Oliver at 5 (1/2) months - working on sleeeep

Let's just catch up with Oliver for a bit, shall we? This is more like a 5 1/2 month update, but there are a few things to squeeze in before the big 6 monther in a few weeks. Some day I will write a timely update, but today is not that day. The photo was at least taken at five months, even if it sat on my phone til now:


Don't ask me how big he is. Maybe I'll weigh us together on the bathroom scale this afternoon and get back to you on that. He's easily wearing 6-9 clothes and has been for the last month. He might have some 9 month things in there, I don't really pay strict attention to size these days. (Are you noticing a pattern?) We go in a few weeks for his six month check up and then I'll have some official stats for you.

More for my future benefit than yours, I'd like to chronicle Oliver's recent sleep saga. I'm certain I'll look back and wonder about the time frame for his sleep issues and what we did to get him to sleep better.

For the last several months, I have limited my dairy intake in the belief that it was making Oliver spit up a LOT and contributing to night wakings/sleeplessness. In the past month or longer, it became apparent that even under dairy-free circumstances, he was not sleeping well. I was nursing him 2-3 times per night, sometimes more. And this is not a little peanut baby that might not be able to sleep through the night yet; we're talking a sixteen pound five-month-old who eats enough during the day to carry him through at least an initial 5-6 hour stretch at night. However. In just the last week, his first night waking has crept from midnightish to elevenish to tenish, and last night it was 9:30! Of course, last night I put him down at 5:30 to catch up some sleep (6:00 has become more typical), but still, a four hour stretch is not quite what I consider good nighttime sleep.

Since my parents have been visiting for the last week or so, I sought to minimize the crying and disruption and just went to Oliver whenever he fussed. I think this has contributed to more frequent night wakings and that really short initial sleep span. But he really has been up every 3-4 hours for a long time now. Therefore, also in the last week, I decided to heck with the dairy-free business. Thanksgiving means potatoes and turnips loaded with cream cheese, milk, and butter. Not to mention ice cream on top of pies. Other possible factors contributing to worsening sleep in the past week: upcoming milestone (see below!), six teeth STILL budding but not cut, excitement of a holiday and grandparents, sleeping in our room (albeit in his own crib), and finally, true hunger EVERY THREE HOURS.

Last night we gambled. After a successful nap extension in the afternoon leading to a three hour nap for Oliver, I put him to bed at his first yawn at 5:30. I figured, let's get this kid well rested so that we can start into some sleep training. Can you tell I've been researching sleep issues and sleep training while nursing in the whee hours? I'm learning the lingo, y'all. But back to last night - he woke at 9:30 and I decided there was no way he needed to eat already. Just no. I sent a man to do a woman's job, and Oliver seemed happy to receive his pacifier from Joel. He rolled around awhile and cried off and on for about half an hour, sometimes very loudly and angrily. But always with the slightest decrescendo at the end that told me he wasn't truly hysterical, but protesting and annoyed at not getting what he wanted. Joel finally went in again toward the end of the thirty minutes and picked him up briefly. He said Oliver was over the moon to be held on his side (no doubt mimicking a nursing position) and when he put him back into his crib, he again rolled right onto his side. He was asleep a few minutes later. He stirred again around...um...sometime in the 11-1 range. It all blurs together, honestly. But he went back to sleep of his own accord without crying, and didn't truly wake to nurse until around 1:30/2:00. That's pretty good! And his next waking was this morning after 6:00! I put him back in his crib around 6:30 and he stayed there until 8:30, awake for the last part of it but content to hang out.

I'm hoping this extinction thing carries over to tonight (and forever) and that we have officially dropped to one night feeding for good. And, by the way, this amazing night's sleep comes on the heels of me eating both stromboli and pizza in the same day. Hello again, dairy! Welcome back, happiness! I don't know if it ever was truly an ongoing dairy issue, but we did document significant reflux that seemed to correlate with ice cream intake over the summer. And he had some awful nights that happened after I splurged on yogurt or super cheesy dinner. Coincidence? The world may never know.

The milestone to which I alluded earlier is Oliver's newfound ability to roll back to front. No more stranded turtle! He's been rolling front to back for awhile now (I'm sure I documented that...right?) but now can roll every which way and maneuver himself all around his crib. I *think* I saw him sit up once in bed, but that was probably accomplished by rolling just the right way toward the side rail and kind of working his way up by rolling. That said, he seems very close to sitting up by himself; just needs to engage his core a little more (don't we all?). Also he is strong enough to stand up on his own but can't balance for long; he enjoys standing with his hands held, or hands around his waist to steady him.

Oliver is the happiest little guy ever. I'm his favorite, which is as it should be. He is also a captive audience to his brother and sister; he hears their voices, and it's curtains for nursing, much rather watch them bound around the room than enjoy the nectar of the gods, apparently. We're considering offering some oatmeal or sweet potatoes sometime soon, to help him with that nighttime sleeping.

We've started putting him under his play gym, and he rolls all about. I should probably start keeping a closer eye on him now that we have a Christmas tree whose branches are within his grasp if he rolls beneath it. Nothing like the risk of glass Christmas ornament shards to secure that Mother of the Year nomination.

Well, the big kids are throwing laundry and pinching each other's cheeks. They seem to be saying something about hungry and lunch, I don't know. It's like they expect the same thing to happen every day at noon? Toddlers are so needy.

And I love them. The end.

Oliver at 4 (1/2) months

Younger children often complain that there are fewer pictures, fewer detailed accounts of their infancies and childhoods than older children, and jokingly (I think?) assert that their parents must have loved them less. I'm here to argue that the lack of documentation is rather because we love them enough to spend all our time protecting them from their older siblings. I think Oliver would rather be alive than well-documented. Just a hunch.


So this is his four and a half month update, which might just be only his first or second blog update, I'm not sure. That's not to say he hasn't been doing noteworthy things! This little charmer is all smiles and babbles lately. His favorite thing is still his momma (the open-mouthed grin when he sees me! EVERY. TIME.) but his fingers and toes are a close second and third. One day, he was working so hard to get those little toes into his mouth during a diaper change. He squealed with delight when I helped him go that last quarter inch and pop one into his mouth. On another occasion, he was fussing quite angrily as I was simply holding him in my lap while doing something else. It finally dawned on me that he was irritated at not being able to reach his toes! As soon as I shifted him to where he could suck his big toe, he was again his angelic, smiling self. Adorable.

He's been rolling over for awhile...yeah, mom of the year, I know...and who knows when his first smile or first laugh were. Or the first time he grasped a toy. He can boogie all over his crib, though I'm not sure whether he does his scootching before or after he flips over onto his back. All I know is that he winds up really annoyed, and requires help to get back to his favorite little corner to sleep in.

Sleep, by the way, has been a little different for this kiddo than for our first two, but then he has experienced a whole lot more transition than either of them at this age. I'm not sure if it's related. Also, dairy sets him off and keeps him from sleeping well, so there's been that learning curve. Mostly he goes to bed around 6:30-7:00ish, and sleeps until somewhere in the ballpark of 3:00-4:00ish, when he nurses again, and then up at 6:30ish to nurse, and up for the day closer to 8:30. However. There has been SO much variation on this lately that I have to wrack my brain even to come up with what's "usual". Some days he nurses at 7:30 a.m. and then goes to sleep or stays awake, who knows.

Over the weekend, though, he ate FIVE TIMES from bedtime to morning feeding: 6:30, 8:00, 11:30ish, 3:00/4:00ish, and 6:30ish. That was two nights in a row of insanity. The third night he was super angry at bedtime, unwilling to settle, which is so unlike him (thankfully, like my first two, you can usually just chuck him into his crib after nursing and he will go to sleep on his own), so in desperation I gave him Ibuprofen. Boom. He slept til 4:00 a.m. Aha! As an experienced momma, I thought perhaps this was related to all his drooling and fist-chewing lately. Mikayla got her first two teeth at four months of age, so maybe he's an early teether too, right? But those bottom gums have been looking totally normal, when he lets me get a glance. I've been second-guessing my teething hunch, but if it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck....? So just this morning I sat down to nurse him, and as has become my custom, checked his gums. The bottom ones still look normal BUT...his top gums are the hardest, whitest, most swollenest things I've ever seen! Mommas, have you had top teeth come in first? I find this highly irregular but, apparently, possible. He's doing it his own way, I guess!

We've had him back in cloth diapers since we moved into the new place, despite flooding the basement twice with the extra rinse cycle (Finally got it figured out. No more lint trap. I am not sorry about this, as I had to climb on top of the washing machine to check and change it.). Nursing has thankfully been very easy with him, and when he is not teething he eats like clockwork at 6:30, 9:30, 12:30, 3:30, 6:30 bedtime, and once overnight. I am quite looking forward to getting back to it!

Naps are not quite like clockwork, as it depends on what time he gets up in the morning. I've been struggling with that third nap; some days he wants it, some days he pushes through until he's a cranky mess at dinner time. I usually slap dinner on the table, wolf down a few bites, and head upstairs to do his bedtime by 6:30. But other days he takes that 4:30-5:30ish nap, and bedtime isn't til a luxurious 7:00 or so. Once these two top teeth break through, we'll get a truer sense of normal, I suspect.

Developmentally, he's been on target, if not slightly ahead of the curve. At his two month appointment he was holding himself up on his arms at a four-month level. He's been picking up toys and putting them in his mouth, and can darn near get his pacifier into his mouth correctly. He LOVES his exersaucer, which is a Godsend while I am fixing a meal for the big kids or doing school with them.


Speaking of the bigs, they love their little brother so much! As I type, he is in his swing, and his siblings have been taking turns jiggling him around, cooing loudly in his face, and attempting to remove articles of clothing. I used to worry about them being gentle, and I do still keep an eye on Isaac especially, but Oliver is really pretty well adjusted to their volume level and proximity. Which is good, because it would personally drive me NUTS to have a three year old THISCLOSE to my face screeching, "Do you have a BOOGIE in your NOSE????" a hundred times in a row, in an obnoxious voice that she thinks is how you talk to babies. The biggest issue the siblings have with Oliver is when they get over-enthusiastic and pull on his arms or legs because they want a hug and a kiss. Provided he survives infancy without being dismembered, I think we will all be a very close and demonstrative family.

That is really it. Oh, at his four month check up he weighed 15 lbs 3 oz, and was 26 3/4 inches long (woooaaaaa, big baby! according to Dr. Chi). He is projected to be 6'2" and 165 lbs as an adult, very close to his dadda's young adult measurements. Weight is a little above average, whereas length is up in the 97-99%ile range. His head circumference is fine, but if you think I can remember that detail, you obviously overestimate me. He's also a quick forgiver like his siblings when it comes to vaccinations. My tough little guy!

Joel, if you're reading this, have I forgotten anything?

(Not) A Story of True Courage and Inspiration

I'm not sure why I clicked on the "31+ Hair Braiding Secrets" if not for myself. After all, my almost-four-year-old hasn't even required a haircut, save to clean up a few straggling hairs. I told myself, laughably, that I would brush up on some braiding skills for when her hair gets longer, so that she can have a sweet "Princess Elsa" side fishtail braid and think I am the coolest mom ever. No, I lied inside my head, it's not like I will be using these on my own hair!

After all, if ever there were a diagnosable hair-styling disability, then I would have it. The highlight of my styling career was the double ponytail, but I had to leave that behind when the 90's ended, for obvious reasons. (Although according to that link, maybe they are coming back? Score!) Lately I have been attempting this side twist ponytail thing that works at home, but isn't really presentable.

Enter fifteen year old poppet on a Youtube tutorial, explaining to me how to oh-so-easily French braid my own hair. Something snapped inside me. If this little whipper-snapper can French braid her hair, then surely I, a reasonably intelligent, educated, determined thirty-something could learn to do so as well. Forget the painful memory of blood-drained limbs struggling to keep my baby-fine sections of hair in place. Forget the burning muscles of my upper arms and the eventual ponytail waving its white flag for the remainder of the day.

No, those tens, dozens even, of failures are in the past. Today is your day. Seize it. Divide it into three even parts and, for the love, BRAID IT. Frenchly.

Ok. Hairbrush, mirror, and laptop next to me on the couch. Fresh faced teenager ready to instruct me in her black magic. It's go time.

She's telling me to "just" do this, then that, brush it smooth,  oh and "you'll figure out your own way how to hold your hair as you go!". Stop. Forgive me, but I wouldn't be watching a tutorial if I already knew how to use my ten left thumbs to hold and manipulate all this hair, would I? No, I would be looking in a mirror instead of at the back of YOUR head trying to decode your tricks.

Suffice it to say, I did NOT figure out how to hold my hair, and I endured several angsty moments of wondering which hair section, exactly, was supposed to be braided next because I can't SEE them because they are on the BACK OF MY HEAD. That, and I don't have a tri-section mirror or a third arm to give me the right visual angle back there. Not whining, just saying. It felt more like I was weaving a very tangled rug back there than neatly plaiting a braid. More rugged-Scandinavian than French, in any case.

Then my kids woke up from naps and joined me on the couch. You know what's even better than trying to master something you suck at, while not being able to see it? Endeavoring to do so with a sweaty two-year-old draped across your lap. My chiropractor would have been thrilled to see me "engaging my core" so diligently while styling my hair.

End result #1:

Slightly crooked, stragglers everywhere. Ok. As the judges from Cutthroat Kitchen would say, "Does it remind me of a french braid?" Yes. Maybe not church-ready, but mission accomplished.

The kids were into it, though. Mikayla was cheering me on: "Mommy, it looks pretty! It looks like what the girl was doing!" And Isaac, irrelevant but sweet: "I love you, Mommy." I told them I was going to try it a second time, and they asked me to turn around so they could watch me braid from the back. This time around, I think I was sweatier than my two-year-old. French braiding for upper body strength, who knew? Two reps and my arms are feeling it. But it came out a little better this time:


If you knew me and my hair-styling disability (rivaled only by my statistics disability, seriously), you would be doing straight HANDSPRINGS at this moment. (I'll forego the celebratory gymnastics myself, which aforementioned chiropractor would discourage anyway.) You guys. I would be willing to leave my house right now. Albeit just to the store or the playground, or anywhere with the kids so that I could play the whole nonchalant, "Oh, this? My hair gets so messy when I'm being such an awesome mom to my three little kids!" card. But still. No Ponytail of Defeat! Win!

And just wait til you see my braiding muscles start to develop. I'll be that totally ripped mom spinning her five month old on one finger. Or, you know, not.

Thanks for sharing in my little victory today! I needed this. It's been such a demanding couple of days. God grants these little graces sometimes, doesn't He? There are so many bigger, more important things going on, but I can enjoy the fact that my hair is braided while I weather the stresses today. To God be the glory for even this small blessing.

Learn to do an Elsa braid:
http://www.howdoesshe.com/31-hair-braiding-secrets/

"My" French-braiding tutorial:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o2ru7d9yDWo

Our First Day of School: Fantasy vs. Reality

Better late than never, I always say. And so, on the totally random day of Wednesday, October 8, 2014, we commenced our first day of homeschool. I would have loved to jump in with all the other normal people at the beginning of September, but we had things like a two and a half month old baby, and a house closing coming up, and of course painting and moving into said house. So now that we're all settled in able to cook and shower with relative convenience, I'm obviously raring to add school to the chaotic mix of our days (which currently consist of feeding children, changing diapers, picking up discarded clothing [why do the under-4's have such an aversion to wearing socks and underwear??], and unpacking the occasional box, only to organize the same items 3-4 times as the children cheerfully "help"). When the kids asked today if they could go to school, and I responded with, "Sure!"....it was like I knew there were words coming out of my mouth, and I couldn't get them back.

Silent prayers of thanks to the Lord, who motivated me to print and laminate my little tush off during our last few weeks at Joel's parents' house. I have two weeks of lesson plans ready to roll, and the rest waiting to be queued. I think my reasoning in saying yes today was that as long as I could locate the bin with the purple lid, everything else would fall into place.

And it mostly did, except for a few teensy details. Like, oh, the time I needed to dig out dice to use with an alphabet review game. As I was shoulder-deep in 50lb library boxes excavating for board games, do not be deceived by my children's angelic demeanor into thinking that they did not require parental intervention not once, but three times due to ONE OF THEM (no names, Mr. Impulse Control Issues) "killing" the other with a small plastic king. Yes, big sister came wailing to find me because she was killed. This is an entire blog post unto itself, as the hilarity of me convincing my daughter that if she is able to feel upset and tell on her brother, then she is not dead, is just...I don't even know what to do with that.

ANYWAY.

The real point of this post is to show you that I am just like all the other Pinterest moms out there who capture the first day of school with such aplomb and matchiness and personalized chalkboards. JUST LIKE YOU. Other than the fact that my bubble letter skill is a relic of sixth grade art class, and that it took us no fewer than three tries to capture the perfect First Day shot:



(Of course a silly face pose. Oliver apparently woke up in between shots and joined the party.)

Why did it take three tries, you ask? Because my dinosaur of an iPhone chose not to save our entire first photo shoot, and froze up the second time around. And then they were all, "NO MORE PICTURES, WE WANT SNACK!!" So yes, we had our snack break before we even got pictures, let alone started the actual school part of things. We're morning people! By the third attempt, my kids were complete grump-heads (do I blame them?) and complained literally up until the instant before I hit record on our happy face video:



Incidentally, I can't help but notice that most of you other social media overachievers didn't have your kids "help" decorate your First Day Chalkboards. How mediocre. You must have planned ahead and artistically designed your chalkboard on an elevated surface, safe from little hands, while the kids were asleep or planted in front of an educational LeapFrog video. Me? I rose to the challenge. After first catching and then clothing my bare naked son, I trooped into the school room with my students and our brand new chalkboard and brand new chalk to DO IT TOGETHER. Mostly because I didn't know today was the first day of school until approximately seven minutes ahead of time, BUT STILL. I do hard, impressive things, no?

Then we did Calendar Time (which, it's not preschool without Circle/Calendar Time, amiright?) sitting on the floor while I nursed Oliver. Without a calendar. The only reason my kids humored me on this one is because I donned this huge, cheesy smile and said, "Good morning, STUDENTS! I'm your teacher! Welcome to school today!" Mikayla obviously bought into this big time and refused to call me anything other than Teacher Harriet for the remainder of the morning. Ok. But we sang our Days of the Week song!


Also? Our piano technician showed up to tune and repair the piano about 20 minutes into our school time. And Oliver didn't want to be put down for anything, which led to us discovering that he is ready to love this:


What I'm saying is, our First Day of School was so easy and just like I'd envisioned.


We duly completed our Alphabet Review games. Isaac only pinched his hand in a lowercase-letter clothespin one time, causing him to spiral into hysteria. Hopefully his parents don't sue the school. He took two turns in our Alphabet Board Game and then became distracted by the plastic legs of our shelving units, which make excellent telescopes and even better guns (which shoot by bopping people in the head, obvs). But Mikayla rocked it all with no problem, and we had a mini field trip to the living room to see how a baby grand piano works on the inside. Take that, Mister Rogers, who needs a Picture-Picture? Also we met our new regular mail carrier who is even cooler than Mr. McFeely and brought me a new central vacuum socket and my new mint-green case for my new iPhone 6 which arrived today, whereas my hubby's new phone won't be here til tomorrow. These are complicated times, when an iPhone 6 order gets split into two shipments, potentially causing great marital strife and discord, except we are way above that in our marriage, right honey? <3 nbsp="" p="">
You know what else is cool? I accidentally made a special First Day of School breakfast because I was tired of scrambled eggs and felt like baking last night. So we had Giant Breakfast Cookies! The only problem is that I didn't alert the children to the fact that it was a special First Day breakfast because I didn't know at the time that it was our First Day. So many issues when school starts out of nowhere, I am realizing. I'll have to tell them later, when we also have our special First Day snack of blackberry jam bars (I'm getting this).

Still, I started school within a week and a half of moving, and with a baby on my hip. I am feeling like a boss. The kids even asked if we can play the Alphabet Board Game again after naps, so obviously I am the funnest teacher ever. Plus I am wearing a scarf today that matches my shirt. Pinterest, I own you. Even if this happened in my house today:



Thanks for reading all of the thoughts that happened in my head for the whole day. Sheesh, epic post. This is Teacher Harriet, signing off.

My Big Boy!!

Today, Isaac announced that he had to go peepee and proceeded to take off his pajama pants and diaper. Now, we've been here before, and I was hardly thinking anything would come of it. He told me that he wanted to sit on the potty, which, ok, knock yourself out. So he took his bare little hiney up the stairs and the next thing I know, I can hear the unmistakable sound of tinkling! (One perk of toddlers never closing the bathroom door is the ability to remote monitor.)

I looked at Mikayla and said, "I think he's going peepee on the potty!!" Her little face lit up and we raced upstairs to celebrate. We jumped up and down, we clapped, we made all the fuss. Isaac was SO PROUD that he sat there and insisted on trying again which of course did not happen.

So basically he managed to use the potty without any assistance or prompting from his lazy momma, who didn't even move from the couch when he headed upstairs to the bathroom. (In my defense, I was working on a simple homeschool calendar.)  I am so curious to see where this will go! He asked to wear his big boy undies which...what's the worst that could happen? A little extra laundry?

Stay tuned! For today we have one very proud two year old, who got to pick popsicles for morning snack. And I printed off a Cars-themed potty chart for him. Potty training 16 days before moving to our new house is the best idea ever, amirite?

When They Grow Up

As the kids were eating their snack of cheddar cheese and Rye with Caraway Seeds Triscuits (my toddlers have the palate of middle-aged men), Isaac asked me to sing my lullaby. One of the lines is, "Who will you be tomorrow? What are the paths you will follow?"

Mikayla interjected then with, "I will be a mommy!"

"I hope so, sweet girl."

Isaac, predictably, then declared, "I will be a daddy!"

"I hope so, buddy."

And then M again: "I will follow Jesus!"

Oh my melting heart. But wait... "I will follow Jesus there, and there, and there, and there!" This devolved into several minutes of my children giggling and pointing to all the places where they will follow Jesus. A bit literal, but still cute. Finally Mikayla reiterated, "I will follow God everywhere he goes!"

Bless. I hope so, sweet girl.

The Most Epic Bathroom Stop Ever

The kids and I just returned from an almost-two-week adventure to western PA to visit my family. It was a whirlwind visit full of friends, a Children's Museum, a birthday party, a wedding, a fantasy football draft (keep the dream alive, gentlemen), and more. While not exactly restful, it was refreshing, like a deep cleansing breath. I have returned ready to collapse in exhaustion organize and pack for our big move in just over three weeks.

With three children under four years old, not all moments were equally refreshing. Some were chaotic, a few were downright laughable in their absurdity. The following story relates one of those moments. And yes, I made a note in my phone so that I would remember to tell you about this, dear readers, because this was one of those tales that must be told. And since the kids are taking awesome naps today, no doubt because of our little chat on self control during story time, I have the opportunity to share it.

We had stopped for gas somewhere in the middle of PA. The details escape me, but I do know that it wasn't the time when I had only four miles left on my gas gauge and the good Lord dropped an exit out of nowhere 1/4 of a mile up the highway. The things we do to preserve car naps - why, yes, I did drive past a perfectly good exit with several functioning gas stations, with under 20 miles til empty. Only to discover that the next exit (only seven miles away, they said; you can get off the highway there instead, they said) had NO SERVICES. We were running on fumes and prayers that time.

But no, this wasn't that time. This was the time with the yellow jackets. It started minimally enough - Joel was pumping gas, and suddenly flung his sandal off of his foot at me. "What?!" "There was a yellow jacket by my foot." Oh. Ok. Aside from my questioning his aim (do I look like I need a flying sandal followed by a stinging insect in my life?), that was that.

A few minutes later, I pulled the van over to a parking spot so that I could sit and feed Oliver. Joel took Isaac along for a bathroom visit. Rather than keep the car running for the A/C, I decided to roll down the windows a bit. We began to nurse, and M had the run of the car because reasons.

Suddenly, M was freaking out and trying to leap from the front passenger seat into my lap or the CD player or wherever she could get to. Mind you, I was holding a peacefully nursing infant. This limits the mobility somewhat, particularly within the confines of a bucket seat with a steering wheel. So she's shrieking, and I'm going, "What? What?", trying to convey a sense of urgency and helpfulness while not disturbing my baby. "There's a bee!!!" she yelled. Sure enough. So now, nursing baby, steering wheel, freaking out three-year-old, and a yellow jacket. It was like one of those silly songs ("there's a frog on the bump on the log in the hole in the bottom of the sea") except with more danger and very, very real.

Somehow with no arms, I managed to eradicate the yellow jacket, calm the child, and roll up the windows. I will accept my Mother of the Year award at a later date (wait til you hear about the way I reached and returned my screaming baby's pacifier while driving down the highway). For now, imagine me continuing to nurse and accepting the new, warmer, stuffier atmosphere inside the van. And then?

"I have to poop! I have to poop!" I'm not even kidding. But don't fret, gentle reader, we have a small potty that we take in the van on long rides for just such an occasion. What mother wouldn't volunteer to be stuck in a confined space with recycled air with their child's waste, amirite? So M dropped her drawers and made it in time. But then. My eyes slowly began to water as the oxygen content of the van dropped precariously.

You know what's an awesome choice to have to make, while STILL nursing a baby behind the steering wheel of a minivan? Yellow jackets or muggy poop air. Which will be my immediate future until my husband finally returns from his apparently epic journey through Middle Earth to Mount Gas Station Bathroom? (P.S. WHAT IS HE DOING IN THERE?)

I decided to gamble with the yellow jackets. I mean, what were the odds that that same little bugger was hanging around just waiting to make my life a wailing, flailing nightmare again?

Yeah. And he brought a friend.

So, the muggy poop air cleared out a bit, but a moment later M's high-pitched Mommy Alert System was back in full force, notifying me of not one, but TWO BEES!! IN THE CAR!! Oh sweet mercy. I begged the yellow jackets with my eyes to return from whence they came, because at least if I could refrain from shrieking and jumping, then we wouldn't add a screaming baby to the mix. File that under "last thing I freaking need right now, or ever". Apparently they did fly out the window because they aren't still there, and as I again telepathically rolled up the windows (I guess? I was still nursing Oliver?), Joel finally emerged from the Gates of Mordor Sunoco. He was carrying a small bag of snacks, by way of explanation for why it took him three days to get to the bathroom and back. You would admire my self-control; I didn't even chuck the baby at him and run away in tears.

Yes, twenty ounces of Sprite and some Cool Ranch Doritos TOTALLY made up for my having to battle the Death Eaters by myself (great, now I am mixing my epic movie references). At least I survived to tell about it! And to make up for my great travail, Joel volunteered for potty dumping duty (wait, did he volunteer, or did the look in my eyes leave him no choice? I'm not sure.). At the end of the day, thankfully, nobody was stung, and no accidents were had.

All in all, then, I guess I'd call it a success. Bahahaha.


An Opening Party, Guest List: You

So, I am officially an old person. Mr. UPS heaved a giant Amazon box into our front entryway, and I proceeded to open it while taking multiple photos and uttering phrases like "Oh my stars!!" No really, I used those exact words. Out loud. My kids were gracious enough not to notice. Possibly because they were able to do THIS:


What was the gift? You mean besides hours of free entertainment for my kids via packing themselves into a giant box and wearing a big blue bag around the house?

You guys.



Possibly the best house-warming gift ever. At least that I can remember, but I guess that isn't saying much since my brains leak out through my kids these days. Shout out, Aunt Patti and "hey you!" (Aunt Pam. What, you said I could call you that!)

The kids say thank-you too:



I seriously typed this to the sound of Mikayla, from inside the box, begging her brother, "Pack me up!! Pack me up now pleeeease!" But of course he was too busy bumping into things in his new blue world. Oh and don't think I didn't notice that we now have TWO boxes and one giant blue sack for packing up when we move in a few weeks. Jackpot all the way around.

And because I find the ruckus so hilarious when I tell the kids to say cheese:


So thank you to my dear Aunts, and we will think of you often when we cook, well, anything in our new home! It was all I could do not to pull every single piece out of the box to ooh and aah over it all, but I realized that I will never get it all packed back in there quite the same way it is now. But in three weeks, believe you me, that stainless steel will get some serious lovin'.

Edited to add: The reason this is such an amazing and much-needed housewarming gift is because I packed up my nine-year-old non-stick cookware and gave it to my sister-in-law, as she is moving out of the house the week before we do. (Yes, it's about to get very quiet at my in-laws' house. I imagine crickets chirping and voices echoing.) The set was about shot anyway, but Amy said it would make a great starter set for her as she gets on her feet. So, we are (were!) in need of cookware in order to eat anything other than Easy Mac and Doritos which, even though they were my favorite in college, the Mom part of me has developed something of a culinary conscience regarding powdered food. Scrambled egges? You got it. Spaghetti and meatballs? Coming right up. FROM SCRATCH. Good heavens I can't wait! 

(See? Old person.)

Decorating the Library We Don't Yet Have

If you are here frequently enough to know that I have bought a banana hook and various other items for our new-but-not-yet house (including a dining room hutch, which is residing at a friend's house because as my mother in law says, you couldn't fit another toothpick into this house with our family of five, Joel's parents, Joel's sister, and Joel's sister's accumulation of furniture and things for HER upcoming move), you may not be surprised to find out that I've also undertaken a few small decorating projects. Yes, we don't live there yet, but I have things to hang on the walls. That patience thing is just not taking for some reason.

I came across a quote that I liked in the kids' new Precious Moments bedtime book (a baptism gift for Oliver, but if you think the big kids will allow it to sit unused til he's old enough, you haven't met my kids.). Searching for a way to use it in a project, I came across this idea on Pinterest (of course), which linked to an item for sale on Etsy (naturally). Ten dollars for the wrong quote is not my idea of a deal. So I took a good, hard look at the photo and engineered my own!

First, new frames for 50% and 40% off at Michael's, thanks to my mother-in-law's couponing prowess. Then, transparency sheets for the quotes themselves, free from my sister-in-law's fourth grade classroom. But what for the page of literature in the background? What book could I deface in order to make something cool for the walls of my own home library? (I can sense my husband's indignance as he reads this. Joel, I concede, it is really your home library. Online catalog, shelf markers, and all.)

This is where it comes in really handy to be married to a librarian. I asked him if Lafayette had a collection where they collect "weeded" volumes, those to be taken out of circulation. He asked what kind of book I wanted. Shooting for the moon, I requested some classic work of literature, or even a dictionary or other reference work. No math textbooks, I stipulated. He warned me that they weren't likely to have much good literature lying around in the donation pile, but he'd check. And do you know what book Joel brought home for me that very day?

The freaking Odyssey of Homer. I love that man.

So I have the sweetest pages, with numbered stanzas and everything, to mount behind my quotes. I wish I had some "in progress" photos, but the process was pretty simple: Rip out pages from the Odyssey, say a brief prayer of repentance for defacing classic literature, and then crop slightly to fit my frames the way I wanted. For the larger frame, I took two facing pages from the book, cropped, and taped them in an aesthetically-pleasing overlapping manner. Next, I played with the quotes in Microsoft Word to get them to the right size, alignment, font combinations, etc. and printed on the transparencies. I cut the transparencies to size using the glass from inside the frames as a template.

That part took some doing, because I found that the ink smudged just a little even after I let them dry awhile. I printed several times and came up with some creative ways to cut them to the right size so that the ink would remain undisturbed. Because as a mother of three children under four years old, I like to seek out extra tasks that try my patience and perfectionism.

Into the frame went the glass, transparency, book page, and backing, in that order.

But in the end, I turned out a couple of pretty cool-looking pieces for our future home library walls:



(No "before" or "in process" pictures, sorry, but imagine empty frames and an intact Odyssey, I guess?)

Also, any suggestions for a paint color that might look nice with these? We have a dark teal recliner and mostly oak-ish-looking furniture for the library. I'm just undecided what direction to go with the wall color. I want it to feel warm and sophisticated, so maybe something in the brown family? I don't know, I've never had to make these decisions since we have been renting forever.

If you enjoyed this little project, or have done something similar, leave me some love in the comments. I'm also eager for more decorating ideas I could undertake before we move. Do you have a Pinterest board I should be following?

Coming Soon: New Digs!

Hi, me again! So as I doorknob-confessed at the end of my last blog post, we bought a house. Are buying a house. When does it officially become past-tense? Our closing date is in September. (Do you like to lift heavy things and possibly excel at visuo-spatial tasks such as Tetris? I may have a truck for you to help load in a month and a half.)

Do you have any ideas or suggestions for what I can do while staying at my in-laws' house, with fewer than 10% of my belongings, to organize and prepare for moving into our new house at the end of September? I already bought a banana hook and created wall art for the library. The banana hook is for the kitchen, not the library. That might have been unclear. The point is that I'm going stir-crazy and the anticipation is killing me and blah blah blah, it helps me feel better to do things for the house. Other than drive past it a rather creepy number of times throughout the week to monitor progress on the new septic system and, you know, just be with it. Kum ba ya.

Joel should be thankful I am not doing the same with my piano, because that is 45 minutes away. But oh how I look forward to its warmth and beauty greeting me each morning as I descend the stairs in my new home. I might hire a babysitter just to sit in my own home and play, and play, and play, and play. Or install a complicated baby gate at the top of the stairs and confine the kids upstairs with all their toys and a box of Goldfish. I'm pretty sure it would be worth it, even if I later discover my bed completely torn apart and possibly peed in.

Here is just a teensy sneak peek of the new place that isn't perfect, but is perfect for us. It is so cute. That little porch will be home to the glider bench and table that my parents gave us in their recent downsize, and I am just itching to sit out there with a cup of tea watching my first rain storm in our new house. And pull my car into that big, beautiful garage so that I can vacuum it out (maybe there is even a central vac hookup in the garage? Too much to ask?) and stay warm and dry while strapping my brood into their many and various car seats.


This post may have been a huge mistake, because I basically just shot myself in the patootie with regard to patience and contentment and the Lord's timing. Blarg. Hopefully a child will start crying somewhere and break me from this reverie. (At my house, this is neither an unreasonable request nor a long shot in any sense.)

Ok but seriously. I only have side dish and dessert recipes left to organize into my recipe binder (which I have owned for probably two years and am just now sorting out. I must be getting desperate.). After that, it's curtains for my sanity unless I come up with something more to add to my little box of "for the house" stuff. New cutting boards and a banana hook will only sustain me for so long. Ooooh I know, a trip to Lowes for paint colors! Because it makes total sense to select colors for rooms when I haven't even seen my rugs and curtains and furniture in three months. This won't be a crapshoot in the least!

As I go to select tags for this post, it doesn't really fit anywhere but I'm going to label it under "Homemaking" because what is more relevant to the category than actually having a home, right? Suffice it to say, God is so much more generous with us than we deserve. Guaranteed. In no way have I earned the right to find a beautiful home in our price range, in exactly the time frame we were hoping for, to exactly accommodate us and our belongings. It is just the balance between comfortable and modest. I love it. Eight years of marriage, six (about to be seven) places of residence, and three children testify to the Lord's continuous provision. The lines have fallen for us in pleasant places [Psalm 16:6].

Oliver at Two Months

So, my babies grow fast. Oliver had his two-month check-up this morning, and Dr. Chi was thoroughly impressed at his advanced development. He weighed in at 13 lb 4 oz, which is in the 75-90th %ile range and according to Dr. Chi, the size of a four month old baby. His length was 24 1/2 inches, which remains up around the 97th %ile and comparable to a six month old baby. Growth projections remain the same as at his one-month check-up; Oliver is likely to be 6'2 and 180-200 lbs. Yup. Now accepting donations toward groceries.

Relatedly, I saw another mom at the pediatrician's office with her son, who must have been 16ish years old, six feet tall and with hairy legs. So then I stood there holding my infant son, trying to picture him and his big brother at that size and oh my heart. I just can't even. I debated asking her grocery budget but who am I to be able to handle that kind of truth this early in the morning.

Oliver is advanced in other ways, too, not just his hearty size. He sleeps an average (starting in the last week) of 9-10 hours overnight. Bedtime has been around 8pm, and he makes it to at least 5am, with his record standing at 6:30am. THAT is my boy. He's either a great sleeper, or I am (his bed is right next to mine, so surely I wouldn't snooze through him wanting to be fed?). The big turning point was when we moved him from his Rock n Play, where he slept on his back and at a slight incline, into a travel-size Pack n Play where he sleeps on his belly. That kid LOVES his new bed, and even during the day when he feels sleepy, he tends not to sleep well until we put him in there (as opposed to his swing, car seat, or even being held).

He has half-rolled over a couple of times, from his back up on to his side. Once he made it over onto his belly (that was at least a week ago now, around 7 weeks of age) but more often he makes it up to his side and hangs out there. He's able to push and hold himself up on his arms and holds his head up high as he looks around. We get numerous smiles and coos from our social little guy.

[Edit: He just rolled again, right in front of me, as soon as I turned my camera on! Sometimes the stars just align.]


I might add that all of this is tremendously encouraging because there are times when I seriously question whether Oliver will survive infancy, due to the trauma he regularly experiences at the hands of his big brother. It started early. Most notably, the other day I was making breakfast while Oliver lounged in his swing. He was just across the room, safe and sound. Or so I thought. Suddenly I heard a crash, and then my two boys wailing like someone had died. Never have I made it from kitchen to living room with such speed and agility. The swing was lying on its side, Oliver facedown on the floor screaming, and Isaac weeping dramatically - whether out of fear or pain, I'm still not sure. I felt simultaneous impulses arise in me to snatch my baby from the floor to be sure he was ok, and to snatch my older son and let him know how NOT OK this was. Oliver won the internal coin flip, and turned out to be just fine; Isaac, well, I guess time will tell whether he's learned the lesson I imprinted upon him. Firmly. I will now be watching Oliver for all of the minutes of all the days until he is old enough to learn self-defense.

And I'm sharing this with you all because I'm 99% sure that my Mother of the Year nomination has already been revoked. Something about seven episodes of Daniel Tiger back to back while I fell asleep nursing the baby. I can't help it that Netflix auto-queues one episode into the next.

There are so many moments that I would love to share with you. I mentally bookmark them all the time - oh, that was so funny! So precious! So brilliant! So mind-blowingly chaotic that nobody will believe me unless I detail it on the internets! But then all of my mental bookmarks go the way of my abdominal muscles, never to be seen again. Le sigh. Perhaps during nap time today (which just started rather smoothly, knock on wood and throw salt over your shoulder and don't jinx it by talking about it) I will wrack my brain for all of the blog-worthy things I've been forgetting over the past few months.

Mental bookmark to take a two-month photo of Oliver with The Teddy Bear and post it along with comparison photos of the big kids. Think I'll remember? (Hint: we have no such one-month photos of Oliver. Third child syndrome. Oops. Hopefully he'll understand and be grateful that I was too busy keeping him alive and out of the clutches of his older siblings and making sure everyone was fed edible things at somewhat regular times of the day.)

Also? We bought a house. I know. Would I just drop that on you all right at the end of a blog post and peace out? Yes, yes I would. BOOM. Oh and Joel and I just celebrated our eight year anniversary. No gifts, figuring that between me birthing him a son and him buying me a house all within two months of our anniversary, we were probably good to go. Although, I feel like it is probably all downhill from there in terms of future anniversary gifts.

The Big Move

I've been procrastinating this post for awhile - my first public thoughts since moving. Mostly because my thoughts haven't been fit for public consumption. Even now, I'm uncomfortably aware of the need to temper my thoughts and feelings with grace, because the honest truth is that deep down, I'm a grumpy, selfish 36-week-pregnant lady. But the even deeper truth is that God is so good to us, and has used the crucible of these last few weeks to teach me more about the depths of His grace than I ever expected.

On May 3, our little family moved in with Joel's parents and sister. We now outnumber the native inhabitants of the house, and will soon add a newborn to the mix. So when I think all my cranky thoughts about not having my own washer and dryer, my own kitchen, my own 1800 square feet in which to nest, the first thing I ought to remind myself (but usually fail to do so) is that we are not the ones who are being inconvenienced here. We are being welcomed, accommodated, and blessed by the generosity and hospitality of our family.

Two weeks in, and I'm finally starting to feel like I know which way is up. I'm starting to brainstorm what our routine could look like (Monday morning going to the park with some other mommas, including my dear sister in law and her kids; Wednesdays, library story time or Moms' Bible study depending on the week...). It helps me to anchor my days and weeks a bit, at least until baby brother arrives and throws everything off-kilter again. This morning we even ventured into Bible verse review at breakfast, something that hasn't crossed my mind in weeks, possibly months.

The first few days were some of the most emotionally intense times of my life. Battling exhaustion, unpacking our bare necessities into 1/20th (rough estimate) of the space we usually live in, changing my definition of necessity. We attended church the morning after we got here and the emotions felt like a punch to the gut. Walking into a church that I've visited over the past ten years as a girlfriend, fiance, and then wife to the pastor's son, suddenly felt oppressive and too much. The same warm hugs and smiles that previously felt so welcoming, now struck me as intrusive. I couldn't fight the mental repetition of, "This isn't my church family. My church family is a hundred miles away in a 200-year-old country church with stained glass windows that make it too hot in the sun, worshipping without me."

I realized then that I needed time to process, time to adjust, and time to, honestly, grieve. The past few weeks were such a whirlwind of packing and organizing and doing that I hadn't had much time to experience the feelings that go along with such a major transition. And by transition, I mean leaving absolutely everything familiar and beloved. Sure, we were heading toward many more things that were already familiar and beloved, as well as new and abundant blessings from the Lord, but at the same time there was a profound sense of loss that hit me like a brick.

I drove away from my job, my career, to become a stay at home mom on a Thursday. And two days later, I watched all my worldly possessions parade from my home into a truck, and finally and unceremoniously into two big, empty, windowless storage units. I said tearful goodbyes to best friends and dearest nannies. I threw gigantic silent pity parties for myself.

But you know what? God has been so good. Two weeks later, and I've gone shooting with the "Annie Oakley Club" from my new church (honestly I watched everyone else shoot because the gunshots sent baby brother into elbow-throwing hysterics, but it was still fun!), the ladies of my new church home are throwing a small "Baby Sprinkle" for us this Saturday to help us feel welcome (which we do!), and I played the piano for worship on Sunday. I've exchanged smiles, hugs, and stories with old and new friends. I've even determined the exact most helpful angle for the ironing board in the basement as I press Joel's work clothes every night. The roses are slowly outnumbering the thorns in this whole process, and it's not the circumstances that are changing; it's my heart.


The Next ESPN Commentary Team

One of the best or worst things about two toddlers sharing a room is the color commentary on each other's behavior and subsequent disciplining. They're allowed to talk and sing and whatnot as they wind down for naps and bedtime, but the rules are:

1. You must stay in bed.

Because they don't stay in bed, supplemental rules are as follows:

2. Don't touch/turn off the monitor (mainly because of the crazy beeping of the handset that ensues, and it gives me a heart attack).

3. Don't open or bang on the windows.

4. Don't play in the closet (mainly because a certain little brother gets himself stuck in there, and then a certain momma has to go all the way upstairs to let him out).

Tonight, I'm not sure which rule was broken but dadda went upstairs with the spoon. I heard M. comment on the decibel level of her brother's spanking and give her approval. I'm sure dadda was relieved.

Momma's Back on the Blog!

So it turns out that having three kids under four years old keeps you kind of busy, especially during the first six weeks. Opening up a blog post at this point feels a bit like stepping tentatively into the creepy old house that's been abandoned for ten years. Cobwebs, creaky floors, and wondering if there's anyone still in here.

HELLO?? Hello....hello....

Great. Well, I just won't check out my Google analytics for awhile as you all look at each other wondering what that noise was from this decrepit corner of the internets.

Obviously I'm going to open with a Pinterest-style half-truth. This morning, I had peanut butter banana granola bars in the oven before 9:00 a.m. If I stopped there, you would be terribly impressed that I had gotten the baby back to sleep by 8:30 and was upstairs with coherent thoughts and even a GOAL. The kids stood on chairs to help add and mix ingredients, it was all very HGTV of me. Shoot, I could even count it as homeschool time.

I, however, am not one to do polished up half-truths. In addition to telling you that I added wheat bran, coconut, and chopped walnuts to my super healthy homemade treats, I'd like to also disclose that I sent my three year old to take care of the baby, who started screaming as I was spreading my granola bars into a perfectly even, aesthetically-pleasing layer in a skillfully parchment paper-lined pan. When that didn't work, the two year old took a turn offering the Nuk.

Also, my children at some point lost interest in stirring and began disagreeing loudly over possession of the new talking hamster toy Isaac received yesterday.

And when I returned to the living room after popping the granola bars into the oven, Mikayla was playing with little dogs and making them cower in their house, hiding from the big voice in the sky. I thought she was recreating Horton Hears a Who, which we watched recently, until she proceeded to inform me that I am the big scary voice of the mean monster coming from the sky. She either missed some significant plot points, or this is a sad commentary on my parenting style of late.

All that to say, I'm emerging from the newborn fog and starting to do actual things and have sequential thoughts. I hope to start sharing some of them with you, and record for my own sake some of the fun, exciting things that are going on at our house.

Birth story coming soon - only six weeks after the fact. Every time I sit down to work on it, my eyelids suddenly become so heavy...weird that the thought of labor and delivery makes me tired, eh? Spoiler: we had a really, really cute baby.

And a picture to reward all your patience and helping me dust off the blog:



I love this photo because nobody is crying, nobody is hitting or kicking, and nobody is even squashing the baby's head. We're happy! We love each other! Quick, take a picture! (They really are crazy about each other; even Oliver is starting to enjoy when his siblings get in his face to talk to him and give kisses.)

Totally unrelated, but I just deleted literally 105 photos from my phone courtesy of my youngest shutterbug (thanks, Isaac). There's something amusing about having seven identical screen shots of "iPhone is disabled, try again in 5 minutes". He knows how to take pictures and screen shots (and prevent me from surfing Facebook for a spell) but at least he can't unlock my phone.

And if you're interested, the granola bar recipe:
http://thechicbrulee.com/2012/02/07/the-best-homemade-granola-bars-ever/

A Bigger Teddy Bear, or a Bigger Jesus

I saw this graphic recently posted on Facebook:


I'm not re-posting it here to pick on those who shared it or "Liked" it. In fact, there are many times and many reasons to believe that God has wonderful gifts in store for His children.

Jeremiah 29:11 "For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give a hope and a future."

Matthew 7:11 "If you then being evil give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father who is in heaven give what is good to those who ask Him!"

Psalm 65:9-13 "You visit the earth and cause it to overflow; You greatly enrich it; The stream of God is full of water; You prepare their grain, for thus You prepare the earth. You water its furrows abundantly, You settle its ridges, You soften it with showers, You bless its growth. You have crowned the year with Your bounty, And Your paths drip with fatness."

We go confidently to our tender Father with our needs and requests, and He very often blesses us abundantly. But what I want to comment on is my initial reaction to this picture, and the spiritual danger I think is lurking just around the corner from this kind of thinking. I'm processing "out loud" here, because this hit me very directly in my current, transient, context. This struck a chord, as you will soon find out, because it is precisely what the Lord has been teaching me during these painfully emotional, and searingly intimate, few weeks alone with Himself.

My honest, gut-level reaction to this at first was, "Oh, God had me give up my house/church family/job so that He could give me even better. I wonder what our next house will be like! I bet it will be awesome! Yay!!" Major silent partying and recalling of the above proof-texts ensued.

Is this kind of optimism sinful? Nah. Again, Scripture is replete with descriptions of God as good, generous, and abundantly giving. But I realized almost as soon as the thoughts crossed my mind that I was toeing the line of presumption with God's faithfulness. Does the promise that He has plans to prosper me really mean that my next house will have four bedrooms with walk-in closets, central air, granite countertops, and maybe even a laundry chute? Or is it possible that His will for me is that I learn the discipline of opening my hands to surrender what I hold precious, whether He has a bigger teddy bear to give me or simply His own strong hand to slip into mine. I rather think it's the latter. 

Am I frequently tempted to worry about what our next house will be like, and when we might be able to move into it? A resounding yes to that one. I doubt I should console myself with the thought that our next house will probably be a Victorian mansion with a wraparound porch. What if it isn't? Is God any less faithful? Is He any less good? What if He took my teddy bear in order to teach me reliance on Himself? Perhaps, instead of illustrating Psalm 65, He is rather showing me Philippians 4:11-13:  "Not that I am speaking of being in need, for I have learned in whatever situation I am to be content. I know how to be brought low, and I know how to abound. In any and every circumstance, I have learned the secret of facing plenty and hunger, abundance and need. I can do all things through him who strengthens me."

Do I feel reluctant to dive into relationships with new friends in our new church? The pain of leaving dear friends behind is still fresh. And here I seriously don't think the analogy holds up - the people in New Jersey are neither bigger nor fluffier (nor more friendly, nor better cooks, nor more like us, etc.) than those we left behind in Lancaster County. I have to believe that the process of surrender of these relationships, and my church home, has far more to do with learning to trust and abide in Christ while it is just Him and me, here in the in-between.

Is it a huge adjustment to give up being a Licensed Clinical Psychologist? Was it a swallowing of pride to pack my big, gorgeous doctoral degree in its fancy, professional frame into a box with all my curtains? Absolutely no doubt there. Am I giving up that calling for one that is far more glamorous and with a higher earning potential? Well...that part, not so much. Filling out paperwork at my new midwives' office a few weeks ago was pretty humbling as, for the first time, I wrote "mom" on the Occupation line instead of "Psychologist". That's another blog post for another day, and many far more qualified SAHMs have written on the subject already, but what I'm saying is that I didn't let go of my career in order to gain something immediately or obviously bigger and better. I just became a homemaker without a home, for crying out loud. 

No, giving up these things was a sacrifice. As in, it has sucked. My heart has been completely broken, and I have felt utterly rent from all that I loved. (Drama much? PREGNANT.) Sometimes I focus far too much on the painful parts of the sacrifice and feel just a bit like a martyr. And as I have spent appropriate time grieving that which has been surrendered, I have felt lonely, out of place, mentally disjointed. I've also felt, acutely, my spiritual vulnerability - how Satan delights in using our emotional weakness as a foothold to ensnare us in old, besetting sins! The Lord gently, but firmly, used this time to lift my eyes (barely) to Himself; to illustrate in living color my need to seek comfort from Him rather than in myself and familiar sins (it might stink, but it's warm and it's mine, as the saying goes).

Going into this move, Joel and I fully believed that this was the Lord's will for our family. We still do. In my more rational moments, I acknowledge the great blessing that is living so close to (actually, with) family as we welcome our third child. His new job provides for me to stay home with our children, a decision we reached before knowing how He would provide. In so many ways, our current circumstance is an utter blessing. So to stretch the metaphor, we live these days with one hand on the bigger teddy bear, wondering what it's really like.

But the journey has been far more soul-baring than I ever anticipated. The past two weeks have been a mirror revealing my sinful heart, and a window into the unplumbable depths of God's grace. I wish I could convey to you in words how tender He has been with me even while I have suffered through grieving and adjusting. I'm still not there 100%. But I can testify that He did not call me to surrender my old life for the purpose of (immediately, anyway) replacing it with bigger and more dazzling blessings. No, I am persuaded that He opened my clenched fist to release what I loved, in order that I might grow to love Him more. He emptied my heart to fill it with Himself, in a way that would never have been possible while enjoying creature comforts and, you know, control over my life. And this is far more precious than whatever He has in store for us six months down the road, guaranteed.

So friends, I guess my point to all this is that when the Lord calls you to great sacrifice, or great loss, or great suffering, don't fall prey to the theology that paints God as a cosmic genie and one who seeks to bless you in solely human terms. You will come away sorely disillusioned. Sometimes He blesses us in ways that are easy for our eyes to see. But at other times, the blessing is in the pain that drives us to greater intimacy with our heavenly Father, whose greatest desire is to fill us, not only or always with milk and honey, but with Himself.

This is probably not anything new or particularly illuminating for all of you who have surpassed me already in Christlikeness (I can be a little slow), but for me it's transformational. And in some ways, the cartoon above is accurate, if you look at the bigger teddy bear as simply, generically, "what I know is better for you", not necessarily something that will look more appealing in the moment. I can be ornery toward Facebook-promulgated "Christian" things, but I try not to be unduly so. What is right on the mark is Jesus' gentle urging to just trust God's provision.


To my old life: I still miss you. I will always miss you. Lancaster County might be my geographical and cultural soulmate. See: Achenbach's pastries, whoopie pies, canning applesauce.

But in the words of a hymn that has grown sweeter to my heart of late:

"I do not ask to see the way my feet would have to tread,
But only that my soul would feed upon the living Bread.
Tis better far that I should walk by faith close to His side;
I may not know the way I go, but oh I know my guide.

And if my feet would go stray, they cannot, for I know
That Jesus guides my falt'ring steps as joyfully I go.
And though I may not see His face, my faith is strong and clear,
That in each hour of sore distress my Savior will be near.

I will not fear, though darkness come abroad o'er all the land,
If I may only feel the touch of His own loving hand.
And though I tremble when I think how weak I am, and frail,
My soul is satisfied to know His love can never fail."

["His Love Can Never Fail," E.S. Hall]

My prayer today is that the Lord would be made greater in my weakness, and that I would not grumble too loudly for Him to be heard. And that I would always be willing to give up my teddy bear to draw nearer to my Savior. Soli deo gloria!

Telling Mikayla About the Ultrasound

We have our first ultrasound scheduled for Monday, and I got the reminder call this morning at breakfast. As I hung up, Mikayla naturally asked who I was talking to.

So I told her, "On Monday, we are all going to the doctor's office, and he will take a picture-"

And here I suddenly became quite choked with sentiment, as I found myself talking to my firstborn about my nextborn.

"-of our new baby!"

She has no idea what this means yet. No sense of how special it will be to see that little black and white blob on the screen, this tiny life inside Mommy's belly. Or even that it is a life. I don't know if she'll ever remember getting this first glimpse of her little sibling. I know Isaac won't. But it sure was emotional for me to speak of it to my children.

As I squeezed the words out past the lump of emotion in my throat, Mikayla stared at me and promptly choked on her apple. I'm sure it was because she, too, felt overwhelmed at the unexpected swell of excitement and tenderness in her heart. (Don't worry, she was fine.)

Isaac, for his part, didn't miss a beat mashing his banana into his mouth. He'll figure it out eventually, in a few months when there's no room for him on my lap.




To My Second Son

Sweet son of mine, not yet born, I haven't written to you before now. I'm afraid it's the plight of the third born - your big sister and brother keep me far too busy to allow me to reflect on you for very long. But in all the moments between snacks and naps, diapers and drama, my thoughts turn to you. And my stars, how you steal my attention, even when I can't spare it! You sit low, and you move so vigorously, your presence in my belly is hardly subtle. Everyone seems surprised that my due date is still two months off - but then, my babies all tend to sit right out in front of me, announcing themselves proudly to the world.

Baby boy, I am so looking forward to meeting you. The lullaby that was sung to me as a baby, and is now sung to my little ones, questions, "Who will you be tomorrow? What are the paths you will follow?" How I love to ponder this as I feel your kicks and wiggles! Your siblings have taught me that motherhood is, yes, molding and teaching little souls, but it is far more learning and getting to know little personalities than I ever dreamed! They have brought so much joy that I may be more excited about meeting you than I was about meeting my firstborn, if that is at all possible. Motherhood just keeps getting better!

The themes of this pregnancy have been provision and peace. When I learned I was carrying you, my heart inclined more than ever toward my children and home. I began to pray that God would give us a way for me to be a momma full-time. I knew it was what I wanted, and I had a peace that the Lord would bring it about, though I couldn't fathom how. And I knew it wouldn't necessarily be a popular or understandable choice to many people, for a licensed psychologist with a doctoral degree to lay all that aside to change diapers and wipe noses and spread peanut butter - but it is simply a different, more demanding, more precious kind of kingdom work than what I do at the office. The Lord led us, prayerfully, in faith, to the decision that I would indeed stay home with you and your big siblings, though it leave us broke. And in His time, He has ordained just these last few weeks for your dadda to have a new job that will provide. Hallelujah!

While carrying you, our family has gone through significant stresses and changes, including a possible return of your Papa's cancer. We prayed and prayed, and even while we waited for news and test results, God covered us all with His peace. He granted us, supernaturally, to trust Him that whatever the outcome, it was in His hands. And, supernaturally, all those tests were clear. Again, the theme of provision. Hallelujah! Your Gramsie and Papa are moving, now we are moving, and your Aunt Brittany and Uncle Kory await news of their future plans as well. Peace and provision are what we continue to seek, and the Lord continues to give in abundance.

We have peace with the Lord through Christ, and trust His hand for our daily bread; He assures us that we are His beloved. Precious boy, know that your name arises from the Lord's faithfulness and the ways He has shown Himself in these first months of your life. Just as Mikayla Grace reminds us of God's generosity in granting us fertility, and Isaac Victor recalls the surprise and laughter of God's plan at his birth, your name will commemorate God's granting of peace and provision through incredible upheaval and change. I love you already, not least because of what you will symbolize to us as you arrive in our arms. And we will have you baptized, sealed as the Lord's, with the promise that His peace will extend to you all your days.

Oh, there you are again, leaping to remind me that you love to be awake at this time of evening. I can almost picture how you must look, all arms and legs competing for space, tiny elbows poking your momma. How precious you are, how precious you will be. Grow, baby boy, and get your exercise in there, because you will need your strength to hold up to the exuberant love that your big sister and brother are just dying to share with you already! Can you feel the raspberries they blow all over my belly? Do you enjoy or dread the "love bonks" that your brother imparts? He asks to see you, pulls up my shirt, and says "Oooh, he's nice! He's big!", loving on you as only a sweet two year old can. Your sister tells me all the time how she will help you walk, how she will hold you in her arms, how she will feed you. And she asks frequently if the baby is ready to "pop out" yet. Get ready, my sweet, for you enter into a family that will simply smother you with love!

With all my heart,
Momma

"Art" Projects and Psychobabble

Imagine that you have a three year old and a two year old running around the house. Say, for the sake of argument, that one of them is very talkative and the other enjoys channeling zoo animals.

Now, pretend that you are also 30 weeks pregnant. Lots of energy. Usually in a great mood.

Add to this thought exercise the unexpected goal of packing your house to move in three weeks.

Now, what does your house probably look like? Fantastic, right? And guess what else is happening? People are starting to COME LOOK AT YOUR HOUSE to decide if they want to live there.

Well, color me motivated to stack all the boxes neatly along the walls, (have my husband) vacuum the box-debris and diaper lint from the carpets, and investigate the condition of the toilets. It will take all my self-restraint not to follow the prospective tenant and our wonderful landlord around the house explaining why there's no bedspread on the guest bed (and why it's currently sans bed frame), the obsessive-looking stacks of baby clothing bins lining that room, and of course this:



Yes, friends, we have made it two years without scribbling on the walls and yet a month before we move out, a short week before we roll out the welcome mat for house showings, one of our darling children grabbed a dry erase marker and unleashed his inner Picasso (I'm assuming it was a man-child, no particular reason). I am so stoked for the paint job that I now have ahead of me. Actually, we were going to paint this section of wall anyway because as you can see, it was previously unfinished. Our plan had been to paint it with whiteboard paint, but I hadn't yet taken the plunge (for some reason that felt like a big commitment? Having moved four times in our eight years of marriage, I guess I have a hard time committing to a wall. Issues.).

So what could have been a leisurely return to paint a small patch of wall, perhaps even after we move out, by someone non-pregnant, has now become a "Shoot, Joel, can you run to Walmart for a paint roller after the kids go to bed so I can paint this before the showing tomorrow?"

Just a guess - my "Conscientiousness" scale would be just a bit high on a Big Five personality assessment. That's the one measuring, basically, perfectionism and sense of responsibility to others. Possibly also "Neuroticism". But hey I'm also highish on "Openness to new experiences" so at least I'm a good time at parties. And I feel obligated to clean up afterwards!

Totally unrelated note: you know what's a great idea? Applying a coat of paint at 9:00 p.m., observing black marker clearly through the first coat, and THEN reading the label that says, "Wait four hours before recoating". Huh. Doing the math, that roughly means I'm an idiot and/or going to be very tired tomorrow. Also there is barely enough paint left for the recoat, so forget about pouring it back into the can, washing out the roller, and recoating tomorrow morning. Also, I have this thing about drop cloths being for wimps, but thankfully that one hasn't come back to bite me just yet.

Also mostly unrelated: The best husband ever came home with not just a paint roller, but also snickerdoodles and peanut butter cookies. He speaks my love language. And no, I do not have any idea why my babies are always over 8 pounds at birth, why do you ask?

I did manage to get a second coat on the wall just an hour later, though it required tilting the paint tray back and forth to spread the puddles of paint enough to cover my roller again. I like to live on the edge like that - close calls and late-night excitement. The wall looks great! And it's juuuust warm enough that I can crack the bathroom windows this morning to freshen them up before the walk through. Let's just say that'll help the house to show better. A cloth diaper pail in a closed-up bathroom all winter can leave one, shall we say, looking forward to some air circulation.

In all seriousness, we're praying for the right tenants to come along behind us. We've been so blessed by this home the past two years, and by our sweet landlord, that we sincerely hope to leave it a little better than we found it and that the next family here is a delight for her as well. Although I'm not sure she'll find any *cuter* tenants than the two currently occupying the second upstairs bedroom.

No-Poo Woo Hoo!

I'm telling you, I think in rhymes and children's songs. The level of sophistication in my house is so low, it's probably like a black hole sucking all of the grown-up-ness up for miles around. Which explains a little about some of the neighbors, now that I think about it. Oh, wait, did you think the blog title was referring to my regular fantasy of a day without soiled diapers? The one that isn't likely to happen any time in the next two and a half years minimum?

Well, I currently "no-poo" (though my children certainly don't, heh), which actually refers to not using shampoo, and thought I'd share an update for other all-natural weirdos out there. The only shampoo that's touched my hair in the past year was one time when we were on vacation with friends and I got lazy. I just used what was in the shower. (It was a decent, at least middle of the road shampoo that you might have in your shower as well.) I could tell a HUGE difference, as my hair went totally limp and fine afterward and would hardly stay in a ponytail. That's been typical of my hair throughout my life, not wanting to stay up in any kind of style or hold a curl. With the "no-poo", though, the natural oils aren't washed out and it gives my hair awesome texture and shine. For me, it is win-win. I don't spend money on shampoo or hair product, and my hair is infinitely more manageable and very soft.

Oh and I was shampooed twice during my semi-annual haircuts. Same story as above, but with lots of hair product to scour out with my baking soda "no-poo"over the next few days.

If you are thinking of trying the "no-poo" system (you are totally dying to give up shampoo, right??), I have a few tips to help you give it a really fair trial:

1. Commit to doing no-poo only for 30 days. Your scalp will take a little while to adjust the amount of oil it makes, and yes, you might feel really oily for awhile. My first time around, I bailed after a couple of weeks because I was dying for some lather and felt like a grease pit (my second time around, I used more baking soda and had way more success; see #2 below). If you alternate between no-poo and shampoo, your scalp won't make the adjustment and you might always feel a little dissatisfied with your no-poo hair. It also helps you break your addiction to shampoo lather ;-). After that first month, it's smooth sailing! Like I said, I don't use any product, and my hair has great softness, shine and body. I am very amazed by this, even a year later. Please tell me if I'm delusional and my hair looks yucky, but I'm pretty sure nobody can tell.

2. Be flexible with your recipe. If you're a few weeks in and still feeling oily, add more than a tablespoon of baking soda to your cup of water. At this point, I eyeball how much baking soda I put in the bottom of my bottle, and fill it up with close to two cups of water. Shake before each use to dissolve the soda again.  If your scalp seems a little too dry, you could try less baking soda. This is totally customizable! Same with your vinegar rinse. I would play with the baking soda ratio first, and stick with about 1 tablespoon vinegar to 1 cup of water, and mess with the vinegar rinse later.

Here's the basic idea to get you started:
Add 1 Tablespoon baking soda to 1 cup water. Shake well, apply to hair and scrub your scalp like you were trying to lather it. Work into hair as well. Rinse well with water. It'll feel sticky when rinsed. Over time, instead of feeling weird, this will just make you look forward to the next step, which makes your hair so soft.

Add 2 Tablespoon apple cider vinegar to 1 cup water. Squirt over hair to saturate, rub in a little like a conditioner, and rinse well with water. Sometimes I let it sit on my scalp for a few minutes while I do other things. The vinegar rebalances the pH of your hair and scalp, which is vital to this process because baking soda is very basic. Plus, the sticky thing.

For dispensing, I have found that cheap condiment bottles from Walmart work well. The kind with long pointy spouts that you squeeze to dispense, and little caps to go on the tip of the spout, you know? I paid a buck each for them, and they squirt out at a rate that lets me get what I need all over my head. For faster dispensing, you can snip off the tip of the spout to make a bigger opening. I've used bottles with larger openings, and ended up dumping a ton of baking soda water in one spot on my head, and running out before I'd no-poo'ed my whole head. The condiment bottles hold close to 2 cups, I think, and last me two hair-washings.

I often mix up a big 64-cup batch of the baking soda and vinegar mixtures in larger containers with big flip top lids, and just refill from there before every other shower. When it gets to be routine, it's not a hassle at all. And no, I don't smell like a salad. The vinegar rinses away clean, and leaves my hair soft and shiny as I mentioned above. It won't be "squeaky clean" like it might be after shampoo, because the oils are still intact. But it also won't be limp and dirty looking right away like mine always is after I use conditioner (I have tried all kinds).

Why am I sharing the details of my non-shampoo regimen? Because I failed the first time I tried it. And because with any new process or product, I've found greatest success when I had the most knowledge about how to go about it and what to expect. So in case you've been curious about trying it, or just a little voyeuristic about the kind of weirdos who "no-poo", now you know!

Confession: One of my favorite things about using homemade face wash, no-poo in clearish bottles, and nice bar soap for washing is the look of total purity and simplicity in my shower. Is it weird that I enjoy not looking at labels or illustrations of flowers and fruit? This teeters on the brink of a pride issue for me, I think, evidenced by my relegating Joel's store-bought body wash and shampoo to the other shower shelf, the one behind my back. You can lead 'em to water, but you can't make 'em drink.

I'm looking for a recipe for some kind of natural baby wash. If one doesn't come along soon, I think I might splurge on something for this new baby and use it on the toddlers as well. I've read things about store-bought baby washes that make me uncomfortable; even if they aren't causing babies to mutate before our eyes, I like the idea of knowing all the ingredients and that I'm putting safe, healthy substances all over my children's bodies. Do you know of a recipe, or a good natural brand I could try?

Thanks for stopping by!