Oliver at 7 months

Oliver. He is simultaneously the sweetest and most consternating little fellow I ever did meet. Let's just say he does not have the same deep and abiding love of sleep that his older siblings did and still do. We are still up every 3-4 hours overnight nursing, but Joel and I are working on an action plan to hopefully stretch his sleep out a little further, a plan involving somehow finding nourishment that he will allow past his cherubic little lips.

Anyway, he didn't have a checkup this month (not another until nine months) so I don't have official stats to share. But he's outgrowing (outgrown, really) his 6-9 month clothing, and the Gerber 12-month footie jammies are pathetically tight as well (but then, they run small). 12-month clothing in general is a bit roomy but it works. I could have sworn I had a bunch of actual 9-month clothing somewhere but I have yet to find it. That's a project for the upcoming week, Lord willing.

He sits up, he rolls, he army crawls. He's never in one place for very long. He prefers to stand up when you try to set him on the floor. He does the standing hip thrusts that come before a baby starts cruising - it may be awhile before we get to that point, but I love his strong legs and enthusiasm for dancing. He head bobs all the time. Dude's got rhythm. Maybe to the beat of his own drummer, but nonetheless.

Speaking of his own drummer, I mentioned the sleep thing above, and will note now that he refuses to take a bottle and has been rejecting solid food lately. He was doing ok with oatmeal, but only sometimes. Then sweet potatoes were doing ok, but then not. Pears and peas have both been met with the kind of face usually reserved for when someone offers you blood pudding and sweet breads. The bottle rejecting has been across the board - he accepted a bottle of breastmilk way back in days of yore, but with me being at home now full-time, there was a long time where we didn't need to give it to him. Possibly a big mistake. He now hates the bottle with the fire of a thousand suns, whether it contains breastmilk or formula, which we've sampled out of desperation in the last day or so. (See above: sleep issues. I need to get that belly fuller!)

I'm normally a subscriber to the make-your-own baby food school of thought. I mean, what does the packaged stuff have over my at-home versions other than a more astronomical price? (I went to the store once with the full intention of buying baby food in pouches/jars to make Christmas week easier. I could not bring myself to purchase a $1.49 jar of baby food. Have prices gone up since my others were babies?) I made my own pureed Oatmeal to start him out before branching to fruits and veggies. I attempted rice cereal this one time but OH MYLANTA the sound of rice grinding in the food processor for like 45 minutes to make it fine enough to cook into baby food puree. It is not worth the torture of huddling in the kids' bedroom UPSTAIRS with books and our fingers in our ears. And he didn't even eat it.

All that to say, when Joel today threw out the idea of grabbing a box of rice cereal just to see if our little prima donna would eat it, my first instinct was to mentally search for a better at-home method. My quick brain scan confirmed what my heart was saying: nothing else is working. I'm desperate. I don't think his belly is getting full enough. Why in the world would we not try it? So Joel grabbed his shoes and even changed into real pants (even as I type this, the light bulb goes on - Isaac and pants. Hmm.) and headed to our local SR.

You guys. OLIVER ATE THE RICE CEREAL. I laughed. I almost cried. I would have done handsprings if I knew how and I were at least twelve years younger. My husband will be the recipient of numerous favors involving delicious food, foot rubs, and maybe even sleeping in one day. Is there anything that compares to the feeling of filling your child's belly, especially a picky child who seems to PREFER his strategy of waking up hungry in order to spend more time with me (or at least with his milk supply) over actually eating to satisfaction.

So, happy dance over here. Oliver's about to go down for a nap and I can only hope it's a nice, lengthy one, especially since his morning nap was thwarted by his siblings scouring the house to find me. Why they thought I was in Oliver's closed room during his nap is beyond me. They can't possibly know my secret desire to hide with the fudge and not come out.

If that's not a positive enough note on which to end, you have to see Oliver's smile to believe it. You could pour him over your pancakes and stir him into your coffee. He has A DIMPLE. Where in the gene pool he got a dimple I will never know, but there it is, and he does this half smile thing that lights up the room and my world. Not to mention when he goes full-on grin. And after he nurses in the middle of the night, with a full belly and sleepy eyes he melts onto my shoulder and it's so hard to put him back into his crib sometimes. Don't get me wrong, my bed calls louder than the baby snuggle, but I do find some blessing in his nighttime sweetness.

Quick endnote: Of course, since I wrote this a few days ago, Oliver has begun for-real crawling, and has also had a few nights of sleeping a little better - like, a stretch from 10:30 - 3:30ish. He imitates head bops and has waved a few times, and imitates drumming on his high chair tray. Willing to eat rice cereal but rejects all others at the moment. We'll get there!

To Mikayla on Her Fourth Birthday

My sweetest Mikayla,

You turned four this week. Already, you are an expert on what it means to be four. "Four year olds don't take naps," with your Serious Face, your Serious Voice, and hands on hips. Except today you so desperately needed a nap. But that four-year-old sense of independence exerted itself and you sobbingly tried to convince me that you should stay awake. This is so you. A strong spirit. Sometimes to the point of foolishness. Much like your mother. I look forward to knowing you when you're a woman. I think we will get along so well, at least when we are not each striving for our own way! God will work with you on that, though...trust me...

You know what else is you, though? Sweetness. Thoughtfulness. Bringing things that your little brothers need, sometimes without me asking. Complimenting me on my cooking, my hair, the decorations for your birthday party: "I love the way you did that!" "That was so much work!" You speak so clearly for your age. People are usually astonished that you're so young (perhaps also because you are tall!). And you most often use your voice to make the most marvelous observations and ask the most thought-provoking questions (see below!).

You speak clearly, and if there is one thing I have learned about being your momma, it's that I must listen, and usually with you in my arms. You are beautiful when you feel heard. Smiles and giggles and obedience. This, too, reminds me of me. And I know what it means deep in my spirit when I feel acknowledged, validated, heard. Even if I'm wrong. At four years old, believe it or not, sometimes you're wrong. Sometimes you must obey (okay, always) even when you don't agree. But when I listen to your concerns, and explain, you so often see and understand, and conform. Please, precious daughter, remind me of this when you are thirteen and always.

One of your favorite things right now is to read together. You read to me, and I reward you with a marshmallow for each new page. Two marshmallows at the end of a book you have already read before. Motivated by your sweet tooth...I don't know where you get that. I can tell, though, that you are also motivated by pleasure in your accomplishment. I hope you always are. I've read that girls often don't persist when they feel a task is too hard, so I try to be mindful of telling you to "Stick with it!" And you are always even happier than I am when you do stick with it!

You're developing your own sense of style, most often flaunting it as Purple Girl. You enjoy dancing, or shall I call it "creative movement". You've learned from Fancy Nancy how to plie and arabesque (sort of). You get so distracted at dinnertime that it's all we can do to have you reasonably finish your meal. All you want to do is chatter, and move, and be so happy. Maybe you are just excited because this is usually the first chance to really talk with Daddy after he gets home from work. Maybe, though, it's just that you are the silliest girl in the entire world, with a great sense of humor and occasional derision for the rules of civility. (Why not try to eat with your head hanging upside down off your chair? What could possibly go wrong? And who says you can't suddenly hate cheese sauce for dinner even though cheese is your primary food group for lunch?)

Princesses, playing "renst-raunt" by cooking us food in your play kitchen, beading necklaces, playing superheroes with your brother, blanket tied tight around your little shoulders as a cape - these are a few of your favorite things. And, blessing my heart so much, in the last few days you have been asking SO many questions about the gospel. Perhaps this is what has most motivated me to write this down. I want you to know that in your wee years, you are curious about the Lord and Savior whose seal is upon you. 

You ask how He died, what happened on the cross, how He got into the grave, and how He got back out. Did God die on the cross? How did the Father turn His face away? And today, after a hitting incident with your brother, you asked if Jesus has to die on the cross again. How, my dear heart, are you asking questions addressed by Paul in his most theologically exhaustive epistle? Then I asked if you believe Jesus died for YOU, and you said no. Probing further, I learned that you did not want to believe it because it was such evil men (bad bullies!) who killed Jesus. Then we talked about Joseph telling his brothers, "You tried to do an evil thing, but God used it for great good!" And how the most evil thing was done to Jesus, but God used it for the very greatest good ever so that we can be His children! My sweet, treasured daughter, tears come to my eyes again recalling our conversations last night and today. I want to give you all the answers so that you can know Him to whom you belong. I hope that when I stumblingly tell you mysterious things that even the greatest scholars express with difficulty, it causes you to ponder, and wonder, and worship.

How I pray for you, in your tender years! That you will cling to Christ even now so that His strong arms feel like home when the years are not so tender. My heart burns for you to know Him, such that if I could carve out a piece of my belief, physically, and plant it in your heart, I would do so. You bear close and frequent witness to my need for Jesus. I pray, pray, pray that I adequately point you to Him in my shortcoming. That we go to the throne together often enough, gently enough, confidently enough.

My little budding ballerina. You have danced your way into my heart these last four years. Know that you will always have a home here with me, come what may. I will do my best always to demonstrate the love of Christ to you; that whatever sin may ever separate us, all you need do is turn your eyes back toward your momma and I will know, and love you back to me, as He has done for me these many years. And God, because of Jesus, will welcome you back even more easily and joyfully than I because your sins are at the bottom of the ocean!

You are lovely. You are a gift. You are awake upstairs and weeping...time to put hands and feet to my words here, sweet one.

"He the barren woman takes, and a joyful mother makes. In her home is great reward. Alleluia, praise the Lord!" Psalm 113:9 (Your Psalm, the one you ask us to sing almost nightly at bedtime. Your namesake, as we marveled at the Lord our God and His gift of children into our quiver! What grace!)

With hugs, butterfly kisses, and the greatest earthly love imaginable,

Momma

Mikayla Grace

ballerina, fashionista, amateur theologian

4 going on 14 years old

34.8 pounds

41.5 inches tall

Season Your Cast Iron with Flaxseed Oil, I Really Really Mean It

I know what you're thinking: I haven't written in forever and my big comeback is a scintillating post on cast iron pans. Elizabeth is a big lame-o. My kids would agree, but for vastly different reasons. Mainly involving my strict requirement of pants every time we leave the house, but also at times due to my overbearing rules about flushing the toilet. NOBODY HAS ANY FUN AROUND HERE.

But back to talking about food. (Motherhood is full of such extremes, amiright? Start dinner, POOP EVERYWHERE, finish the cheese sauce. Or so I've heard.)

I thought I'd post because this has come up a few times recently. I solicited input on how to clean my beloved cast iron pan that grew rust during its five months in storage, and a few friends have asked here and there (not me directly, but I've added my two cents) about seasoning and re-seasoning cast iron. Maybe this link and testimonial will help you. And yes, I am just now seasoning my cast iron that I de-rusted back in early October. Life comes at you fast.

A Science Based Technique for Seasoning Cast Iron

This was written by a chemist who provides helpful details on the seasoning process, and the rationale for using flaxseed oil. It's been at least a decade since I last meaningfully studied chemistry, but polymers and smoking point and yadda yadda yadda. Spring for the flaxseed oil. It's pricier than olive oil, but it has a higher smoking point or something and that means seasoning it at 500 degrees will make it polymerize and harden, and then cooking at lower temperatures it'll just be that smooth, glossy, non-stick surface you've fantasized about. Seriously, anything factual from this paragraph was plagiarized from the link above, so read there for more details. Any errors up to this point are straight out of my own brain, no extra charge.

Now for the testimonial part. I forgot to take a "before" picture because I don't sleep at night and at the time I decided to finally start the seasoning process this morning, I was also emptying the dishwasher, making fudge, and trying to block out a (well-fed) fussy baby. So, surprise of surprises, I forgot to snap a photo. This actually shouldn't surprise you because Oliver's monthly photo updates tend to come two weeks late. (I got out his teddy bear two days ago because he had turned seven months; the bear has been mercilessly beaten and kicked around the living room by little people but no photo has yet been taken. So much for visual cues. And yes I am posting about a skillet before writing my son's seven month update.)

The skillet, fresh from storage, looked kind of like this, but with the thin layer of rust over the entire bottom of the pan: (photo credit www.macheesmo.com)

I scoured it with steel wool (three and a half months ago) to remove the rust and, sadly, the seasoning, so that it looked more like the pan on the right here (ish). No rust, but also not a smooth black finish AT ALL. Still kind of brown and dry looking: (photo credit www.tommcmahon.com)

At this point, I had added a layer of olive oil, put it in a warm oven, and tried to use it for scrambled eggs but they stuck SO BAD. It was like trying to remove wall paper with water and my fingernails. Not good. Enter the tutorial linked above.

Here's the basic process:
1. Purchase flaxseed oil. Cringe at the price, but tell yourself it will be worth it. It was $11 and change for 8 oz at my grocery store which isn't like caviar or truffles, but more than I'd usually spend on a small bottle of oil.

2. Heat your (clean, unrusted) cast iron in a 200 degree oven briefly, enough to make sure it is dry and to open the pores a bit. (Cast iron has pores? Who knew we had so much in common!) You might have to wait a little bit til you can pick it up and do the next step.

3. Put a roll of paper towels next to you on the counter (trust me). Shake the bottle of flaxseed oil. Pour a little (about a tablespoon and a half was good for me) onto your palm and rub between your hands. Pick up your cast iron pan and rub the good stuff all over it, working into every nook and cranny, inside and out. You will feel very oily and possibly very emotionally close with your cast iron, but this is normal. I think. This is actually not mentioned on in the tutorial but I've never been up to my wrists in oil with my favorite cookware before.

4. The paper towels in close proximity should be making sense about now. Grab one and try to wipe off all the oil you just meticulously and lovingly rubbed into your pan. You want to leave the thinnest layer ever, and you don't want any drips in your oven when you heat it. It's also a nice way to wipe off some of the oil on your hands as you turn it over and wipe all around.

5. Place pan upside down in oven, and turn it on to 500 degrees. You can put a sheet of foil on the rack below to catch any drips, if you would like. But if you did it right, you shouldn't have drips. Leave it in there for an hour. It might smell a little smokey. It's either the oil or last night's dinner that cooked over, I'm not sure, but it shouldn't be an issue.

6. After an hour, turn off the oven and leave for a couple hours til it's cool enough to handle again. Pro tip: cast iron hangs onto heat (wait, what?), especially 500 degrees of it. Mine looked like this after just once through this process:

That is my skillet. It is beautiful and shiny and one color all over. I CANNOT BELIEVE IT. It was at this point that I decided to obviously take a picture, and then tell the world, or at least the six people who read my blog. I have never, ever seen this kind of transformation with any other kind of oil or other method for seasoning.

The tutorial calls for six total coats, so this will take you 18 hours (not necessarily in a row) to complete if you go whole-hog. I plan to do all six and will let you know how it goes. It's in the oven on round two right now, and I should be able to do another once or twice today/this evening.

*Due to unforeseen circumstances, i.e. wildly fluctuating emotional states in our home, I was not able to publish this right away. As a result, I now have a photo of the skillet with two coats of flaxseed oil. Note the slight sheen; it is still quite warm from the oven. As an experiment, I ran a paper towel over the inside surface to see if it was damp-oily like it appears, but I got no residue on the paper towel AT ALL. It is a hard dry surface as promised, but appears very oily and non-stick. Win!

You are welcome. Just four coats to go and then I will invite you all over for scrambled eggs and yorkshire pudding, my two favorite things to make in this bad boy.

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.