Blanket of Snow, Blanket of Cheese

Today, I made a very important discovery. Which was not so much a discovery as a finally getting around to doing something quite obvious. It's because of the snow. A blizzard basically requires hibernation-eating, which for me involves fat, calories, and probably loads of dairy. Those new yoga pants and jeggings notwithstanding.

My favorite combination of fat, calories, and loads of dairy is probably ice cream. But, #Blizzard2015. If there's one thing that looking out the window at the beginning of snowmageddon makes me not want to be, it's cold.

My second favorite dairy food is Tostitos medium salsa con queso. I've never counted the ingredients nor tried to pronounce them because denial is the best medicine. But last night I made a bold move. I bought tortilla chips and no queso. BOLD, I'm telling you. This is the stuff of going out in the middle of the snowpocalypse in northern New Jersey to get queso because I MUST EAT THE CHIPS.

However, it occurred to me that I make cheese sauce pretty often. For, you know, mac 'n cheese, loaded potatoes for dinner, tuna casserole, the list goes on. It's basically its own food group with the under-four crowd. Sooooooo why wouldn't it taste delicious on my nachos?

Well, my cheese sauce looks like this today because I'm a mom and, for at least 3/4 of the time I should have been stirring it, I was instead running around putting food in mouths and wiping peanut butter off of fingers and generally trying to decrease the decibel level. But it is still two things: warm and cheesy. Who doesn't like things that are warm and cheesy?

 Also, I am no dummie, and if there's one thing I've learned from Pinterest and Instagram it's to make sure your cozy fireplace is in the background of your "oh I just randomly snapped this photo" photo. So despite the lumpy cheese sauce, I am doing something right today.

By the way, nachos slide around on a plastic plate like a toddler off of a public restroom seat. This entire plate of queso almost landed in my lap as I photographed it, but for my cat-like reflexes. SAVE THE CHEESE. And the yoga pants.

So this is me, pretending all of my children are sleeping while I devour enough nachos and cheese to get me through the long, cold winter.

What are you eating doing today to keep you warm?

Field Trip to the Pburg Mall

I wrote a bit yesterday about combatting the loneliness of motherhood by, well, writing. This morning, a new idea occurred to me, prompted by my fear of my son actually, literally putting a hole through a wall with his zeal for running.

He even winds up like a real cartoon superhero:

I realized that I had to get these kids out of the house if it killed me. But it's cold, it's winter, and it's not worth paying actual money to go do something they may or may not lose interest in after a minute and a half. What's a good free, low-risk-of-injury-or-destruction activity for kids in the winter? Your local shopping mall! (Note: Not an outlet mall. Those are usually outside and it's your own dumb fault if you rope yourself into herding small children at one of those.) Bonus points if it's a really sad, empty mall because 1) fewer obstacles (people) and 2) fewer temptations (stores for shopping).

We happen to have just such a sad, empty mall not too far away, so I promised the kids a "field trip" when the baby woke up. Coolest mom-teacher ever, planning a spontaneous field trip to a place where there is NOTHING THERE, right?

Of course, said baby took an almost two hour nap, pushing this into a hope-we-can-squeak-it-in-before-lunchtime trip, but you won't hear me complain about him sleeping longer than 45 minutes.

I said it was a sad, empty mall, but there just happens to be a little something for everyone in my entourage: Claire's for Mikayla, a sports-related store for Isaac, and (drum roll, please) an H&M for Momma! I totally shopped the clearance rack and found a long, red tunic sweater to go over the pajama jeans that I bought at the grocery store last night. Don't judge. If I had KNOWN I was going to an actual mall today with actual stores, I might not have sprung for the jeggings next to the frozen potato products.

Watch for a selfie of me in my jeggings and neat-o $7 H&M clearance sweater, possibly also wearing a snazzy long pearl necklace that technically belongs to my kids for dress-up but I'm thinking would look kind of stylish with this outfit...

The judging, people. STOP IT.

What was I saying? Right. So. Armed with animal crackers and with the baby in a disposable diaper for the sole reason that it could theoretically absorb the Delaware River without needing to be changed while we are out using public facilities, we hit the mall.

In Mikayla's words (in said public restroom facility, no less), "I LOVE THIS!!"

Have I mentioned we don't get out much?

I confess, I loved it too, because it was like cherry picking for adult conversation. Oh, a sweet looking salesgirl in Claire's, let's pop on in. "Hi, do you still pierce ears here?" (Of course they do, and of course I have no intention of impulse-piercing my four year old's ears. That'll be the day that I sign up for nonstop commentary about how they hurt and I don't want holes in my ears anymore and I'll secretly take them out and lose one in the toilet, etc. etc.) Commence lovely chat. "Oh, looks like we need to run to the restroom! Have a great day!" Aaaaand easy out before I have to commit to anything masochistic.

Also? The best game ever = momma walking leisurely with the stroller, in a big empty place, lobbing animal crackers and calling out things like, "Who can find a RED SIGN first? A red sign, GO!" And let the kids just run and hide and touch all the dirty things because I plan to set up a portable disinfecting station at the minivan door as we load up.

The fact that there is a Chick-Fil-Aze RIGHT OUTSIDE the mall had nothing to do with my decision to press onward even though we left the house at 11:25. Or everything. Actually, it wasn't even my fault that we stopped there for lunch. No, they didn't commandeer the vehicle and Little Rascal it into the CFA drive-thru. But close.

We pulled up to the light outside the mall, and I cheerfully announced, "Hey guys, we're just about there!" Mikayla casually asked, "Hey mommy, where are we eating lunch today?" Uh huh. I bet this has nothing to do with that renst-raunt right there. "Oh, we'll head home to eat after we run around for a while." "No, mommy, I want to eat at Chick-Fil-Aze after our field trip!!" Ooooooh, there's a CFA around here? Who knew?

We still weren't going to eat there, but as we all trooped out to the van at 12:17 (mind you, a dishwasher repair guy is coming to our house as early as 1:00, except he is still not here now at 4:37 but who's counting) Isaac was seized with the posture and worried look of someone who really has to go. Yes, despite having been in the mall restroom not 15 minutes before. It's tough having a bladder the size of a walnut. Anyway, that CFA suddenly appeared as a beacon of hope and relief and I said, ok, that is where we are headed.

Which, if they secretly planned this together as an elaborate ploy to get nuggets and CFA milk (more delicious through a straw than plain old home milk), then well played, guys, well played.

Of course, as soon as they were home they devoured the fruit cup and declared that they didn't like chicken. The milk was kindly shared until it spilled on the table and was wiped furiously with a kleenex instead of telling momma. Overall, I'd call it a raging success of a field trip, wouldn't you?

I will be doing this again soon, trust. It was awesome. Although I hope this doesn't catch on TOO much with other moms, because I don't want to accidentally bring back the heyday of the mall and ruin the experience for myself with all those people everywhere.

On Charging Something Other Than My Phone

I don't know about you other mommas out there, but recently I've been starting to lose myself, I think. One writer referred to it as "disappearing into the peanut butter". If I could remember where I read that, I'd share it in a heartbeat, because it was one of a number of mommy articles that really resonated with me. Despite providing zero opportunities for ever being alone, motherhood can be profoundly lonely at times.

And I say that as someone with a GREAT support network, a moms' group at church, local family, and non-local family who love and pray for me regularly. Also a pretty stellar husband who knows from the tone of my voice on our end-of-the-day phone call whether it's a "mommy needs to go lock a door and hide for twenty minutes" kind of day.

I think that's the main reason why I've come back to blogging more. I LOVE to write. And writing has the double benefit of clearing out the gunk in my mind, and helping me feel like I'm connecting with others who might read, comment, resonate with the experience. It's impossible (or at least much more difficult) to feel invisible and isolated when you're putting something out there.

Today's is-anyone-else-out-there? post is on postnatal fitness - er, realizing I'd like to recognize my midsection again. You guys, I carry torpedo babies. My transverse abdominus is all like, you want me to transverse WHAT? And then it throws up its hands in defeat and retreats to eating ice cream in front of HGTV. No wait, that was me. But seriously, how is this even possible?

Oliver would enter the room a solid minute before the rest of me at the very end.

My midwife even laughed at my six-week postpartum visit as she checked my tummy. She said she had NEVER felt a diastasis as wide as mine. I think she was exaggerating, because it's like maybe a two-finger separation, but still, that'll make a girl feel foxy and cute. (Before you think my midwife was a total ogre bent on triggering postpartum depression, she did compliment my ankles.)  All that to say, diastasis rectus definitely wrecked us. And while I've lost almost all of the baby weight, when Isaac pokes my middle and exclaims, "Squishy!" something's gotta give. Other than my mummy tummy under the duress of a two year old pointer finger.

So I've been bookmarking websites about healing diastasis, and yoga for lower back pain, and postpartum core exercises, because the first step to physical fitness is having the browser history to back it up. Then, yesterday, I figured out how to pair my phone with our Amazon Fire Stick. (It plugs into the TV and allows us to stream Amazon Prime, Netflix if we had an account, YouTube, and numerous other apps. We can also instantly back up our photos and videos from phone to the cloud and see them on our TV.) Now, I can search YouTube workout videos on my phone or laptop, favorite them in my Google/YouTube account, and they are there to play when I turn on the TV. Gone: my excuses for not getting my body moving.

Well, yesterday and today instead of letting the kids watch Creative Galaxy, I played a beginner's yoga session and then a postpartum core video, #1 in a 5 part series, and I even added (two child-shaped) weights for resistance. In other words, I served as a jungle gym for my children as  I struggled to hear directions over their chatter and/or see the instructor clearly over or under my glasses as I very gracefully accomplished each pose. I had some very Urkel squinty moments, y'all. Drop your head and relax, but still watch my every move so that you maintain your peaceful center without falling over. Yup. Maybe next time.

Today was day two, so clearly I have earned my Beginner Yogi badge and should order the $70 yoga mat I have my eye on.

But seriously, I can't believe how relaxing the yoga is! I felt a connection to and awareness of my body that I hadn't felt in a looooong time and you guys, it wasn't awful. For someone who only runs when in danger of being devoured, that's saying something. This body can still be good to me, if I decide to be good to it. The (potentially) graceful movements was no-impact on my joints, which for me is important, and I can tell yoga will indeed help me to strengthen and tone very, very gently.

The postpartum core workout lady was like my soul mate. She got me. She encouraged me to go slowly and assured me that I can build up to the other workouts. It was like...she knew me, or maybe just a thousand other women who have also carried and pushed babies out of their woman parts.

I'm feeling fit(ter...let's be realistic), I'm feeling more centered, I'm feeling more like an actual, feminine person instead of a frumpy servant who exists to manage the two extremes of her children's digestive tract. I've regained a sense of respect for my body, which I've been pretty down on lately - stupid tummy, weak back. Hey, my body birthed three humans, and is still able to practice yoga and jump in on some core reconditioning. Don't get me wrong, I'm not about to ramp up to any serious cardio or anything. My frequency of showering will not support any degree of sweat, trust. But...hey body, I guess we can be friends.

p.s. I still dislike the words "exercise" and "work out" because they make me think of sweat and pain and having to carve out a large chunk of my day. I prefer "get moving", "connect with my body", "have some mommy time", etc. Doesn't that sound less intimidating and more relaxing? It helps me remember how I will actually feel during and after: GREAT!!

Oh, and I'm also feeling super tech-y because did you catch the part where I paired my iPhone with my Fire Stick and can sync up my YouTube playlist? Yup. That was me. Look out, I can control the world with the push of a button!

It's great to be taking more control of my day, and having it not be totally kid-centered. The littles are seeing me value health and my body, and I invite them to join whenever they want (two minutes max so far, but it's a start). I've also been trying (with slow success) to read more, my Bible and my moms' group book (Housewife Theologian, SO GOOD and not just for housewives), though this post isn't primarily about that. By putting a little more focus on me - my physical and spiritual health - my kids are going to benefit so much, even if it's just a better mood from mommy as I reclaim my identity a bit. I don't think I realized just how long I've put all of my priorities on the back burner for the sake of being the wife and mom I think I need to be.

That's not to say I'm embarking on some great self-rediscovery that will culminate in me burning my nursing bras and calling home to tell my husband he better order Chinese again. But balancing myself, re-prioritizing, so that my relationship with God, myself, and my husband are in order, has the added benefit of refilling my mommy bucket as well.

p.p.s. to dispel the Super Mommy myth that might be formulating in your imagination, my big kids played legos, mostly peacefully, and the baby slept part of the time and later did this to my living room:

(That's not as bad as I thought it was in real life. This just looks like a few scattered socks, shoes, and books, nothing a good foot-rake won't clear up in a jiffy. Sweet.)

How about you? What recharges your battery and allows you to approach your responsibilities and "must-dos", as well as the people in your life, with greater love and joy?

Resolved: Today's Wardrobe Dilemma

Today was one of those days when I sincerely believed I had NOTHING to wear. And by nothing I didn't mean it was all in the wash, or all my clothing literally burned in a spontaneous blaze limited to my closet (I wonder if homeowner's insurance would cover that?). What I meant was the following two perceptions:

1) Nothing that fit appropriately - possibly due to my wearing as pajamas lounge pants a size too large because I bought them two pregnancies ago for postpartum comfort. (I finally just figured out the word for these. Yoga pants? Nope. Sweat pants? Not exactly. Hi, I'm a grown up.) Also, one of Joel's old thermal shirts that is SO BAGGY and the sleeves constantly slide down over my hands so that I can't do anything. ANYTHING. This shirt is in my wardrobe as a result of third trimester pregnancy when I hate wearing anything because it all looks stupid but alas, that would get me arrested. Note that I have not been third-trimester-pregnant for a solid seven months. So this "outfit" was what I did slept in, spent the morning in, and did yoga in today (that's how I knew they were NOT yoga pants, btw). This attire did nothing for my optimism about either my wardrobe or my figure. Or, come to think of it, my form for Downward Dog and Warrior 2.

2) Nothing was seasonally appropriate - it seemed like everything in my closet and dresser was short-sleeved for some reason. Or too dressy for everyday wear. Well, once I mentally crossed off the ill-fitting man shirts. So the clothing at my fingertips was all lame and not-right in every way.

Obviously, my next move was to go shopping on Amazon and add a ton of long-sleeved tunic tops to a new wish list titled "THINGS ELIZABETH NEEDS", not in all caps, but the drama was real.

Feeding the kids lunch has a way of grounding me though, because I'm good at finding my inner calm in the midst of songs-at-the-top-of-lungs (yes I give the "inside voices" reminder ad nauseum) and PBJ being ripped apart and devoured in the slowest, most stroke-inducingly messiest ways possible. It's a good time for pondering what's really important, which might be a less-concerning way of saying

So I came out of lunchtime realizing that my first move should be to go through my closet and purge, re-organize, and get a handle on what I actually have and need. This was a good idea because while I was ruthless and have a nice pile of clothes to sell or donate, I also spent a fair amount of time going, "Oh yeah, that!!"

As an aside, seven months post partum is a good time to wardrobe-purge, since I think you probably have a good idea how things have shifted around and spaced out, and things are in their new permanent home, barring any sudden interests in yoga and pilates (which can feel free to seize me at any time, please, btw).

It's so hard to know how to organize a closet when you first move into a place, you know? I had sweatshirts and sweaters stacked on a shelf, and tank tops/camisoles stacked on a second shelf. Everything else was hanging up. As I purged, though, I discovered a handful of sweaters that I didn't even remember I had because they were at the bottom of a stack behind my sweatshirts. Real efficient, huh?

And my hanging clothes were organized generally in color order, with long, 3/4, and short sleeved shirts in that order within color. It wasn't nearly as OCD as you're imagining. Well, maybe. But what it definitely WASN'T was user-friendly. I was missing clothing because I automatically skipped over sections of my closet when trying to decide what to wear. Too cool, too dressy, too ew.

Another factor is my staying at home full time now, which mean that a certain subset of my wardrobe isn't really needed for the professional setting anymore. Sure, I wear those things for church, but that's less than 1/14 of my time if you think about it. I doubt my dressier things need to take up prime real estate in my closet. Oh, and I'm nursing, which means a number of pieces (especially dresses) that are just dead to me until Oliver is weaned. They don't have to go out the door, necessarily, but could be rotated out to our spare closet in Oliver's room so as not to distract me from the good options on a Sunday morning.

The end result? I hung my (fewer, more appealing) clothes by season, then by color - short-sleeved clothes at the periphery on one end, then 3/4 sleeve, then heaviest long-sleeved shirts and sweaters right in front of my face. Scarves and cardigans, then pants, skirts, and finally my "aspirational" clothing (I permit myself a few "I hope I can wear this again" pieces because it's motivation, and it's also fodder for my "I can alter my own clothes!" impulsive sewing sprees. Which, no I can't. Not yet, anyway. But these are things that don't fit anyway and I would otherwise get rid of, so they make for good practice material.)

(Maybe this would change if I got the dress form I've got my eye on? Or at least if I came to believe that measuring is important. Sewing and baking, I'm telling you.)

So now I can walk right up to my closet and instantly see what I actually own that fits, that I like, and is warm enough for January. Or I could if I were seven feet tall, but the whole clothes bar height thing is something that Joel and I are working out between the two of us. We had plans for a second lower bar at some point but at the rate I keep purging clothes, one is just plenty...if I could reach it.

(Taking this photo made me acutely aware that that back wall isn't painted. I literally never notice that in real life, but looking at it via an iPhone screen? Hideous! Also can you tell how far back I had to stand to even get the top of the clothes bar in the shot? )

Yes, my wardrobe is smaller now, and you won't suddenly confuse me with a fashion plate, but I think I'll actually wear and enjoy more pieces now that I know they exist. Funny how that works. It's closely related to the practice of contentment: Sometimes the Lord provides for our needs by dropping something into our lives at the right time. But other times, and more often I might argue, He provides for our needs by resizing them, and helping us see what we already have with a little more gratitude and enjoyment.

What a relatively easy way to boost self-esteem and improve your wardrobe all in one shot, eh?

(This is mundane, I know. I'm sharing because the promise of writing it up into a blog post was a big motivation for actually DOING the dang thing!)

Cast Iron Before-and-After Roundup

This is a quick photo round-up showing some before and afters of my two cast iron pans. The original post with step by step instructions, and link back to the tutorial I used, is here.

Since I forgot a before of my regular skillet, here's a before of my grilling pan:

Ugh, right? It was such a delight to scrub between those ridges to get the rust off, until it looked like this, raw and unseasoned and possibly still slightly rusty, so don't look too closely:

Unseasoned grill pan on the left, regular skillet with three coats of seasoning on the right. This basically compares what the regular skillet looked like before and after the three coats, since they were in similar shape.

And here I had pulled both pans out from a round of seasoning, so the grill pan has just one coat (look at the difference already!!) and the regular skillet now has four coats:

The grill pan a little closer up:

Final photo of both pans with the full six coats of seasoning, sitting next to some granola:

And you know what's cool? My little 8oz bottle of oil, after six coats on both pans plus two thin coats on my wooden cutting boards (I have two) is still almost half full. That makes me feel a little better about the cost, because it will definitely last me for more maintenance on the cutting boards.

And my main motivation for seasoning the cast iron: scrubbing scrambled eggs out of the multi-clad stainless pan. Ugh. Eggs are like the nemesis of stainless steel, if you ask me. Or maybe the eggs team up with stainless steel to be my arch-nemesis. I might be devoting too much thought to this. Either way, how fun does this look like it would be to clean? We have scrambled eggs at least twice a week so, while I might miss the upper body workout, I would love a better way to cook them. My stainless is superb for cooking basically everything else - who even needs non-stick? - but eggs. For the love. There is no avoiding the awfulness, no matter how much butter you use.

This was obviously a major re-season of my rusted pans after they were in storage. But I'm interested to hear your tips for maintenance - what do you do between uses, if anything, to maintain the seasoning on your cast iron?

**Bonus tip because I care about you so much: Nobody ever told me about oiling wooden cutting boards and wooden spoons, but mine are starting to look dry and sad. If you look closely, I've also got some wee little cracks/splits starting to happen. All this fun with flaxseed oil prompted me to Google "oiling wooden cutting boards" and it turns out that food-grade flaxseed oil is also a good choice for oiling your wooden kitchen ware. This is a thing you should do, apparently. If you knew this already, celebrate in your head because you win this round of domesticity.

To oil a cutting board or spoon, rub your oil on with a soft cloth or paper towel and let it sit for four hours to overnight, then wipe with a clean, soft cloth to buff if it feels sticky/like there is residue. Depending on how often you use your cutting boards, and how they look to you, repeat once a month to a couple times a year. There are other formulations for this like mineral oil combined with beeswax, but this is a post about flaxseed oil, so oh well.

**Bonus tip #2 on your choice of flaxseed oil: This also goes by the name of linseed oil, apparently, and can be used in woodworking. DO NOT use woodworking linseed or flaxseed oil for cast iron or wooden kitchen items. This has some other chemicals added in or something, and can affect rancidity and put things onto your items that you wouldn't want to ingest. I bought my flaxseed oil at the grocery store with the other food oils, so it is food-grade and fine to use. Be thorough when you shop, especially if you order online, is all I'm saying. We wouldn't want to start preserving your insides with a coating of varnish, for heaven's sake.

Blogging From the Surface of the Sun

I'm writing this at 11pm, which makes this post somewhat akin to a unicorn and means that Oliver is for some reason not singing his 10:45 "I miss you momma" song on the monitor.

I don't usually get inspiration this late so you know I took a nap or drank wine or something. (Oh fudge. It was the fudge.)

Anyway I was getting ready for bed tonight when I glanced in the mirror and thought wow, self, looking good. You are really bouncing back from that whole third baby ordeal. Nice. 

And then I spotted my glasses sitting on the dresser, which explains that particular moment of self pride.

In other news, my bedside lamp died today so Joel replaced it temporarily with this goose neck one my parents gave us. It is usually my sewing lamp. Which means it is not so much setting the ambiance. The light bulb is literally too large for the decorative frosted lampshade and looks to be about 900 watts.  It is like having the sun in our room at night. Every time Joel looks over from his side of the bed, he makes this super dramatic reaction like all of his retinal cones are simultaneously combusting. So I wait just long enough to seem casual and nonchalant and then say, "Hey Joel" and wait for him to look over and go blind again.

The best part is that it has worked three times. Poor Joel, just trying to read his book. (Fourth time is not the charm, btw, he is totally wise to me now. He said, "I'M NOT LOOKING.")

As an aside, the next time I blog from my phone I'm just going to leave all of the autocorrects and see if you can translate what I've said. It's amazing.

We've made it to 11:05 with no caterwauling so now that I've typed that baby boy will no doubt shatter the silence. Or wait til I am enjoying that last snuggle into my electric blanket where the covers are just right and my eyes are closing and I've found the perfect spot on my pillow because HE KNOWS. 

No but really. I'm signing off so that I can pretend to go to sleep but actually end up in his room within the next forty five seconds. Sweet dreams, tall.

And sweet dreams, autocorrect.

ETA: Oliver woke up at 11:17 as my head hit the pillow. Called it.

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!