seem sick! What are they going to do, sue us? Except that last night it rained and stormed and thundered for hours- lightning and thunder over SNOW COVERED ground!- and this morning all the roads to GET to the school were flooded.

I may have cried just a little.

*I do think being sick with ONLY another sick adult might be kinda-sorta fun, if we could lay on the couch and watch TV and moan together and have someone fetch us food and drink. However, throw three sick kids into the equation and it quickly goes from fun to some kind of anthropological experiment to see how long it will take us to EAT each other.

Day 20

A hobby of mine. Let's see... I used to scrapbook, until Adelay turned from a crazy-low maintenance baby into a toddler with needs and opinions, and then her baby brother was born and then it was all I could do to remember to TAKE pictures, let alone crop them and paste them into albums with coordinating taggies and stickers and whatever.

I used to work out, and even enjoyed it somewhat, until I got pregnant with Jamie and it was high risk right from the beginning because of that subchorionic hematoma business. So I wasn't allowed to from then on, and I haven't gone to the gym in over a year. I plan to get a gym membership again when Jamie is six months old/the germy winter is over, and I will feel ok about leaving him in the daycare for an hour at a time. Until then, you lose, body. I did do fifty squats and sit ups the other day, randomly, and my thighs have been protesting ever so slightly. It seems a year of being more or less sedentary (unless you count the housework and the schlepping kids and laundry and groceries around all day) causes you to lose muscle tone. So unfair! Interestingly, my thighs are a bit thinner than they used to be, due I suppose to lack of muscle, but trust me they LOOK way worse than they do when I'm working out. My pants do fit better though. Trade off I guess.

So where was I? Hobby? I do still read a bit, though it's certainly tapered off drastically. That was the one part of bedrest I enjoyed... catching up on reading. So I guess my only hobby right now is blogging. Unless you count baking and eating copious amounts of lemon bars while watching Big Love as a HOBBY. I personally do not. That's just a survival mechanism.

Day 19

A fun memory... Well I had one in mind but realized it was before we had a digital camera (forescore and twenty years ago) and so the story alone wouldn't be that exciting. Well ok, it's still cute, but... WELL. HERE IT IS ANYWAYS. You get two for one, then.

The August of 2005, so about two months after Jim and I were married, my oldest sister got married in South Carolina. Jim and I drove there, along with my youngest sister Laura and my parents, and on the way back Laura rode with us instead of the adults. Because we were all still KIDS and wanted to have fun and drive fast and stuff. Hee. Anyways, on our way through North Carolina I suddenly saw a sign for the Biltmore Estate in Asheville, and realized it would only be about forty five minutes out of our way. After much begging and coercing, I convinced Laura and Jim to make an impromptu detour and we spent the afternoon touring the mansion, the grounds and the winery. I'd been there before, but it was really really fun that time, partly because of the company (we were a bit rowdy for the Biltmore tour people, I think) and partly because it was just such a fun, unexpected break in what was otherwise a super long road trip. The weather was beautiful, the gardens were in full bloom, and I don't know why, but I still remember that as one of the most fun afternoons of my life.

Now, the real story with accompanying pictures is of a trip Jim and I took to a b and b in Holmes County (i.e. Amish World) just a few weeks before I got put on bedrest during my first pregnancy. Again, this was a place I'd been before, but going there as a real grown up with Jim was new and unexpectedly fun. It was also unexpectedly hot, as I recall, and I remember almost fainting once walking into an Amish restaurant (I was quickly revived by sweet tea and gravy.) Note in the picture below how even though I was seven months pregnant, I was still carrying mainly in my THIGHS. That was definitely my least attractive pregnancy.




Also, remember that I was entering my third trimester of pregnancy, so I was HUNGRY and in Amish county there is a plethora of fried chicken, mashed potatoes and pie. Stomach, meet calories. MMM. I remember most of the places we went on that weekend based on what I ate there. I also remember our fruitless search for a coffeehouse one night we were there, leading us on a nighttime tour of, like, a hundred mile radius of Holmes County before we finally found a place that knew how to make a latte. Oh those Amish!

Do note the gorgeous waterfall panorama papered to the wall around the hot tub in our room. Fancy!



Also note the bonnet and shawl I WILLINGLY modeled. I apparently had no shame whatsoever on that trip. After eating an entire peanut butter cream pie, where else is there to go?

Day 18

A baby photo! Lord knows we have enough of those! Hmmm... How 'bout three baby photos? These were all taken at approximately four months old. Can you guess which is which?

Day 17-A Photo of My Family

I'm not sure if there ARE any pictures of just the five of us since Jameson was first born, at least not on my camera. Let me look here...

Ok! These aren't JUST of us, but we are all in them!



This one is at Jim's Aunt Nancy's house, where his extended family on his mom's side meets up every year right after Christmas. Oh look, they put all the cute ones in the front. :)


This was taken at Jim's grandma's house, where everyone on his DAD'S side meets up before Christmas. As I recall, this picture was a little trickier to get taken as a result of a couple of screaming babies, which is why Jim's and my smile might look a bit strained.

Issues

First I have to do my Day 16 post, the topic of which is celebrity crushes, I believe. Yikes. Ok, well, I already discussed my early teenage love of Richard Gere, which thankfully has passed. My celebrity crush of recent years is Christian Bale. I have loved him since he was in Disney's "Newsies" like a hundred years ago. This crush is of the less lusty variety, I might add; I certainly don't find him UNsexy, but there's more to it than that. I think he's an amazing actor, and I think he chooses great roles.

Now. On to my Issue. I'm having breastfeeding problems with Jamie. Enough that it makes me want to give up actually nursing altogether and just pump and feed him bottles. Either that or I'm about to take him to a specialist to see if he has reflux issues or something. Not that he spits up, really, but the kid just hates to eat most of the time. Even when you know he's hungry he yanks his head away, claws at my breasts, chokes and gags, and generally acts like nursing is a torture.

It all kind of came to light a few weeks ago when my sister was here and was watching Laura (my OTHER sister) and I nurse our respective babies. Smith was being quite and had kind of wrapped himself around Laura's abdomen to comfortably nurse, but Jameson had one hand out against my chest, shoving his head away from me while the other was clawing at the underside of my breast. Meanwhile his entire torso was arched away from me. Jeni laughed and observed, "He literally couldn't be further away from you and still be eating!"

It seemed funny until I considered that unless he's half asleep, he ALWAYS nurses this way: simultaneously eating while sort of... fighting me. And he is constantly yanking his head off and grunting and fussing, and has to be re-latched. He's not much better with a bottle either. He'll eat from it, but he shakes his head back and forth and coughs and gags and fights it.

I thought reflux maybe, but he hardly ever spits up. Any ideas/suggestions?

Day 15

A favorite food. Well, right now my favorite food is what I just finished eating- lemon cheesecake bars with coconut and chopped almonds. I started with a Krusteaz lemon bar mix (you could certainly make your own from scratch; I've done that before too, but today I needed my lemon fix FAST) and then followed the cheesecake variation instructions on the back of the box, which is basically to put a layer of softened cream cheese beaten with an egg and a third a cup of sugar on top of the crust before you put the lemon filling on. Then I just stirred some coconut flakes into the lemon filling, and topped the final product with more coconut and chopped almonds before baking.

It was fairly simple to throw together, requiring only eggs and sugar as well as the coconut and almonds- and I think you could also use pecans, or maybe put a berry jam on top instead of the coconut. The hardest part was waiting the forty minutes to bake it and another half hour to cool sufficiently for me cut it and dive in.

Chocolate seems like an easy and obvious pick for a favorite food, and overall it probably is my first love. But I find that by the end of winter I'm always craving tastes that remind me of spring, and lemon does the trick every time.

Enough!

In honor of the weekend I interrupt this daily blog challenge thingie (which I am apparently not doing quite daily, but hey! At least more frequently than I WAS!) to gripe about Wal Mart. I know, just what the world needs: another post about how much Wal Mart sucks. But seriously.

I went there rather than my usual grocery store because we were out of Pull-Ups (yes, THAT'S still happening,) diapers, wipes and toilet paper, and there is just nowhere around here to get those things as cheaply. I also had a bunch of coupons for free half gallons of 8th Generation brand soy milk which I won in a Swistle contest a few months ago. I hadn't been able to find that brand at any of our local groceries, but remembered that I had seen it at Wal Mart a couple of times. So, to the big box store I went.

First of all, they didn't have that kind of milk in stock. Yes, they still CARRY it. They just don't HAVE any. Ditto for like three other specific brands of items I was looking for. You could see the price sticker and the shelf space reserved for that product, it just wasn't there currently. Sorry! So then I went to the regular milk section, and it was five dollars a gallon. WT? That is WAY above normal price around here.

The terrible, dim lighting was flickering the whole time I was there, making it feel like shopping in the twilight zone, and once I reached the registers there were only two cashiers working, despite the FIFTEEN check out lanes. After finally getting rung up (after waiting behind all the people out shopping with their toddlers at ten o' clock at night, buying nothing but Mountain Dew and generic Cheez Puffs) I realized that I hadn't actually spent any less than I did last week at my usual grocery. And the produce I had purchased was far inferior.

So! No more, evil Wal Mart. I feel like an abused spouse who's finally had enough. Yes, I kept venturing back despite terrible experiences, believing that there was still a redeeming quality in our relationship worth salvaging (in this case, cheap bulk diapers) but I am DONE. So not worth it. I get a terrible, unpleasant shopping experience, a dirty, understaffed store, inconsistent brand/product selection, and in the end a not much smaller at all, IF at all, price. Not to mention the guilt about "voting with my dollar" for one of the most unethical corporations in the country.

Anyways! On a related note, I have I think twenty vouchers for free half gallons of 8th Generation soy milk that I apparently won't be using, so if any of YOU can use them, let me know in the comments and then I'll choose a random winner and send them to you!

Day 14

I have been looking forward to this one! And you KNOW you're getting more than one old photo, so no complaints. I'll try to keep it to a minimum.


This was taken during a very difficult phase in Eli's infancy. Perhaps it's a phase you know... a phase when he never ever EVER wanted to sleep anywhere but in our arms, a phase when each night as the sun set I could feel myself growing physically tense in preparation for the inevitable battle we would face before both our kids would finally be asleep in their beds. And yet there were those sweet spots, during the endless rocking and walking sessions, spots when I would be able to get all zen and in the moment, and appreciate the luckiness of having a baby in my arms.


This was Addy the summer before she turned three. When I think about her being a toddler, this day is one of the images that always comes to my mind, with her fine, golden halo of hair everywhere and her fairy costume and her clunky sandals and socks coordinating just so. She always seemed to be kind of floating and flitting everywhere, so she always looked the most herself when she was outside in the sunshine. My little butterfly.


Those eyes- from which I apparently forgot to remove the red, oh well!- always astonish me. I might have to keep having babies forever so I can always get my fix of giant blue eyes.

Day 13

First- the pans! A couple of you requested info. I got them at TJ Maxx, actually, just on a whim, and they are two different brands. My favorite one is red, and the brand on the bottom says IPAC, and then the little slogan is in Spanish. The other one is just gray with a metal handle, slightly larger than the red one at ten inches, and is from Well Equipped Kitchen. They both work great, I just like the size of the red one a little better- it's mediumish and perfect for making an omelet. And it's prettier. :)

So today's topic is something you'd like to buy. And I'm not sure if this counts as a thing, but all I can think about today, as I kick random cars out of my path and load the washer with the third load of kids clothes this week, is that I would give a year of my life if I could in exchange get free housekeeping services until my kids are a little less messy and a little better able to help out around here!

Excluding that fervent wish, however, I think what I'd like to buy is shutters for our house. And a new garage door. Wow, I am the most boring person on the planet. But those were the first things that came to mind. This is kind of how I've always been though. I don't care a lot about clothes and shoes and bags. But I do care very much how my environment looks, and it really affects my mood. There's a certain local restaurant, for instance, that I don't enjoy eating at even though the food's pretty good because the decor is so dreadful it actually distracts me. Is that... shallow?

Day 12

Something I bought recently... This is really boring, but I recently bought a couple of eco-friendly pans that are nonstick but don't release any bad chemicals when they're heated. They are seriously the best nonstick pans I've ever had, and since Jim's been on his diet/health food kick I've been stir frying veggies in them just about every day. But this is so BORING it's killing me.

How 'bout this? I recently, in a fit of extravagance, bought myself a new mascara!! Revlon something or other, which I will undoubtedly wear about once a week and which will go bad before I finish it, but oh well.

Oh, I also bought a bottle of rum. Regular rum, not 151, for the record. THAT will not go bad before I finish it.

Day 11

It was almost impossible to find a recent picture of me without a kid on my lap, so I decided to just go with it. This is one that Adelay took of me about a month ago, mid-snuggle with Eli. She's quite the little photographer, I think.

Day 10

Picture of me ten years ago. I was sixteen here, apparently working on some embarrassingly elementary art project in what appears to be my school choir room. Also, apparently it was before I discovered a) eyebrow tweezers and b) that almost no one looks good with their hair pulled back as tightly as possible from their foreheads.

Derailed

Yikes, it's almost been a week since my last annoyingly earnest post! (Yes, I do realize my writing lately has taken a turn towards the honest-bordering-on-over sharing. I feel like I keep writing personal manifestos instead of blog posts.)

My excuse is that my out of town sisters were both IN town last weekend, and then the really really out of town one, the one I haven't seen for a YEAR and who had never met Jameson, stayed until Thursday, so, my priorities were elsewhere. We had a ton of fun, but man, I was exhausted by the end. I felt like I needed a day to recover from so much togetherness! There was shopping and eating and movies and eating and talking and eating and drinking and eating! Hah.

We also made cookies one night, Jeni and Adelay and I, and Jeni and I decided we'd like a little wine while we baked. However, we couldn't find a wine we wanted, so I dug up some rum from my parents' pantry and made us some rum and Cokes instead. Except, it wasn't regular old rum; I accidentally made us a pretty stiff cocktail using two fingers of Bacardi 151 for each smallish tumbler. I was, if you'll pardon my French, kind of drunk off my ass there for about fifteen minutes. And totally without intention, in front of my CHILD, and my PARENTS. Worst buzz EVER!

Ah, and now I have to go because Adelay is calling that Eli "poopeded somewhere." Fantastic. I'll get back to those thirty blogging topics any day now, promise! Mwah!