Over-thinking Everything

Somebody

2012-01-30T18:44:00.000-06:00

Somebody has been about to roll over for a month now

And somebody loves puzzles, especially ones that involve letters and their sounds

Tonight, I told Spencer that his bath was so full, it looked like he was in a swimming pool. He told me "ready to go to the real swimming pool." I said we could go in the summer, but he said he was "ready to go to the real swimming pool next week!" I feel ya, kid. Love it.

Evelyn is still sick, but not sick enough to take naps any longer than thirty minutes. She's getting back to her "normal" little self. As you can see in the above pictures, she is losing her hair in new and exciting patterns (as did Spencer). In other news, I have been ordering her "pre-owned" dresses and other various clothing. Today, something came in the mail, and I wasn't sure what it was. So, let's just say it, if you're starting to lose track, you've taken it too far! =) I really am enjoying finding some cute things for my precious little lady.

Someday, everyone in this household is going to be well for an entire week simultaneously. It may be in 2022, but it'll be a great week.

"Ready to go to the real swimmin' pool NEXT WEEK!"

Amen and amen.

Spencer-isms

2012-01-27T20:05:00.000-06:00

Favorite lines from Spencer this week:

Oh! Mommy! We have a problem!

A bubble! I cannot believe it!

Curtains! With animals on it! What animals are on those curtains?

My eye is hurting.

I have an idea! Follow me!

Me: Do you know what a sea urchin looks like? S: It looks like a ball. [The obvious favorite]

Kind of a Big Deal

2012-01-14T14:20:00.000-06:00

I blog for lots of reasons. Most of them unimportant. I mainly do it because I love writing, but it's not nearly as much fun if no one is reading. And since Zondervan hasn't exactly been beating down my door for my latest theology-the-way-I-see-it manuscript, Blogger offering me the option to "Publish Post" is really my only publishing option. So, blog I do. I write, get things out of my system, show off my kids, at least practice attempts at being clear, succinct, stylized, etc. And, there are a handful of people that actually read it. There are even a couple of people who offer feedback, always a pleasure.

As I was pinning things for my niece-on-the-way's nursery (Meredith, feel free to leave her name in the comments, I won't tell anyone), I came across this wrapped canvas from wheatpaste.com

I smiled so big, and then truly laughed out loud. Maybe that's really why I blog. [Not a big enough deal to figure out how to embed my actual pin, mind you....]

Something in the Nursery Is Finished

2012-01-05T12:32:00.005-06:00

Evelyn's crib bedding is complete!

She loves it!

Heather Bailey's Nicey Jane and Pop Garden collections provided the inspiration. Gigi provided the mad sewing skills.

A Loud Morning

2012-01-04T13:51:00.000-06:00

Thank goodness for the sweet, understanding, real-life staff at Access School. Evelyn cried almost the whole hour of Spencer's therapy this morning (mothers who survived an infant with colic, again, I salute you). It's unlike her, but she was up every other hour last night. She's teething. Like, for real teething. I think I can see both of her two front bottom teeth. Gee whiz.

As she screamed in the waiting room, I think to myself what others must be thinking: "Feed that baby!" (I tried), "Change her diaper" (I did--don't you hate public restrooms of any kind? Or is that just me?), "What's wrong with you as a mother that you can't calm and comfort your child?" All I could think about was that unopened bottle of infant acetaminophen we had at home. Clearly I should have given her some last night, and again this morning, but I like to err on the side of caution. Or, in our situation, sleep deprivation and craziness.

Instead of offering unhelpful advice or giving me "what's your kid's problem" glances, the receptionist commented multiple times what a beautiful / sweet / precious sound it is to hear a baby cry. Wow. Can she come over to our house? What a seeing-things-in-the-right-perspective kind of lady. Not all baby's can cry like Evelyn. Not all babies live long enough to cry as loudly as Evelyn. Babies are gifts, crying or not. And they're precious.

Other office ladies smiled at me compassionately. And not in that, I-don't-know-what-else-to-do-so-I'll-give-you-a-weird-smile kind of way. Therapists and parents went on their merry ways, even asking us how our Christmas was and commenting on how much she'd grown. Some, after walking into the waiting room and realizing who was screaming, said, "Is she making all that racket?" Reminding me it is unusual for her to do this, and instead of worrying about to what degree we were bothering those around us, I could feel free to focus on helping her. Another lady with whom I typically converse with at length asked me with a smile what I'd done to her. And chatted with me quietly as I packed up our stuff to drive Evelyn around the surrounding neighborhood in hopes it would settle her down (it did not).

I finally held her to sleep in the car, only to have to put her back in her car seat to go back in and retrieve Spencer about ten minutes later. And she screamed. And people were nice. Again.

Be nice. It goes a long way.

Tylenol was administered when we got home, and she's sleeping as I type. Spencer is not sleeping, and went so far as to eat spaghetti to stall for more time before being put down for his nap.

Oh, now she's crying.

The end.

Spencer Went To A Movie

2011-12-24T14:54:00.002-06:00

for about twenty minutes. Yep, that's the length of the previews.

Thankfully, no one expected a long outing, so he was not treated like a failure when he looked at his Daddy and said, "Ready to go!"

He enjoyed the big movie posters. He sampled some treats, but didn't really partake. Such a guy.

Who can sit there with a bag of M&M's and not over indulge? Not me, that's why we don't keep bags of candy at the house.

And Icees are typically a favorite, but I think the previews were a bit distracting--and a few may have been a bit anxiety provoking.

Upon arriving at home, he announced he was "ready to go outside and play." We'll not think about the price disparity between these two activities. Nana loves him, and it was her treat.

Thankfully the Christmas Eve service won't have twenty minutes of previews.

A Second One Hits Three Months

2011-12-22T14:25:00.045-06:00

It just happens. Days turn into weeks, and weeks turn into months. And whether you're sleeping, or livin' on Diet Coke and dark chocolate, the days just keep on comin'. And, honestly, I like to watch my babies grow up. The first year is truly an awe-inspring thing. It'd be hard to believe something intelligent, other, and bigger than me didn't design it and doesn't sustain it perpetually.

At three months (but thirteen weeks!), Evie Roo generally rolls with the punches pretty well. And thankfully, all of the punches have been figurative up to this point. Things she does not roll with include riding in the car seat, being put off if she's hungry, and occasionally she decides that she has had enough of Spencer's oft loud antics. A few evenings ago, he screamed and jumped simultaneously, landing a foot away from where she was sitting in her bouncy seat, and she was terrified. She screamed 'til she was purple. She wouldn't stop no matter what we did. After five minutes or so, she finally calmed down. About thirty minutes later, he came into the room where she was, and he just talked, at a regular volume; and she started to wail all over again. She was not ready to forgive him just yet; and she'd had enough Spencer for the evening. It was sad, hilarious, and probably a little peek into the future all at the same time.

She had a good run of sleeping eight hours at night. I bet she did it four or five nights in a row, but for the past four or five, she's been up after 6, then every 3 again, just like the daytime. I'm so hoping she finds her groove again. Sleep is addicting, you know--at least for adults.

She goes on little talking sprees, and it is precious. She likes chewing on her hands, and she doesn't love being on her tummy. If she's not hungry or tired, she'll let most people hold her. When she needs to chill out, she likes to be swaddled and laid down beside wherever I'm sitting. She will some times just lay there sucking her paci 'til she drifts off to sleep. Unfortunately, this only works after Spencer is in bed, not if he's still runnin' around.

She will sit in her bouncy seat for short stints, and her love for the swing seems to be dwindling; but she happens to be sleeping in it for the first time in a week or so right now, so who knows?

My little matryoshka doll =)

She is losing her hair, but she still has quite a lot right now since she was born with a ton of it. Her eyes are still greyish-non-color. So, it's anyone's guess how they'll turn out.

She was such a doll at the Richardson Family Christmas, which we celebrated last weekend. My aunts, cousins, sisters, and brother-in-law took turns passing her around the whole time, and she did great. It's a whole new world with this one! She laughed at Jonathan a week or so ago, and it was precious. She can and does smile at us, but she's not extremely easy to amuse. I think half of the time she's a little scared (of Spencer).

Her skin issues are less severe, but still persisting. Baths are not her friend. Every time she gets one, all manner of skin issues recur. I think we're officially done with them. Ha!

She's going to have a (hopefully fun) little photo shoot with one of my long-lost friend's baby girl tomorrow, and I can't wait to see if we manage to get a good picture. If so, it'll be a perfectly timed three month shot. I'm slowly but surely getting the finishing touches on her nursery, and it is fun in there! She's getting some very special additions to it for Christmas, and I can't wait to get it where I feel like it's "finished." She is a loved little girl.

cutest babies ever from Portrait Innovations

cutest babies ever take II from Portrait Innovations

I agree with many friends and psychologists that it's important to not over-stress the importance of appearances, especially as it pertains to little girls; but it'll be years before she can read this, and I have to say, girl is precious. I mean, seriously. She looks like a little baby doll. She has a perfect little round head, high cheek bones, precious almost almond-shaped eyes, and perfectly pinkish little lips. She has always looked a little exotic to me. She's precious in His sight, and He made her to look like she does, so I'm gonna go ahead and appreciate it. Don't worry, when the time comes, I'll tell her she's smart, athletic, and most importantly, intrinsically valuable. Ah, the politics of having a little girl. Already wearing me out.

Hopefully I'll capture a little bit of her beauty digitally and get it uploaded before she's four months.

I Love

2011-12-20T09:15:00.002-06:00

Christmas, and I love stationery, so there you have it...

Thanks, Kendy!

It's Very Hard

2011-12-17T07:50:00.032-06:00

There are some things I never thought I'd be excited to witness my children do. I'm not talking about those little things they accomplish that only truly obnoxious parents consumed with their own child's "superior" intellect care anything about--I knew I'd be excited about those things--'cause let's face it, at times, we're all most definitely that parent.

I was arguer extraordinaire from an early age. Those of you who know me will not be shocked. I had some great one-liners too. Around 2.5, upon being sent to time out, I told my mother that she was so mean she belonged in Satan's family. She figured that was the only way I knew how to tell her to go to Hell.

Spencer's personality has always been a bit of a puzzler, in that, he certainly gives us a run for our money (much like I pushed the limits), but in some ways he hasn't seemed "like" me at all. For example, he takes longer to warm up in social situations (though he's not at all shy once he knows you well). And that has made him seem more like his daddy (who his parents claim never needed one spanking!). So, it always seemed that the parallelisms ended there. I know that children are not exactly like one parent or the other when it comes to personality, appearance, or anything else; but so many things about Spencer resembled me as a little girl, that the few things that were different have always puzzled me.

Lately, as we've learned more about his speech disorder, Childhood Apraxia of Speech (somewhat of a misnomer, because it does not go away after childhood), I've begun to wonder how much more he would have appeared to have a personality more similar to mine had he not been been coping with his extra speech challenges. In some ways, it makes me sad and concerned for his little personality, worried that on some rudimentary level his CAS has changed who he would have been as a person. Other days I know that he feels loved and known, and we have always displayed the utmost desire to understand him, even when his articulation has made it difficult.

At the same time, I have to make a conscious decision to not allow behavior that is unacceptable just because I could imagine a scenario in which his speech issue is part of the cause of his frustration in that particular situation. Can't be too strict--the kid has a hard time expressing himself verbally. Can't be too lenient--hoping he is coming to understand social and moral norms of our family and faith at a rate which is appropriate for his age. When it's put that way, it's basically every parent's challenge with their child.

So, you'll now understand a little bit of why I was so excited when two days ago I told him to do something he didn't want to do and he looked me right in the eye and said, "Very hard, Mommy!" I immediately flashed back to a few days before when I had asked him if he could find the brown bag in my room and bring it to me in the living room. My room was a huge mess, and I think he really was having a hard time finding it. He came in and out a few times, and finally came in and said, "Brown bag--very hard!" So, I smiled at his cute explanation and went in and got it myself.

Well, apparently he remembered that saying something is very hard gets Mommy to do it for you. So, when he told me that picking up the carrots he'd purposely dropped all over the floor was "very hard, Mommy!" I smiled and laughed (which probably was not the most prudent reaction), but I was so relieved and encouraged to have my child arguing with me--in English, not body language or screaming. Thank God it wasn't more screaming! [Let me just insert that my language developed very typically, but I also did a lot of screaming. Right on up to thirteen or so years of age].

For the past two days, when asked to do something he doesn't want to do, he tells us it's very hard. And he wants me to say what I told him the first time he said that, "Yes, I know it's very hard; but I know you can do it!" He has also started making creative excuses which place the blame on something besides himself. When he didn't heed my request to stay out of his Gig's dining room, I walked in to find him staring at the Christmas tree, holding his Little People baby cow. I told him to come out of there, and he told me that "Baby cow want to see Christmas tree." Makes the term my "baby" boy so much more appropriate. He's certainly simultaneously both a baby and a boy. And now he's one who argues with the excuse that I'm asking something too difficult of him and places the blame on inanimate objects needing something in the off-limits room at Gigi's house. Hooray!

Speech Antics

2011-12-12T14:15:00.000-06:00

You know it's gonna get interesting when your son's speech language pathologist (SLP) walks him out of the therapy gym after his hour long session with a funny look on her face and says, "Ok, funny story..."

To be honest, it sort of strikes fear in your heart if you're a mom of a spencer. You know what he's capable of, and you love him to death, but you hope no one else ever has to love him like you do--at least until he gets married. Friends who work with children professionally assure me that the people who take care of him at various points throughout the week have seen a lot worse than what he has to offer, but they don't know him like I know him. So, an opening line like that sends my mind racing. What in the world did he do? What action of his is remarkable to someone who spends all day every day treating kids? The mind reels with possibilities.

Thankfully, none of my worst case scenario knee-jerk imaginations turned out to be the "funny story" she had to tell me. And, even more thankfully, it truly was a funny story. Not a not-so-funny story that a professional calls funny in order to lessen the blow or try to allay the sure feelings of self-loathing and doubt their news will stir up. Thank God (really), it was a funny story.

When children play in the therapy gym they do it sans shoes or socks. So, immediately upon entrance, foot ware comes off. Apparently, a favorite past time of my little angel's has been to lull his SLP into a state of relaxation while he "plays" in the foam pit. Then, he would race across the gym to grab his socks out of his shoes. Then, he waves them around in front of her, to make sure she sees them. Finally, he jumps into the foam pit and buries them as far down as his little then-2-year-old arms can reach. And, this has not been a rare occurrence. Yes, at this point I'm thinking, "Great. He's that kid." And to be honest, he probably sort of is. However, at this point in the story, the SLP is laughing and smiling about this behavior, so she must either be cool with it, or have been bewitched by his impish beauty. Probably a bit of both.

So, she goes on to tell me, that he pulled this little stunt today, but that they couldn't find one of his socks this time. She said they both looked for his socks, and he actually found one of them, but she couldn't find the other one. She finally told him that they'd have to tell his mom they couldn't find his other sock. If you know me, then you know that at this point, I am wondering how much of his therapy time he has wasted by hiding his socks for his poor SLP to dig out. But that's neither here nor there for the purpose of this little tale.

Spencer, as the story goes, seemed fine with admitting defeat. He probably looked at her and said, "'Kay..." So, together they tromped over to his shoes and backpack, and proceeded to put on his one sock and both of his shoes. His SLP then begins to put her foot into her shoe, and something doesn't feel quite right. She reaches inside her shoe to pull out---by this time you've guessed, right?--Spencer's missing sock. He didn't put both in the foam pit today. He stuck one in her shoe, and stuck the other in the foam pit. She said when she found it, he started cracking up. He laughed and laughed. And I'm sure she did too. Thank goodness she can appreciate his antics.

And what, do you imagine, did his SLP gain from this experience with Spencer, the sock hider? What conclusion did she draw at the end of her "funny" story? That Spencer is really smart. Again, what a blessed soul to tell me that story and end it with saying how smart he is. Ha! I have a feeling that won't be the same sentiment I will receive from his first grade teacher if he does something like that. Then again, maybe it will be. I've always said God knew what he was doing when he made Spencer so inordinately beautiful. It is certainly paying dividends in speech therapy.

Happy Birthday, Spencer!

2011-12-12T13:46:00.001-06:00

Toes, sleeping Spencer, bunny ears, and I heart Mommy pix courtesy of Hannah Bauer.

My little love at last year's bash, turning 2.

So grown up that you can actually see time flying.

Happy birthday to me...

2011-12-07T18:24:00.000-06:00

...on the day I was three.

We both wore navy and white.

Just had to share.

Cuteness Defined

2011-12-05T07:00:00.000-06:00

A Very Veggie Party Preview

2011-12-03T19:05:00.001-06:00

Once the party started, I didn't take one picture. Other people did, and I hope to procure them soon! For now, here's a sneak peak.

Spencer was so excited about his party. Pizza, cupcakes, presents. That's a lot of goodness. By the time it finally started he was about to burst. Friends and family made his day so special, and it was so sweet to see how much he enjoyed all the hoopla. The expressions he made while everyone sang to him were priceless. I can't wait to see pictures.

Thanks to everyone who sent cards and gifts, and thanks to everyone who took time out of their weekend to come to the party. Spencer had been asking about who was going to come all week long, so know that your presence was not taken for granted.

He had so much fun that he ended the night in a screaming, hysterical fit. I don't in any way see that as success, per se, but I do know that he was not bored today nor did he feel luke warm about the experience. He's duly overstimulated and overjoyed.

"O, Christmas Tree"

2011-12-01T14:15:00.000-06:00

Thanks to Barney, Spencer loves the song "O, Christmas Tree." Thanks to my aberrant personality, Barney doesn't conjure up images of nails running down a chalk board. WE are the kind of people who decide on purpose to care for other people's children forty hours a week. We're special.

Two Christmases ago, I deemed it an impossible year to have a tree in the house. It was the right decision. Last year, it still seemed like an impossible dream; but it was equally impossible to imagine not having a Christmas tree in our home for our then two year old sweetie pie. That was the year I stalked the dollar section of Michael's and bought cute, non-glass, non-sentimental, and seemingly non-breakeable ornaments. And it worked as planned--fun, kid-friendly tree--fun, non-crazy mom. It won't be making the cover of any design magazines, but I wouldn't trade one day of our toddler-crazed Christmases for all the perfect, Pottery Barn-esque Christmas trees on Pinterest. ["Phoebe doesn't like Pottery Barn???"]

This year, I added some new kid-friendly ornaments from the Target dollar section. I know, gettin' a little crazy! Anyway, it ended up a little too busy for my minimalist dislike of extraneous decor, but Spencer loved putting each and every ornament on the tree. He did not rest until the entire box of ornaments was empty (thank goodness I'd had the sense to store all the breakable ones separately, or it would have gotten ugly). He could not wait to put the (Target dollar section) star on top of the tree. So, we did that first. And it still looks gimpy and ghetto, even though I had intentions of fixing it at nap time. And, yes, I do have the overwhelming Monica-ish desire to "fix" the tree every time I look at it; but sleep deprivation and two little lovies will do a world of good to a somewhat OCD would-be-perfectionistic mommy. I'm growing, people. Cheer me on.

Decorating the tree with Spencer this year was like all the Christmas movies and commercials want it to be. His little eyes danced and sparkled. He was enthralled, impressed, and so proud of his work. We listened to Christmas carols, we talked about each ornament, he amazed me with his attention to details and his fine motor competency. (Kids do so well when they want to do something).

He asked to eat his dinner sitting next to the tree. He asked to read our Christmas books sitting next to the tree. And he invited his alligator and sea turtle to join us. He still talks about the tree, sings about it, walks around it, and eats candy canes off of it daily.

It can't be good when your regular pictures look like "instagram," right?

Almost three is still very much a tactile learning stage for him. I want him to get to touch the tree, and manipulate and play with the ornaments. I want him to learn about Christmas in the ways in which he is comfortable learning. We stretch and work and insist on speech and language and manners and self-controld and all the other ways in which he has to grow up all year long.

I want Christmas to be sweet, easy, and full of grace. 'Cause that's what Christmas is.

Two Babies For Which I'm Thankful

2011-12-01T13:01:00.000-06:00

This one has discovered the joy of not smiling for the camera. Lovely.

Evie Rose checkin' out Mimi--one of her great grandmothers. (Thanks for this picture, Melinda!)

Spencer had three Sister Schubert rolls for his Thanksgiving meal. I don't blame him. If I weren't trying to lose forty five pounds, I'd be eating yeast rolls exclusively as well.

Another picture from "Aunt" Melinda. It's the best one of Evie and my parents to date.

Spencer had his first iPad encounter. He was definitely interested. Melinda had some good preschool apps. I have no worries that Spencer will excel in the world of technology when it's time for him to do so. No, he is not wearing any pants. And, yes, he's definitely still wearing socks and a button down.

Evie got to change into comfy clothes too. I was jealous. Did you do that on holidays as kid? Mom would get us all dressed up, and we'd spend the whole event asking when we could change out of our dresses. I was never a fan of "special occasion" clothing. As much as things change, they really just stay the same.

After carb-loading at lunch, Spencer had the traditional bowl of chocolate ice cream for dessert.

We spend the day after Thanksgiving at Nana and G-Dad's house. Evelyn wanted to be like this--promise.

Spencer will be three in a few days, and this was the first holiday where all the "extra" people and festivities did not bring out the worst in him. He was not laid back or "easy" by any means, but he was not screaming. And that goes a long way. It is those sort of things that remind me how grown up he is. He handled it all like such a big boy, and I was so proud. Evelyn was held by any and all like a pro. Honestly, it was really nice. On the other hand, I really missed her, which I know sounds weird. And by the end of the night after Thanksgiving she was screaming for me and no one else would do. It took her a few days to get to where she'd let Jonathan hold her to sleep in the evenings, which had become our routine. I think we're back on track now. Just in time for almost every member of my family to have a birthday and Christmas. I love this time of year--if only it were 75 degrees and sunny--it'd be my favorite.

My Two Month Old

2011-12-01T08:02:00.003-06:00

Baby Evelyn,

You're two months old. And you're precious. And many days I still can't believe you're "ours."

You grin and talk, and you're thinking about giggling for us. You sleep well at night, waking up usually once and sometimes twice. Every now and then you decide you'd like to hang out in the middle of the night. I love you, but that's really not acceptable.

You love to watch your brother, and you love to be held. You still love to be put in your swing. You're eating well, and growing great. You weigh 12 lbs. (79th) and are 22.5 in. long (56%). You still have a lot of hair, and you've lost at least half of it. You've had quite a time with cradle cap. It's still really bad some days, and it's not on your head at all, it's on your sweet little face.

The day you wore a Feltman bros. dress to church, you also wore baby leg warmers. I hope you don't come to resent your Mom's eclectic, quirky sense of style--if you can call it that. It's more of a utilizing-what's-already-in-your-closet tendency. I promise (to try really hard) not to embarrass you once you know what's going on.

You love to be swaddled, and you do have a little bit of a fussy time at the end of the day. Most of the time we can get you settled down after thirty minutes or so; but sometimes it takes a little bit longer.

Speaking of being up in the middle of the night, you need to know that your Daddy is amazing, and I could not be a good Mom to you without his help.

You truly seem to have such a sweet disposition. We love you so much and can't wait to see what your third month has in store.

A Day of Highs and Lows

2011-11-30T20:48:00.000-06:00

Adjusting to Big-brother-dom revisited (jotted down in sentence-fragment form around the end of October with an attempt to smooth it out and make sense of it all a month later):

Well, Spencer, we took your paci away 2 nights ago. Many people may think it was long over due, and to them I say, "Have a Spencer and then have an opinion." However, you'd been intermittently waking up at night ever since we brought Evelyn home, and you've had a cold, so we have given you benadryl or a decongestant every couple of nights. The timing seemed right--you're awake anyway, and I can give you a little bit of drugs without guilt. I can't imagine taking it away and starting to potty train simultaneously, and both are on the horizon. And, lastly, a friend posted she'd taken the paci away from her second child--her first is your age--and I thought, "Ok, it's 'go time'." Nothing like your mom bowing to positive peer pressure. I did have some, ok tons, of guilt. I sort of felt like we were kickin' you while you were down, so to speak; but I'm just tired enough not to have the energy to over think it as much as I traditionally would. So, that's workin' for me and against you (but FOR you in the long run, of course).

In addition to being up in the middle of the night, you've had multiple 4:30 am wake up times, thanks to the time change. Loath is the word I have for that sort of thing.

So, this morning, after you were up once in the middle of the night, and then at the crack of dawn, I caught you pulling all the wipes out of Evelyn's wipes box. Then, you proceeded to run around the house, scattering my things that are off limits, and finally you resorted to throwing your cup on the ground for fun, so I turned off your morning shows--for the whole morning. That was fairly devastating for you. Sad, but true.

We eventually got out the door and off to speech. When we got back home, you had chocolate milk, and I got Evie to take a nap. I had told you if she napped, we'd go outside. You realized all by yourself that she was asleep and reminded me that I said we'd go outside, so we did.

We started collecting leaves. I tried to get you to collect them, but you preferred to make me do it. And to make me talk to you about them--their shapes, their colors, the tree from whence they came... You had a great time. At one point, we were sitting down, and I told you that God made leaves. You started saying something that I couldn't make out at first, but finally it dawned on me. You were saying what you'd learned in Sunday School a few days before: God made sheep. I was so taken a back. I know you're listening and learning, but it's even more fun to know you're learning from someone else, and coming home, and knowing it. Precious. I might have cried. I blame the postpartum hormones.

I thought we'd glue the leaves we'd collected onto a piece of paper. You like finding the glue, which took me forever, and you liked it when I put the glue on the paper, and then you screamed the whole time I put the leaves on. Whatever. I could NOT figure out what the deal was.

I eventually got you to eat some tuna fish, but then you couldn't settle on what show to watch afterwards. You wouldn't answer me, and everything I proposed you screamed about. I told you that you were tired, changed your diaper, and put you down for a nap. You screamed for about seven minutes (I feel like you're an infant learning to soothe to sleep again--which you kind of are, since we took your most soothing posession in the world away from you at probably your most vulnerable time) and then you fell asleep. "They" also talk about infants having night wakings when they are learning something new developmentally, and I've wondered if your speech therapy has newly accessed some parts of your little brain, causing you to have more to process at night. Your sleep has definitely been disturbed since you began therapy, but, you began therapy two days before your sister was born. So, we'll never know if my hypothesis is correct.

You've actually had many days lately where you've screamed yourself to sleep for your nap. Today you also started declaring, "No," when I asked you if you were ready to listen, even after you'd just had a time out for not listening. As your Dad put it, "We're in full-force with this insecurity thing (since your sister is here now)." When I tell you to say, "Yes, Mommy," you defy me by saying, "Yes, DADDY." And you do the opposite for your dad. Not very creative, but it still made me chuckle a little the first time you came up with it. Crazy littles.

So, after your nap, you were still fairly exhausted since you aren't sleeping as great as you usually do (you're still sleeping better than lots of toddlers--but you need all the sleep you can get!). You continue throughout the afternoon doing the song and dance where we have to basically force you to stop for a meal. You let yourself get so hungry that you're screaming and flailing, it's amazing what protein does for you.

The bright side is that even on days like today, you really love Evelyn, and you're already enjoying her as much as you can. And even on days with lows like today, there are generally plenty of "highs" to balance them out. I will look in the back seat of the car to see you holding Evelyn's hand. Tonight you cried most of the way home from Gigi's because Evelyn was in the green car with Daddy. You wanted Evie in the "white car!" I asked if you missed her, and you said, "'KAY!" Y'all are going to be great buddies (and probably excellent sparring partners).

I recounted our day, not because it was unusual but because it was typical, but overall I'd say you're adjusting to our new family arrangement quite nicely. Hang in there, having a sibling only gets better!

The Day Before Spencer Became a Big Brother

2011-11-29T19:19:00.003-06:00

*I resisted the urge to title this post, "The Day the Music Died."

While I knew it would be a hard transition, Spencer still managed to surprise me. We started off the day with a great trip to Kroger. Spencer sat so nicely in the car-ish grocery basket--although I did look down to him holding a box of cereal which the manufacturer had managed to turn into a peanut-allergy hazard. Yanked that away. It was even organic, ha! He's allergic to both, by the way, organic peanuts or genetically modified, pesticide-laden ones. I let him pick out some of the first pumpkins we'd seen for sale, since I knew things were about to get hectic. He held them the whole time, and managed to rip the stem off of one before we'd even gotten out of the produce section.

It was WICKEDLY hot, but a nice man helped us out of the store. I always tell them that I don't need any help, but this time I thought, "Yeah, I'd love some help!" So, I let them push the basket out for me. Then, he loaded the groceries into my car! Life lesson: if you look pregnant enough, people generally tend to be kind and helpful (not everyone, but more people than usual). Unfortunately, it's before I look pregnant that I'd really love a little extra kindness, aka, basket-pushing-out-service-with-a-smile. And that's the exact time people think you're a loser mother, poorly dressed, unshowered, with a cranky, insecure, loud toddler screaming and not even a glimmer of the will to power on your countenance to let them know that you do not, in fact, plan on visiting him in the penitentiary within the next couple of years. But that's another post altogether.

At nap time, however, Spencer reminded me that he was, in fact, paying very much attention to what was going on around him. He decided instead of sleeping, that he would take this last opportunity as an only child to remind his mom why she wanted to do it all over again. He smeared poop all over his antique bed, focusing especially on the wooden side boards with a few smears on the mesh and metal safety rails for good measure. I'm pretty sure it is still in his rug. I sniffed and cleaned for quite some time before collapsing. I weighed in at 194.6 lbs. the next morning. I'm only 5 feet 5 and 3/4 inches tall. Leaning over was quite the feat of engineering.

Later that afternoon, Spencer found me getting bottles sterilized and ready. He then proceeded to adopt one. Consequently, when we brought Evelyn home and didn't let him give her a bottle, he was devastated. In hindsight, why in the world did I not let him give her a bottle? It would have lasted no time at all. I almost caved at the time--and I probably should have. Sleep deprivation does a number on my logic and critical thinking skills.

But, the piece de resistance occurred that evening. The evening before his sister would be forced into the world. The evening before he would be forced from his place of my one and only. He was in rare form at my parents house that night. He was running and giggling, and being extra silly. But, to be honest, many nights would have the exact same description. He just lives on a different plane. [I'd like to insert a plug for the book "Raising Your Spirited Child"--it's good]. It was at this point that he grabbed a glass off of a side table in the living room. He knew he shouldn't have it, and that was fun. But it wasn't quite the thrill he was hoping for. So, since all of our faces weren't reflecting QUITE enough horror, he decided to swirl the glass around a couple of times, and then spike it onto the hard wood floors. Did I mention the glass contained wine? Yeah, of course it wasn't a glass full of water. As shocked and dismayed as I was at his behavior--and I actually was a little shocked. I wish I could stop feeling that way, but for some reason, he still manages to surprise me. Am I an optimist? I never thought so!--nothing was quite as amazing as seeing both of my parents, NOT known for their leniency during my childhood, start laughing hysterically at the whole event. My dad finally asks my mom how he can help, and tells me it's really not a big deal and not to worry about it. I hear myself ask them to stop laughing so that I can proceed to properly discipline my child for what he's done in his last night as an only child frenzy. They manage to pull it together a little. Spencer does not. We leave in quite a whirlwind. I could write six thousand words and not describe all of the feelings, images, expressions, noises, chuckles, and screams that occurred in what was approximately four seconds of "real time."

This was what I was bringing another child into the world to experience--my attempt at being a mother.

I didn't fall asleep 'til 10:45, knowing that the real adventure was yet to come.

Picture Perfect

2011-11-21T13:09:00.000-06:00

Thank you, Kendy, for the precious image of our little baby girl!

We ordered her announcements through Shutterfly, and they turned out great.

Dear Spencer

2011-10-24T16:07:00.002-05:00

Now that your baby sister is home, here's what you've been up to:

You asked to hold Evelyn for the first time one evening when she was two or three days old. You held her for about one second and then started pushing her off your lap. You weren't being mean, you were just finished. You asked again last night, she's 4.5 weeks. It was the third time you've held her overall (you held her for a second in the hospital). You've never been into people sitting down holding babies--not as a baby being held, and apparently, not as a brother doing the holding.

Once she was about a week old, you started telling me to put her in her swing. You typically did this when you had another plan for what I should be doing at the moment. Overall you've been so patient and so sweet, but not overly involved. You were not in to the family pictures we attempted when Evelyn was two and a half weeks old. That seemed to be your first big day of acting out due to the baby--or maybe just overall fatigue. Or, even more likely, reacting to the overall fatigue of your parents!

You refuse to carry your back pack to Sunday School or speech, but you have offered to carry the baby in the car seat multiple times. You tell me to get her, and if I don't do it soon enough, you lift up on the handle to give me a hand. Thankfully they weigh a million pounds--you won't be carrying it anywhere anytime soon.

You love to set things out of your reach and then lean out towards it as far as you can while saying, "I can't reach it!" After we acknowledge that, no, you can't reach it, you proclaim, "I'll get it!" You then proceed to run and pick it up.

Now, if you don't care for what you've been served to eat, you carry the plate to the kitchen counter. It's a good thing, in that you've learned that it doesn't help much to kick and scream about it. It's a bad thing, because when we don't let you take it back, or don't offer a substitute you're hoping for (popsicle? ice cream, anyone?), you start screaming then. So, really, we're still sort of delaying the inevitable. Ha! No, in all honesty, you're getting much better with your eating.

On October 3rd, you ran right back with your speech therapist "Miss Jenny." This was the first time you've done this it's me dropping you off, but in my opinion it was really soon in the process (you've only been going since September 19th). I was THRILLED, because you're obviously liking it to be already running off with her when it's time. She got you to sing "Wheels on the Bus," and she was impressed. I'm so glad you're letting her in, because you know and say SOOOOOO much, but you don't sing and talk to everyone. She told me your articulation is already improving, and I agree to an extent, but I think also, you're just finally showing her what you already know how to do. I spend a good part of the hour you're at speech praying that it's going well. Your family and friends can't wait to hear and understand more of what you're thinking. You're such a precious little boy, and you're an amazing singer (and dancer!).

When we put you in time out now, you say, "Mommy! Daddy! Evie!" If you know Daddy's isn't home, you just call me and Evie. It's hilarious.

You love being tickled. You tell Daddy to tickle you in the kitchen, which really means you want to be chased around the house. You're already too fast to run in the house. Injuries are more and more severe because of your break neck speed. For some reason, you think it's funny to tickle my nose. You get in my lap and say, "Tickle nose! Tickle nose!" And the other day you asked for butterfly kisses. We had not done those in probably six months!

You still enjoy playing in the sprinkler, even on cool-ish mornings. By the end, you're freezing. I put your sweatshirt on you a few mornings ago, because it was chilly in the house. You asked to go outside and make a snowman! Your dad and I got a kick out of that!

The day after Evelyn turned 3 weeks, you climbed into her bassinet AND into her swing. Thankfully she was not in either of them at the time. Since then, you've climbed into the swing multiple times; but I'm thinking (hoping), you've embraced the exceedingly clear message that that's a definite "No."

And finally, you've mistakenly shown your hand--you're GREAT at cleaning up. When you want to do it, you could practically clean the whole living room by yourself.

When it's just the three of us at home, you typically do really well. You're even taking naps better than you were before Evelyn was born. However, when people come over and want to talk to me, you're acting out more than usual. Your Gigi's theory (that I ascribe to) is that it's one thing to have my attention divided between you and Evelyn, but when another person (or two) also gets my attention, it's more than you can handle. After all, everyone has a threshold.

Your mom finally ran and played with you in the backyard today--for the first time in a long time! Evelyn took a nap on the sofa, and we kicked and threw the ball. Hopefully it was the beginning of having your old mom back! (She sure hopes so!)

You're a precious two year old, and a great big brother. This holiday season is not going to be boring!

You Survived!

2011-10-23T11:28:00.002-05:00

Evelyn, we're lovin' gettin' to know you. You've survived your first month with your family. I promise it'll be more fun soon. As soon as we can all get and stay well...which will probably happen when you're about ten.

You're growing great, and a couple of nights ago you slept for five hours. We're hoping that was the beginning of a beautiful thing. You very well may be my favorite if you sleep five hour stretches this early on, and I tell you this repeatedly.

A day before you turned one month, you weighed 9 lbs. 11 oz. (67th%), were 21 3/4 in. (78th%), and your head circumference measured 14.5 in. (47th%). Your eyes are still kind of a non-color. They seem to be lightening up a little. Your hair is starting to fall out, but you still have plenty, and it's dark brown.

You do pretty well in the car, unless you're hungry. When you wake up (hungry), you literally go from zero to screaming in a quarter of a second. It's a little scary since I'm not used to it yet. It definitely serves its purpose--we get movin' and you get fed! You still love hearing your Daddy talk and having him hold you. You were screaming this morning, and Spencer walked to your swing and held your hand until I could come get you out. He held your hand while watching Barney, and you stopped crying. It was precious.

You are strong and are already trying to do "sit ups" like your brother used to do. I can't prop you up on your boppy pillow because you try to sit up and end up falling forward. I've tried all different angles. You don't like being on your back, and you do spit up some; but you don't seem to be in pain, so hopefully it's no big deal. It's a little difficult to get you to fall asleep, but you don't scream for hours on end or anything, so write us down as officially thankful.

You've already been to the pumpkin patch, both grandparents' houses, to church to have our family directory picture taken, out to eat at Big Orange, to Tuck & Cover to meet some of Mommy's friends, to watch brother get his hair cut, to your cousin's farewell party, and you make the trek with me to brother's speech therapy three mornings a week--not to mention all the sweet friends and family who have come to our house to meet you. You've had quite the social calendar.

In the middle of the night, when we're together, and it's quiet, I think a lot of things, but those thoughts almost always end in the same place--I'm so thankful that God has entrusted you to us. You're such a precious blessing, and I still have a hard time believing that you're here and part of our family. I love you, Evie Rose, and I'm looking forward to the next month as your Mommy.

Exercising at One Week

2011-09-28T20:40:00.000-05:00

Not me--Evelyn.

In honor of being one week old, she donned her bright, big-girl colored onesie and some leg warmers (because she's so trendy). Apparently they were inspiring. I thought she should have some tummy time, and she decided to use that time to work out her legs.

She's a strong little creature. She should be. She gained 6.5 ounces in 4 days. "They" look for them to gain .5 oz. per day, so she more than tripled her goal. Such an over-achiever.

She loves to be warm, cuddled, and held by her mom AND her dad--(Hallelujah.) She's been refluxing a little, and she chokes at least once or twice per feeding. It makes for a little bit of a nervous mommy when she starts choking at 3 a.m. I'm just not at my best in anyway at that time of day.

We are doing our best to soak in all of her precious littleness. I know it'll be gone before I know it. She seems to like the car seat, which is another AWESOME character trait. She does not love to have her diaper changed, but it usually makes her spit up. As someone recovering from quite a bit of reflux myself, I can attest to the fact that it is horrible. I don't blame her one bit for fussing; and I honestly put off diaper changes because she seems to be so uncomfortable during them at least fifty percent of the time.

At this point, she decided to quit putting up with my little "exercise" motif for her one week pictures. She turned her head the other way and stopped moving completely. Spencer and I played with her toys for quite a while, and I was sure she was asleep. Eventually I peeked over to see her eyes wide open. She was not sleeping. She was just finished with us and our silly ways.

So, I gave the girl a break and put her in her swing. She conked out. Another AWESOME character trait that has persisted for an entire week. We'll take whatever we can get around here. And what we can get right now is a lot of precious mixed in with many a marathon nursing session.

This is her pensive pose. She loves to have her hands on and around her face, or in her mouth. She does not love to be cold (but who does?). She doesn't mind being swaddled, but she likes her arms to be out. She can totally get onto her stomach if I lay her on her side. That surprised me (don't worry, I was watching her), but I don't know if it should have or not.

She's currently forced to listen to a steady stream of Wonder Pets, Backyardigans, Veggie Tales, Dora, and Diego, with a few WeeSing movies thrown in intermittently. Oh well, she has to be ok with it, because that's when she's able to pack on the weight.

Happy One Week, Evie Rose! Thanks for bearing with your new family. We're so glad you're here. We promise it won't be boring.

Evelyn Rose

2011-09-24T15:27:00.001-05:00

After much ado, we gratefully met our healthy baby girl at 4:11 p.m. on Wednesday, September 21st. She weighed in at 7 lbs. 7 oz. and was 19.5" long at 39 weeks.

It's a miracle that any baby ever gets here in one piece as far as I'm concerned. And she is certainly no exception

She's a doll, and we are loving getting to know her. She already loves her Daddy's voice and is totally cool with all of her brother's singing, hooting, and hollering.

She is very strong, lifts her head, moves it all around, and can quickly and firmly get both of her hands and arms in the way the entire time she's trying to nurse.

She's waking up a little more every day--before I know it she'll be running around the house. I'm simultaneously trying to feed her, love on Spencer, and manage to store up some amount of memories about all that has happened in the past couple of days. Many more blogs to come on all that later, I'm sure.

Amazed doesn't begin to describe our feelings that she's here and she's ours. We are loving being a family of four, and, all things considered, we are sleeping pretty well.

I feel fifteen years older after her delivery in comparison to how I felt after Spencer's--and it's less than a three year difference. It's unreal. But, it's been so much fun bringing a baby home to a toddler sibling--brings back lots of sibling memories.

Fall Is Coming...Please Notify the Mosquitoes

2011-09-16T11:08:00.014-05:00

It was a beautiful day. Cool enough to actually exert some energy without automatically having a heat stroke. So, we dragged out the "bouncy house." Spencer loved it, for a little bit.

Then he said his eyes were hurting and he needed his sunglasses. So, of course, I obliged.

Then they kept bouncing off, since, you know, they aren't sports equipment.

What to do?

He thought, perhaps, he should wear them on his head like Mommy.

Then we practiced his audition to be in an upcoming Pantene toddler commercial. Such bouncy hair, and roots almost just like Mommy's. Who says you only get roots when you've had highlights? I've never felt so natural-looking.

Then, the real fun began. He figured, if he couldn't keep his sunglasses on, he should probably take mine and run all over the back yard with them. The expression below--one of pure joy--is experienced only when a little boy teases his mommy. I tell ya, that pony-tail pulling starts early. I thought once I got married I'd be done with all that. Nope. I had a son.

The glasses needed a ride down the slide, something Spencer hasn't done all summer. He's not a fan of playing outside in the sweltering heat. Who can blame him?

He and the glasses needed a wagon ride. I actually agreed to a few laps around the back yard, on some level, probably hoping it'd get the baby here sooner.

Afterwards, he bounced a bit more, but not before tossing my and his sunglasses out of the bouncy house simultaneously--such coordination. I grabbed mine and put them back on. No sooner had I done that, than he got out and told me he wanted me to sit in the chair.

I naively agreed, only to look up and see his mavericky little grin, and his hand poised for yanking my sunglasses back off. I made a little game of it long enough to snap a picture. See, earlier we had each been sitting in a chair, next to each other; and he'd acted like he'd genuinely enjoyed it--like it meant something to him. Then, not fifteen minutes later, he used our special bonding activity to trick me. And I totally fell for it. Ladies, watch out.

"Ha! Mom, how could you fall for that?"

And off to bounce again--with the glasses.

All in a day's work. We hadn't had such a fun, non-discipline-requiring time outside in months maybe. I was just relishing it. Then, we came in, and unbeknownst to me, a mosquito followed us. Spencer started telling me his back "need(ed) keem," and I thought he was just itchy from the outdoors. Finally, I looked up and saw a mosquito on his leg. I tried to kill it and missed. I went to get him some Benadryl cream, came back, and it was on his neck. Ugh! I HATE those! I missed it AGAIN--I know, how embarrassing! And I call myself an Arkansan...I think we went through it once more before I finally gave him some Benadryl orally. He'd been eaten alive in less than two minutes--in the living room!

Just one side, upper extremities. They were all over him. Poor thing.

But he's taking a good nap now.

(Very) Short Stories from the Life of Spencer

2011-09-15T08:56:00.002-05:00

Chapter: 9--"About to Be A Big Brother Edition"

Spencer,
You're about to be a big brother! I'd be remiss not to remind myself what you were like in the months, weeks, and days before Evelyn made her big debut. But I also know that you've been affected by her existence for quite some time. You've really weathered my less than romantic pregnancy amazingly well. Behavior-wise, I've let too many things slide; and I'm paying for it now, right at the time when it would have been nice for us to have some things "down." But, we're going to get there.
Otherwise, you're just the cutest, smartest, funniest, dancing-est, "clarinet"-loving-est little boy I've ever known.

When your (second) cousin Sam came to visit, we took y'all to the zoo. It was a special day, so we went decided to go all out and ride the train. You decided, despite your previous love of riding the train, that you weren't in the mood this particular day. You screamed as we stood in line, and you screamed almost the entire train ride. I didn't know what to do after a while of talking to you about it, so I decided to take some pictures to pull out when you're sixteen. Mean ol' mom, making you ride the train at the zoo. As you can see from the pictures, your cousin Sam doesn't know what to think about it. Gigi and you (great) Aunt Sheila know exactly what to think about it. They've been there done that.

Strangely enough, we think you've gotten tall for your age. We don't know what to think about it, ha! There's definitely height on both sides of our family, just not much of it is expressed in your parents. So, who knows. [Please don't hurt your sister!] Sam is tall too, here's a comparison shot (before the scream fest).

You've known all your colors for months (maybe 6, it's been a long time since I've sat down to write about you), you know lots of your letters, you still love animals, instruments, and "your people" (aka: family members). You say new phrases every day, and you're finally going to get to start some speech therapy soon, which I know will be such a great thing for you. You have so much to say all day long! =)

You are going into your Sunday School class weekly without crying or screaming. I think we're up to 7 cry-free times. You're just growing up! You love wearing your sunglasses to keep the sun out of your eyes, and whenever your nose even tickles you ask for a Kleenex. Also, anytime something hurts you tell me what it is and then say, "Need cream." Most kids are asking for bandaids, but you've had a lot of itchies in your life (not to mention eczema and diaper rash issues), so you think that anything that hurts, "needs cream." I'm always sorry something is bothering you, but it never fails to make me smile when you say, "Leg('Yeg')! Need cream ('keem')...."

You are doing so well going out with family members other than your dad and me. Your Nana and G-Dad took you to the zoo on a beautiful "fall" day that came as a teaser around the beginning of September. Your dad and I got so much done around the house and you had a blast. They let you lolly-gag around the zoo to your heart's content. They got you slushies (yes, plural--apparently G-Dad finished off the first when we he thought you were finished, apparently, you weren't finished. And you weren't happy). Someday you'll understand what a blessed little boy you are to have so many family members who want and are able to spend time with you. I think you already know how much they love you, but you don't know how unique your situation is.

You can occasionally be persuaded to "help" me, but to be honest, it's not high on your list. Bummer. We've had lots of days where you have had trouble falling asleep for your nap, but I think we've figured out that you can't get comfortable and relaxed with me rocking you (since I'm so big right now), whenever your dad or your Gigi rocks you for a nap, you go right down. I'm not as worried about it now, I just do my best to get you comfy and tell myself I won't be like this much longer.

A couple months ago, I thought I was being such a great mom, we took you to a frozen yogurt place where you could add toppings. You've never had toppings on your "ice cream," but you love chocolate, and you love M&M's, so I got you chocolate / vanilla swirl, and I added mini M&M's. As a child, that would have MADE MY WEEK. Well, we're very different, you and I--and I'm constantly reminded of that. To your credit, you did not cry or fuss. You did, however, pick EVERY SINGLE M&M out of your ice cream after spooning it into your mouth. Yes, it was very messy. But you nicely piled them all up on a napkin once I refused to let you throw them on the floor. I just sat there in amazement. You're certainly thorough.

Speaking of thorough, that trait will be both a great asset and possibly quite a pitfall for you. When you decide to do something, it's never halfway. And, honestly, somedays I wish it were.

We've had record-breaking heat this summer, so many days we just lazied around the house. Lots of those days, you seemed totally fine with it. You didn't even ask to go outside. You don't seem to care for 100 degree-weather either. We did play in the baby pool and the sprinkler some, but on the hottest days, we hung out inside. I'm so looking forward to it cooling back down so that you can enjoy your great backyard again.

You've been relatively healthy lately, a cold-turned-sinus infection here and there; but we've actually stayed away from the germiest places because I just couldn't bear the thought of a 2nd or 3rd trimester GI virus. You just came down with your second "summer" illness yesterday--probably another cold that will be a sinus infection just in time to greet your new baby sister. The back-to-school stuff has found us. It's going to be an interesting fall. Thankfully nursing is both tranquilizing to the mom and immune support to the infant. You and your dad will be fending for yourself, I guess.

You have been very interested in all of the presents for the baby. Don't worry, you've been given plenty as well, and we've been fairly "lenient" with you as far as letting you play with her stuff. You've gotten a few new toys as well, and you don't know it but you have even more surprises (in the form of material goods) yet to come. I honestly never imagined how, shall we say, "well-provided for" my children would be. We're going to have a lot of character-building to make sure both of you learn what is really important in life.

I know that you're going to be an amazing big brother. I can't wait to see you grow into that position in our family. It will be such an important opportunity for you--one that will make you who you will be for the rest of your life. Evelyn is a blessed little girl to get to have a big brother as fearfully and wonderfully made as you are. Your dad and I can't wait to see you two learn what it means to be in a family together.

Cuteness Sneak Peak

2011-09-13T13:11:00.000-05:00

It'll be weeks if not months before I get Evelyn's room pulled together enough to officially "blog" it. I don't know why. Isn't that how you're s'posed to do it?

But I thought I'd post a few teasers, because girl could get here any time now. Here's to hoping this is my last blog post before bringing home my precious baby girl.

Hoping you think the "after" chandelier is cuter than the before

Of course, she'll be the cutest thing in her room, but the decor will be a close second...

You Know Things

2011-09-03T18:06:00.000-05:00

Spencer, you know things. And it's weird. I will again remind you that you are not the first child I have taken care of for most of their waking hours. You are, of course, my first child; but you are in no way the first child I have known well. So, some things that would have "wowed" a first-time mom or a first-time knowing-a-little-one-really-really-well person don't wow me. In fact, I probably expected a bit much, overlooked a bit much (due to my 'every child is different' philosophy), ignored a bit much, and probably even down-played a bit much. "Of course, he's smart. I think all children are 'smart,' and then some are not nurtured as they should have been and they don't get to develop into the person they were created to be." Kids who "know things" are not that novel. Studies have shown that babies understand the basics of math (I can't cite it, but it was a "real" study. I read all about it...somewhere...lol). You get the idea. I'm not the mom constantly blown away by all you know. Sorry.

But the other day, you did it. You amazed me. Your Aunt Natalie and Uncle Levi recently moved apartments. I think you've been to their new apartment twice. It's possible you've only been once. I've been sick, pregnant, and trying to coordinate a million things (and doing so quite poorly, by the way), so I'm not sure if it's been once or twice. I know for sure it's been no more than that. And it's been at least one month ago. I think it's been closer to "almost" two months.

Their new apartment is on a road that is sort of a "cut-through" in West Little Rock. It connects (more or less) two or three major streets. So, we were over on that side of town the other day, and I cut through on their street. In using it as a cut through, we did not come the way we would come if we were driving from our house; and we did not come the way I know for sure we came on the one occasion that I remember FOR SURE taking you over there. So, you follow me? We drove to their street in a way you've never been driven to their street before.

I'm sure you'll come to know eventually that I'm usually quite the rule-follower. I'm also sure you'll come to know eventually that I DO NOT drive under the speed limit. Barring monsoon-like rain or some other weather-phenomenon that Thompson's Driving School taught me to slow down for or you can be cited as "driving too fast for the conditions" or some thing like that, I drive the speed limit or a little bit over. I try not to drive much over, but if I'm not going the speed limit, I'm going over, not under. I just say all of that to say that I did not drive by their apartment slowly, I probably drove by a smidge too quickly. I did not slow down as we approached it. I did not nod at it, point, look at you to see what you'd say, or do anything other than continuing to drive as I'd been driving the whole trip.

And you looked out your window and said your token, "What's that? What's that?" Obviously, this piqued my interest. I said back to you, "What is that?" And you said, "Nee Nee! Nee Nee!" I said, "That's right, honey! That's Natalie's apartment." And you proceeded to correct yourself, "Nee Nee's 'partment. Nee Nee's partment." It was the middle of the day, her car wasn't even in the parking lot. I was floored. How in the world did you recognize it? I'm still floored.

Then, you proceeded to get so upset that we weren't stopping by that we had to call her on her cell phone and leave a message. I relayed all that had just happened, and you shouted "Nee Nee" and a shortened version of "I love you" in the background, making both she and I almost cry over the sweetness of it all as we discussed it later. Needless to say, you made her day and you've finally succeeding in truly shocking me with something you knew. I usually think that I know what you know. Clearly I have no idea.

Love you kid!

Weekend Comments from Strangers (Regarding My Pregnant Physique)

2011-08-22T11:24:00.000-05:00

Customer Service Lady at Kroger who insisted on "helping" me do the self-checkout lane, acting as if those lanes are in any way helpful or suitable for a pregnant mother of a toddler: When are you due?

Me: End of September

Kroger Lady: There's no way you'll make it that long....

Me: (In my mind)--thanks for your expert opinion--how 'bout you put a little hop in your step and help me get out of your 100 degree grocery store quickly...

Later the same day, I went in to grab more Tums at Walgreens....

Walgreens checkout lady whose tone was very kind: How are you today?

Me: I'm doing okay (with a smile).

Walgreens lady: You don't look ok.

Me: Another smile

Walgreens lady: You look miserable....

Me: I am. (I don't know why, but I smile again).

And finally, the YOUNG checkout lady at Hancocks who both greets you and checks you out

Hancocks lady (as I'm walking in the door): You're such a cute pregnant lady (loudly)!

Me: Well, thanks. That's very sweet of you to say.

Hancocks girl: (As I'm turning around to walk down the aisles, toddler-free in a store and reveling in it) I mean, from the back you don't even look pregnant. You don't have any fat rolls or anything. (She turns to the lady who walked into the store after I did) Isn't she cute? She doesn't even look pregnant from the back....

Me: (You can be sure I've turned back around to face the girl seemingly obsessed with how I look from the back. I glance at the random lady who has been pulled into this awkward conversation): Care to take a look? (I'm smirking more than smiling by this point)

I finally manage to walk off only to encounter her again when I check out.

Hancocks girl: When are you due? Can I touch your belly? I just love pregnant bellies. Where's her head, I can't tell what I'm feeling.....

Me: Oh, um, sure. That stuff smeared on my shirt is my toddler's snot. He has a cold--fair warning. I think she's actually down here...

Hancocks girl: Oh, I'm doing my nursing school clinicals. A cold is no big deal to me. Oh, yeah, there she is...ahhh.

Me: (To myself): Wow.

If I were following the writing rules, I'd have to stop here, and save my mini-"discussion" below for another post. It doesn't contribute to my topic sentence / thesis statement / title / or whatever you want to call it. But, no one is paying me to write correctly, and no one is grading this, so today, I'm writing incorrectly. Now that I have that out of the way:

A nurse who works with kids, who we'll assume understands the germ theory, thinks it's no big deal for her to catch a cold. Does she get it that she can then give it to the kids she is working with in her clinicals? Not comforting. I bet their parents don't feel as laissez faire about it. I guess she hasn't heard the one where the kid gets a cold, gets a sinus infection, takes an antibiotic, gets C-diff, spends the next month and a half on a strong antibiotic to get rid of THAT infection, fighting digestive distress and diaper rash the whole time. Clearly not dying of cancer, but not a fun day either way.....

I guess she never gave birth to a child while she had a cold. I didn't think it was fun. I'm hoping not to do that again. I had to be on oxygen the whole second half of my labor / delivery when S went into respiratory distress, I'm still convinced that part of it was because I wasn't getting any oxygen because of my horrible "just a cold." Not to mention cold meds aren't exactly recommended for a solid foundation of you and your newborn's nursing relationship.

I should have asked what nursing program she was enrolled in and if they have completed the part about "how germs work" or co-morbid disease issues. Pregnant moms of toddlers don't want to be told any illness is "just a fill-in-the-blank"--especially the ones who have a little experience with those ailments.

...And apparently during her OB rotation they taught her that back fat rolls indicate pregnancy "from behind."

Growing Up

2011-07-27T15:07:00.000-05:00

Dear Spencer,

We've got about two months left as a momma and her only child. Your Gigi told me that there's a whole process you go through thinking about and grieving (in a sense) the loss of the "baby-ness" of your first child. I think we're at that stage, because I'm doing crazy things, like taking you to Wild River Country at 31 (?) weeks pregnant, or (for a more colorful illustration) 55+ pounds pregnant.

We couldn't get there 'til ten, which is such a bummer for all of us hoping to have a great morning with our young child. Places should open at 8 a.m. The morning sun is still indirect, and the heat index is still relatively low for summer in Arkansas. Anyway, while we waited all morning, I did laundry and cleaned the hall bathroom. Wow. It really needed it. I didn't clean the tub/shower, because I had finally become sufficiently disgusted by if a few weeks ago. However, just getting the first layer off of it took all the energy I had that fateful day, so today, I finally "finished" that cleaning session. I'm telling you all this to say that you were so great. In the past, cleaning while you are awake has been challenging. You can pinpoint the surface that has hazardous chemicals, you can climb and push and pull your way to the brushes and rags, you are miraculously underfoot and screaming that you can't join me in my activity. Trust me, I'll be begging you to join me before long. I doubt you'll be as enthusiastic at that point. But who knows? You never cease to surprise me.

Today, however, you came in, you checked it out, I asked you to leave the bathroom while I did my work--and for the most part--AND without any tears--you obliged. You did follow me back and forth between the bathroom and the laundry room many times. You did try to pile all the clothes in the laundry room into the washer with the dirty cleaning rags; but when I stopped you and redirected you [insert long, dramatic pause] you went along with it. It's mornings like this I know you're really growing up.

I told you we were going to a big swimming pool. You said "No." You asked for Gigi. I told you she wouldn't be there. You did seem to be interested, though; and you went along with getting dressed without screaming. You even asked if we were going to the beach, which made that whole experience seem even more worthwhile--apparently you'd liked it. I saved the sunscreen face application for once you were buckled in your carseat--cruel but necessary. It did not go well, if you're wondering. But that was not surprising. You even seemed anxious to leave the house as I was gathering up the last of our supplies. As we drove, I talked to you about not running away from me at the water park. I told you that we would have to put sunscreen on your face, and that you'd have to leave your toy worm in the car because it would get lost. I mentioned listening to Mommy and not running away over and over. And I told you we'd have to leave if you didn't do what I said. I'd made sure you'd had plenty to eat this morning for breakfast, and I'd carb-loaded you and protein-loaded me right as we were walking out the door.

And lo and behold, it paid off. You stood in line to get in. You did not run in the street or in the grass. You weren't thrilled about the situation, but you listened to me tell you that waiting can be hard, and it's not very fun; but that it wouldn't be much longer. Other people talked to you, and that bothered you; but you hung in there. And then, we were in. Accomplishment #1! We went straight to the little kid area, and you loved it. You played happily (with me by your side) for almost an hour. You loved the waterfall, and the "deep" end. You loved the concrete columns and insisted they were trees. You loved to kick the water, and throw it with your hands. You sat and rolled and listened. You only tried to take off your swim trunks a couple of times, and you only complained about wearing your rashguard shirt once. Honestly, it was beautiful. More honestly, it was unthinkable.

By then, you'd really boosted my confidence in our ability to successfully do and enjoy activities together today. So, I really upped the ante and took you over to the Lazy River. I think you loved the name of it. You repeated it over and over. We went around at least three times. You wore your sunglasses and your "puddle jumper" (floatie-thing), and only tried to climb the sides a few times. The loud, dramatic buzzer to signal that the waves were starting in the wave pool went off, right when we were as close to it as we could have been. After it goes off, they simulate really loud wave sounds. You looked at me, and I told you what it was; and you were cool with it. Wow. You're really well-adjusted as a toddler. We've come a long way from you screaming uncontrollably every time Daddy sneezed.

I really think we could have stayed on the Lazy River for a solid hour, but I was positive you were getting sunburned. Have I mentioned you don't care for sunscreen on your face? To be fair, I reapplied some of the sunscreen we use on your face onto my own face while we were there, and it burned like the dickens. It's the best we've found; but I know it still hurts. I'm really sorry.

We tried the wave pool for a few minutes, but you really wanted me to walk you out to the deep end, and I knew there was no way I could manage the waves and you and be pregnant. So, we talked about doing the Lazy River again, and you got mad at me because of how I was trying to ride in the tube (differently than the time before), and that's when I knew you were finished. I knew I could bribe you with a dry diaper, because you hate swim diapers of all kinds. While I was changing you, I asked you if you wanted a cheeseburger, to which you, of course, replied "No." Desperately hoping we could walk out with our dignity (and without completely doing-in my back for the next week), I asked if you wanted to get some ice cream. You, of course, replied, "'Kay."

So, with the help of a little bribery, you walked, willingly holding my hand, all the way to our car. I was having trouble enjoying it, I was so shocked. After you'd had your ice cream, you went to the door at our house and begged to go back to Wild Rive Country. Over and over again. I hope I hadn't led you to believe that we were going back, but it seems like somehow I did. I felt so bad. I tried to explain that we were finished there. I finally told you that you could have your paci for a nap. And that sounded like an acceptable alternative to spending the afternoon at the water park to you. Smart kid.

After I rocked you for a few minutes and laid you down in your bed, you were quiet for at least fifteen minutes. Then, you started calling me. That's not normal. Even if you play, you don't usually call me. I finally figured I should go see what was going on. You were sitting on your bouncy dog. Shorts and diaper off. When I picked you up, I realized, you'd sat on your dog so that you could poop. So, the plus side was, you hadn't wanted to poop in your diaper, I guess. I'm still wondering if it wasn't just a coincidence. Undressing is becoming a sort of game to you, you've woken up from a couple naps lately pants and diaper-free. We had a little damage control to do before I could lay you back down. I did verbally affirm you for calling me instead of making a mess with your poop. I also mentioned that it'd be great if you called me when you needed to poop, and I could take you to the potty.

I'm still amazed that you just sat there and didn't smear it all over everything. See what I mean? You're growing up.

Love you, little one,
Mommy

Feeling Like A Rookie

2011-07-26T13:00:00.001-05:00

I just experienced the first morning of Spencer wearing big boy underwear. I would not call it successful, but I did get a lot of exercise. I ran him to the toilet after he'd already peed everywhere, at least five times. I then, of course, got to blot the pee out of the only two rugs we have in the whole house--apparently it's much more fun to pee on the rug. And then--and my back is not going to quickly forgive me for this one--I ended up scrubbing poop he smeared all over the living room rug while I was picking up toys IN THE SAME ROOM--seriously not even a full yard away...and let's not forget the bath that followed...the rug was not the only thing covered in poop. Potty training is one of the few "baby" things I've never done before as a babysitter or nanny. It promises to deliver lots of good times.
I know I should probably wait 'til he's three, but I just had to give it a try after he came in at a 4 year old language comprehension level at his last speech eval. He's so got my number...
And I know I was more relieved than he was to put a diaper on him for his nap. Not sure my back has the strength to do it all over again this afternoon. We DEFINITELY did not buy enough underwear...
Round 1: Spencer--7 and Mommy--0

Thinking Out Loud

2011-07-11T08:31:00.000-05:00

How do you think? How do you process things? Those of you who know me in "real life" know that I'm an "external processor" (like how I just made that up?). I literally think while I'm talking. It doesn't just help me think things out, it seems to actually produce new thoughts and lines of reason. It's weird.

So, to those of you who have listened to me over the years, many thanks. I promise I don't just like to hear myself talk (although I won't completely rule out liking it to some degree). I think, when there's no one to talk to, writing fills that need to some degree. So, although this is somewhat ridiculous and quite a reflection of 2011, I thought it'd be funny to "talk" about trying to pick a name for the "new baby." Who knows? It might even be helpful.

Here are some of our favorites as of today (subject to change at my every whim):

Evelyn
Nora
Louisa
Georgia
Piper
Hawthorne
Tabitha
Ingrid

We do have some middle name "ideas," but they're certainly not set in stone, and really, at this point in life, what is? I'm purposely not creating a poll, because I want to hear your thoughts on your favorites. Voting is not "talking," nor does it provide the same helpful and therapeutic benefits.

Ok, so talk to me...

PS--for the record, when naming Spencer, we threw out our list at the end and started all over...

"What I Learned On My Summer Vacation" In Negatives

2011-07-04T20:47:00.000-05:00

Not the answer to heart burn--roasted red pepper hummus.

Not your best time to stand against the crashing waves and try to help your child float in the ocean--third trimester.

Now that "they" ruled out tuna and your heart burn and queasiness ruled out anything fried, all you'll be left with at seafood restaurants--grilled shrimp and crab legs (not complaining...).

Not the most cost-effective time to be applying sunscreen all over your body day after day after day--third trimester.

Not the best environment for swollen, achy feet--air planes and hot beaches.

Not the easiest time to get close ups and creatively angled shots of your toddler on the beach or at the fountains--third trimester.

Nor the best way to employ Netflicks to block out any movie everyone else is watching that contains any suspense at all--earbuds--I hate them. They don't fit right, and they hurt.

Not disappointed in the beach, ever, no matter how pregnant she is--me--even in my third trimester!

Happy

2011-07-01T20:59:00.001-05:00

Even before the media got to me, I remember enjoying most the times of the year that I was tan. Before I knew who Jennifer Aniston was and before I'd seen thin, airbrushed, tan women on the covers of magazines. Even back when scars from my bike wrecks and sponge-painted VBS t-shirts were cool, I knew--I just felt better tan. Life just felt better. Heck, possibly, life really IS better.

And now with all the research about sun being essential to your vitamin D levels and light therapy promoting emotional well being, all I can think is, "Wow, that was a lot of money to tell us something we all already knew." Being tan is being happy.

So, here we are...

...happy.

ps--I know all about skin cancer. We were in the sun for limited amounts of time with gobs of sunscreen all over us, in disgusting amount. I'm the girl whose mom forced her to swim with a t-shirt over her bathing suit (and sunscreen slathered body) from 9 am to 4 pm. And in junior high and high school, I'd get grounded if I got sunburned. I know damage happens even with sunscreen, even without a sunburn, yadda, yadda. I'm just sayin'--for the first time in a long time, I had consistently elevated feelings of happiness. It had to be the sun ('cause it sure was hot). =)

Fine Whine

2011-06-21T22:46:00.000-05:00

Yesterday I hurt my back power-walking my toddler around the zoo. He can sense when I'm already carrying an extra thirty pounds or so, and he knows I'll get so much stronger so much faster if he adds his thirty pound body into the mix. So, when not chasing / watching him closely, I was carrying him up and down the surprisingly hilly terrain. And it was at that point I felt my back do what it did when I was pregnant with Spencer. I think it's related to the excess weight gain on my fairly small frame, although there are times I think it may be sciatica. It's probably a combination. Luckily, it started much earlier with Spencer, so I've actually had quite a "easy" time with my back so far in this pregnancy.

Unfortunately, I was walking oddly, in an attempt to favor the parts of my back that were killing me, and I managed to hurt the foot on the opposite side of my body from my back pain (the opposite side thing is why I think the foot injury is some sort of result of my back craziness). My back is only mildly hurting, my foot hurts really badly.

My tummy still bugs me all the time, but it's not nearly as acute as it is in the beginning. It's more chronic, and it's very sensitive--I remember eating mainly turkey sandwiches the last few months with Spencer because everything else seemed to make me sick in some way. I think we're getting there. Factor in the reflux and heartburn (which I had with Spencer), and remember that I've yet to potty train my 2.5 year old, so there is still LOTS of bending over and squatting down, and you can see how gastrointestinal comfort of any kind does not seem to be in my near future. I consistently wake up with sneezing fits in the middle of the night, and I swear I never get past the first trimester fatigue. I hate wishing away my last few months with my baby boy, but often I think that the end of September can't get here fast enough.

You're gonna miss these "pregnancy posts" aren't you? Probably about as much as I will miss being pregnant.

My Dad

2011-06-19T09:16:00.002-05:00

I've written no less than ten Father's Day blog posts in the last two years, in my head, while in the shower or while lying awake in the middle of the night. I've yet to post one. Shame! You know it's a terrible shame especially if you know my dad. He deserves everyone one of those "cognitive" blog posts and more--maybe even one spell-checked and with pictures!

I've had writing one for this year on my calendar for a month now. And, especially in this instance, saying I've been too busy just sounds ridiculous. My dad is a busy man as well. And not just because he's a surgeon. You can be a "busy surgeon" and then justify whatever time you don't spend doing things with and for your family and other people. That's not the kind of busy surgeon that he is. Then, "What kind is he?" you ask. "Good question," I answer.

My dad, when not busy with being a surgeon and all of the board memberships and extra meetings that come along with it is the sort of dad who took my sisters and me to the park when he had an evening off. He planned and squeezed in family excursions and trips whenever time and money allowed. He let us put thirty five barrettes in his hair while he sat and "relaxed" after work. And then he let us take pictures. (Sorry I don't have one to post today!) He told us we were smart, talented, and beautiful. And he communicated that he believed those things by how he treated us, spoke to us, and bragged on us to whoever he could get to listen. I know I'd be embarrassed to know how many nurses and doctors have had to hear about my honor roll achievements throughout the years.

My childhood was far from perfect, and my dad has probably "grown up" as much as I have in these past (almost) twenty-nine years. And while that does mean that there are things we all wish could have been different, it also means that I had a front row seat to see God. "What in the world does that mean?" you ask. "Good questions this morning!" I answer.

You see, I've often wondered about God. What's His deal? What's He like? Does He even exist? Whose version of Him could possibly be accurate if He does exist? Would He even want His name and every pronoun referring to it capitalized? You get the idea. I wondered these things at age two, and I wondered them at age twelve. I continued to wonder them while everyone else wondered what I was going to major in. So, I attempted to answer both parties; I declared a major in Biblical Studies with an emphasis in Theology ("the study of God," to those of you falling asleep as you read that word. And, no judgement for me, I never had trouble falling asleep in college. I could always find a textbook to aid in that endeavor).

I loved my classes (graciously paid for by my dad, by the way--never in a "you're costing me tons of money, kid!" sort of way); and I learned a lot. It was the most fun I've ever had school-wise. And yes, I'm one of those who has fun "school-wise." However, when it comes down to it, when life seems inexplicable, when I think about what I'm going to teach my kids about God, life, etc., when I think about what I really know to be true and why, I don't think about Fretheim's "The Suffering of God," or Ladd's "New Testament Theology." I think about my dad--what his life has displayed is the greatest "theology" lesson I've ever been taught. I've seen real-life redemption, true repentance, transformation and renewal, forgiveness that seems impossible, a love for justice that's unmatched, joyful and selfless giving, humility not-often-seen in "busy surgeons," and unconditional love. His life exemplifies these things because of his relationship with Jesus Christ.

And while I could spend years writing an entire blog with daily entries detailing all the ways in which my dad's life has taught me those things, you'll just have to take my word for it today--and at least for the next five years or so. Maybe I could pull a little something together after that.

Happy Father's Day, Dad. Thank you for everything I've talked about above and all the other things I've had to omit. I love you so much, and I'm so thankful you're my dad. Jonathan, Spencer, and I are pretty thankful that you're Spencer's Papa too. Tell your patients to stay well so we can see you tonight.

Snippets of Spencer at 2.5

2011-06-11T17:10:00.000-05:00

You still love dogs.
You seem to love you cloth diapers, which, honestly, to me seem like they'd be hotter/bulkier/less comfy in the summer. But we got them back out when I felt like I could stomach it, and it's going really well.
You know tons of colors (which I think is one reason you love your cloth diapers, they seem to have piqued your interest in the whole idea of colors with names, etc.)
You love to make a doggie cage out of the laundry basket--you are the doggie. You get under it (while it's turned upside down), then you call me into the room so you can tell me you're a doggie.
You love the hose, but only when we chase you around the backyard with it. You love a reason to run.
You still love to sleep with your paci.
We've had a couple of incidents that have made me pretty sure you're ready to potty train. I was hoping we'd find a camp for that.
You did NOT scream when I left you in the church nursery Sunday. First time ever. I stayed at least 15 minutes and played first, which I never do. I'm not sure if this is what helped or it if just all happened on the same day.
You love to go for rides in the car. You'll just ask to go get in the car. When we pull back onto our street, you often whine / fuss / scream depending on your mood and how tired you are. You're usually disappointed to come back home (it's not like we don't take you places all the time!).
You've needed us to reinforce lots of boundaries lately. Often and continuously.
You do not care to speak of the baby in mommy's tummy; but you're infatuated with how my belly button looks and constantly compare it to your own.
If it's possible, you get cuter every single day.
You grew two inches in about 3.5 months. I'm not an expert, but that was surprising to me since you're two and not 4 months. All the sudden everyone was asking us if you were taller--and you were! About a month ago, you were 30 lbs. and 36".
You LOVE "Go, Diego, Go," and all animals, and the sounds they make, etc.
More and more you enjoy having friends over or going to friends' houses. You still don't play "with" them, usually; but I think it's more of a function of your personality than your social development.
You're pretty cuddly, much more so than when you were a "baby." We love it.
You don't love the pool. I do. It's a bummer.
You LOVE music. You enjoy "conducting" us more than you enjoy creating it yourself, and if someone sings you a song, he or she needs to be prepared to sing it a thousand times. If it's a song that pleases you, you don't think it ever gets old.
You're such a precious little boy. I think your Daddy and I enjoy you more every day (not that you don't have your moments....that turn into hours. But we try to remember you're 2.5).
We love you, Spencer!

My Baby

2011-06-07T16:28:00.000-05:00

My mom warned me that I'd mourn the "loss" of Spencer as my baby as I got ready to welcome the next one. And, as is usually the case, she was right.

And, we all mourn in different ways, right? I apparently, decide to dress him in ways I didn't even love when he was a baby. I'm sorta cracking myself up.

I was picking out fabrics for baby girl's room, and instead of getting anything for her, I came home with madras plaid yardage. I asked my mom to sew a romper for Spencer "for the beach," and "the 4th of July," and "for church when it's so hot."

For real? It's for me. It's his last "baby" outfit. In fact, it's sort of his first baby outfit, depending on your definition of what's appropriate for baby boys to wear for the above occasions. (Opinions are apparently STRONG and WIDELY varied, ha!)

Isn't my baby precious?

And big?

Small Shorts for Summer

2011-06-01T15:34:00.001-05:00

I finally put on my maternity shorts from the summer I was pregnant with Spencer. They are supposed to look nicer than gym shorts which are the only shorts I'd been wearing up until now. Loose, maternity capris have worked well so far for comfort and my regrettable lack of desire when it comes to shaving my legs. But, this weekend was going to be hot, and we were going to the park, and I told myself it was time to actually participate as Spencer's mother. "So put shorts on and plan on standing up on the playground for a long time, sweating." I put sunscreen on too, so as to have no excuse to go sit in the shade.

Now, I may have mentioned previously that I gain a lot of weight when I'm pregnant. I have said that to many-a-woman who has answered me back, "Oh, me too! I gained fifty pounds with so-and-so." And to that I laugh and think, try adding another "healthy" pregnancy on top of that fifty." I gained over seventy pounds with Spencer. I quit weighing myself after that, and he came at least a few weeks later, maybe a month. I think I forgot the exact details for my own mental and emotional protection.

To be fair, I was not overweight when I got pregnant (either time), so I know that I needed to gain weight. I was happy to gain weight. I'm ALL ABOUT giving the baby what it needs. I'm just not all about growing out of every article of clothing that can be purchased in the greater Little Rock area. And that's how seventy plus pounds starts to feel on a 5' 5.75" woman. And, to be even more fair, I was not underweight when I got pregnant either time either. I was like Baby Bear on Goldilocks. I was just right. There have been times in my life when I was not "just right," and to be honest, I like being "just right." And this excessive weight-gain thing has bothered me more this time around. I honestly think it's because I've felt a little better this time and I have more energy and where-withal to think about it.

The last nurse who gave me a hard time about my weight gain with Spencer gave me the final nudge I needed to switch doctors. THAT'S how I felt about it last time. =)

Anyway, back to the shorts. I forced myself to put on the shorts, which is a bigger deal if you gain weight more in your lower half, and I, of course, do. So, I put them on thinking, "You know what? This is NOT a big deal. You have been doing better this pregnancy. These are going to fit fine. You are nowhere near 200 lbs. You need to relax. Wouldn't you rather be cool than keep from wearing shorts? No one cares but you. Everyone knows you, and everyone knows you're pregnant...." I think mental health professionals call this "self-talk." I call it my life.

I start doing the math, thinking that there is a two month difference in the due dates of Spencer and baby girl to come. So, between the two month margin and the partially-less-excessive weight gain this time around, wearing these shorts should NOT be a big deal. However, the first pair was pretty snug. You know I don't mean in the waist, right? No one 22.5 weeks pregnant thinks things are not going to be snug in the waist. So, let's just get that straight right now--before the comments roll in about how I'm pregnant and I'm supposed to be bigger. They were snug how things are snug when you gain weight below your waist, like I always do. AND they were snug in the waist--so they were uncomfortable all over. BONUS! =)

So, I think, "Well, I have three pairs of shorts, and if I remember correctly, I got a couple in one size and then one pair in the next size up, right? I think that's what I did." So, I check the other two shorts' tags. They are the same size. I take off my shorts and check the tag, same size. Hmmm. Nice. I put the shorts back on and think, "I'm definitely not interested in knowing what I weigh now! That's such a bummer. I guess I'll blame it on the sinus infection and all the continuous-calorie-drip days that ensued as a way to keep from throwing them up. I had to take those antibiotics. I had to keep them down. That TRULY was for the baby. Just keep telling your self that...."

We finally get in the car to go to the park. Jonathan, Spencer, and me--to enjoy a fun family day. And I keep thinking about it. I'm just really confused. I mean, there's a two month difference too! Shouldn't that help this too-small-already thing even a little bit? And then, I did it. I told Jonathan. And in about one-quarter of a second he looked at me and said, "You're two months ahead this time."

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is what it's like to be me. pregnant.

Sugar and Spice and Everything Nice--(Hopefully) That's Our Little Girl!

2011-05-13T14:57:00.001-05:00

At the end of September, we will be having a baby girl. I think I'm still a little bit in shock. Don't read that as not excited. Life just takes a while to soak in for me.

Her profile picture taken by the sonographer is not nearly as clear or well-positioned as Spencer's was, even on their brand new machine loaded with brand new software. Wanna hear why? According to the sonographer, she is so active that it's hard to get a good shot. Wow. Not comforting! Ha!

Apparently bones casts shadows on the ultrasound, so if they are very wiggly the whole time it makes it harder to get good pictures. I asked questions during the ultrasound, but none of them had anything to do with what I just told you. Kelly offered all that information on her own initiative. That was her first and main impression of my baby daughter. Again, wow.

Please note the little crossed ankles in both pictures.

God probably made her quick and energetic as a protective measure to get her through her childhood in one piece. I know Spencer will love her deeply, I just don't know how long it will take to teach him how to be gentle. Although he's always gentle to animals.... Oh, and she had her hands up by her face the whole time. Again, I'm convinced she leaves them there so she can cover her ears every time her brother throws a screaming fit. At least she's showing signs of adaptivity. She's gonna need it!

I'm hesitant to admit how I felt when we found out Spencer was a boy. But I will, 'cause why hold back at this point? I was relieved. It just felt like so much less pressure. And I know, intellectually, that's not really fair. I know every child, whether boy or girl, has their own strengths, weaknesses, areas they need more "help" in than others, etc. I know it's not truly "harder" to have one than the other. But I can think of many reasons why it might be a little harder for me to have a girl--I won't list them now.

And my own feelings aside, being a girl is hard. Have you read about my pregnancies? At times I find myself thinking the whole human race would be much better off if I never had any girls. The "morning sickness" genes I have to pass on seem less than desirable. Eugenics, anyone? (I'm against that, for the record!) And then there's the whole modesty-even-though-you're-too-young-to-understand-the-point issue. I had at least one million arguments with my mom over this...

On the other hand, I had been thinking that it'd be nice to have a daughter to bathe me when I'm eighty five (if needed), so if, by God's grace, I manage to raise her to love Him, and eventually me, then at least I have that base covered. =) Plus, now when I go to Target, I get to look at the clearance section and find cutie little things like this.

Don't judge me for buying her something already. I didn't buy one article of clothing for Spencer until he was here and actually needing one (outgrowing gifts, etc.), but I'm not that person anymore. I'm a sick, sleep-deprived mother of a toddler, and honestly, a little unstable. And they're not newborn outfits, they're 9 and 12 month--for next summer--when she's running around giggling and making me want another baby--thinking happy thoughts...

Anyway, there you have it. In case by some gross oversight you've managed to miss all my whining, Spencer and I have continued to be sick. Truly sick, not medium sick. Plus, don't forget, I'm pregnant. (I know, I never mention it!) So, yeah, we're surviving; but certainly not thriving. I've been a wreck. If I were like this in "real life" (it's starting to feel like I am), I'm not sure what I'd do. Truly. I guess I'd go to therapy every day. Not physical therapy. Emotional therapy--and maybe some respiratory therapy, lol!

You Knew That You Knew It Wouldn't Work...And Tried It Anyway

2011-05-10T15:27:00.000-05:00

I'm going out on a limb and saying that Claritin is not an effective anti-histimine for Spencer. It's never worked for me, so I don't know why I'm surprised that it doesn't work for him. I know this will sound arrogant, but I'm going to say it anyway (ha! what does that say?): I don't understand why I listen to other people.

I know. How annoying is that to even read? But when I have an opinion about something, or, should I say, when I have already given something a trial run, or a good deal or research and thought, or when I've already experienced or tried something out and have no trouble remembering the outcome, why do I reconsider it when someone recommends it to me? I don't know. Because CLEARLY I don't have a problem being overly humble about my opinions! I think a lot of it is insecurity.

I can be positive that I "know" something. But then, I'm not positive. I have maybe 0.5% doubt. Then, I start thinking again--the best way to ruin all good, solid, common-sense acquired wisdom. And eventually, I decide my thoughts, or my "trial," or my research was probably not as comprehensive as it could have been. And I shouldn't be so arrogant as to ignore good, "professional" advice, given in good faith. So, I take it. I take the advice or the suggestion.

And then (here I go being all arrogant again) I'm reminded why I hadn't gone down this road in the first place.

Now, you think I'd leave it at that. "Que sera, sera!" Tried it (again). Tried it (against my better judgement). And now I KNOW that's not what I need to do.

And then I start thinking about the money I just wasted. The time and energy I used when I should have been at the grocery store. The emotional energy spent going through the pointless exercise all over again.

So, this is my note to myself: if you know something isn't true, doesn't work, and / or doesn't make a "hill o' beans difference" stop trying it anyway! No matter who suggested it. And number two, if, against your own advice, you end up thinkin' again and rehashing how you knew it wasn't going to work and you should never have tried it in the first place...

MOVE ON.

P.S. I was not compensated in any way by any of Claritin's competitors.

Almost Half Way There!

2011-05-05T15:06:00.001-05:00

And, yes, it does seem like I've been pregnant that long. And, no, it hasn't flown by. Surely you know by now I'm not going to sugar coat it.

Spencer has been napping closer to once every other day. It's bumming us out--me, Spencer, his father. And, when he takes a 2+ hour nap--yeah, then bedtime doesn't go over well at 7:30 p.m. I know he needs to be woken up about 2 hours after he falls asleep, but man, right now, I just can't bring myself to do it, especially since we've managed to stay somewhat sick with some sort of minor (or not as minor) "bug" since, oh, I'd say March. I remember blogging last year that the only thing I'd given up for Lent was health. I remembered it, ironically, as I was in bed with a stomach virus that I'd already had a week or so before. This was, of course, all during Lent of this year.

Once we were all "in the clear," and I was actually having many, many mornings where I was not throwing up while making breakfast, we ventured out into the real world. We played at friends' houses, we went to the Chick-fil-a indoor playground, the Wonderplace, etc. I was feeling more like a worthwhile person. I was smiling and laughing with my child, having conversations with my husband. Life felt a little bit normal again. But, as I always say in hindsight, you just can't go to those play places without coming home with a virus. It's amazing. My child is like a magnet. Truly.

So, I began to suspect he had a cold, he was rubbing his nose, pushing my hands against his head, etc. And, then he woke up in the middle of the night with a fever--which, by the way, we will take over waking up vomiting EVERY night of the year--then the next day the fever was gone (he hadn't had any Tylenol or anything, it was gone by itself). Then, he was fine for a few days. Then, the fever came back one afternoon. And, now, bless his heart I finally caught whatever it is that he has, and, let me tell you, we need a new word for having a "cold." You know? I mean, there should be degrees or something! Because there are degrees. And this cold is at least a third degree cold.

Along with this cold, there has been lots of screaming (usually Spencer), but once I came down with it, and have spent many nights in a row lying awake in bed, stopped up and miserable, I have to say, I don't fault him so much for all the tantrums, and I do feel a little guilty for some of the harsher disciplinary measures that I've employed this week now that I know how bad he has been feeling. And, I don't over-medicate him, so, he was pretty much feeling all the symptoms unless it was bedtime.

He is still my sweetest little boy, though. And he does the funniest things. I can't wait 'til he's four and finally talking in sentences--yeah--that's still the rate at which we're traveling. (Don't worry, I'm keeping a close eye on the situation, lol.) He has a paci only for sleeping now, and even when he feels horrible, he knows it is supposed to be put up once he's awake. I don't snatch it out of his mouth right when he leaves his bed, because, honestly, that seems mean. Half of the time, he's not even fully awake as he staggers into the living room. It also just doesn't seem to jive with his personality. He can be very compliant, and he likes his boundaries, but he doesn't like to be rushed. I know in some instances, he'll have to get over it, but in this one, I feel like he deserves a little understanding. So, usually, by the time breakfast is served, we trade it for the paci. Believe it or not, there is actually a point to this annoyingly rambling paragraph. It's in the next one.

A few mornings ago, I made him his waffle and eggs, brought it into the living room (where we frequently eat while partaking in some media over load--I know, I know, Mother of the Year alert), and he just sort of stood by the food, glancing around the room. He obviously was congested; his face was all puffy; he looked kinda pitiful. We sat there in silence while I scarfed down my couple thousand calories to last me about an hour or so, and then I said, "Are you going to eat your breakfast." Without saying a word, he walked over to where I was sitting on the sofa, still in his little cream sleep sack, then proceeded to lean down, so that his head (face first) ended up right next to my leg, where my hand also happened to be resting; and it finally dawned on me--he wanted me to take his paci out of his mouth! LOL! I asked him if that's what he wanted, and he leaned back over, right to my hand, again, so I took it out and stuck it in my pocket. Then, he walked over and started his breakfast. Ha! I felt like he was my little well-trained dog. "Lassie, what's wrong? Oh, you want me to take your paci out? Ok!" I don't know if the humor translates or not, but it was hilarious at the time.

He got some new books at Easter, and he has really been enjoying them. He even lets me read the ACTUAL words on the pages, as opposed to just requiring me to name all the animals that he can find. Never mind that these books are about Dora and the Wonderpets. I didn't buy them, and he's letting me read to him--whatever. His Dora book has a line where it says, "Do you want to ride with us on the bus?" And every. single. time. he says, "No!" as I continue reading the rest of the page. The only question in the whole book, and he can't wait to shout, "No!" Every time. He usually smiles while he says it, but not always. He says it even when he's not really into it. So consistent. Love it.

I've mainly been sneezing, lamenting my inability to breath through my nose, eating so much at one sitting that I restrict the room required for my lungs to completely expand, and trying to remind myself that food isn't fun if you can't continue breathing to enjoy it. But, being awake in the middle of the night is replete with opportunities, plenty of peace and quiet, perfect for contemplating where to cram all of the stuff that's currently in the "nursery-to-be" and what sort of cloth diapers I'm going to use when "the baby" gets here.

Decisions, Decisions

2011-04-25T13:34:00.001-05:00

I got the Littles down for a nap today by 12:35 for the first time in over three months. Life has meaning again. Apparently three Easter Celebrations in two days is all it takes. I'm also starting to have some "good" days, which is a welcome and much-needed change. When I say "good" days in regard to pregnancy, please don't hear me wrong. I don't feel good. I just don't feel like I'm enduring some sort of cosmic punishment in the here and now. We've almost made it to the half way point of this pregnancy. And I say "we" to credit the many family members and friends who have swooped in to rescue us from sure and pathetic implosion. Thank. Goodness.

I'm a planner. And throughout this entire pregnancy, one question has perpetually been on my mind: can I possibly do this again? Most days I answer with a resounding but sad and defeated, "No." And then Spencer is his little amazing, adorable, toddler-extraordinaire self, and I think, "Gosh, but I really truly always wanted to have at least three kids...but could I possibly do this again?" And so the cycle continues.

Jonathan and I both had thoughts and plans of eventually adopting. In my mind, it was something I'd do when I was an older, wiser, seasoned mother. It was something I'd do because I've heard about the need my entire life. It was something I'd do because I hope to bear witness to the fact that unborn lives are worth preserving, nurturing, and raising--whether or not I had anything to do with how they came into existence. It was something I'd do to exemplify what I believe God in Christ did for everyone who will come to him willing to be His adopted child. It really sums up the whole Story quite nicely.

Adoption was not something I'd planned on doing because I was too big of a wimp to endure multiple pregnancies of my own. It was not something I'd planned on doing while I had other small children around me, the likes of whom drain you physically and emotionally every day, even on the best of days. It was not something I'd planned on doing as an "out" of some sorts in my own life.

Now it's something that seems so confusing and complex. And I'm sure it shouldn't, but it still does.

Many, many people, adult males included have told me of their regrets regarding the number of children they had. No one has ever told me that they regretted having so many. Fifty year old men have told me they wished they'd had more. That seemed profound to me. Perhaps only because I've viewed the child rearing and raising thing as my career. The weight with which I heard their thoughts may have been partly provided from my end as the information recipient. I heard it, and I took it to heart, because that's where my heart and my mind are.

On the other hand, I've had many women, some old enough to be my grandmother, confide to me that they were unbearably sick when they were pregnant. They could only do it twice. They just could not do it again. I heard their sincerity, and with some, their peace they'd reached in this life decision they'd made decades ago. They are no less amazing women who've lived wonderful lives.

My mom has told me many times that your twenties and early thirties can be a very hard, stressful time in your life. You're making decisions--personal, financial, and business-wise--that set the course for the rest of your life. I know they don't have to be "stressful," but I do think they're full of course-setting decisions. Not to mention that as you're making these decisions, you're raising your babies. And they're watching. You're teaching them what's really important, not in words or lengthy explanations, but by the priorities that become obvious with every dollar you spend, with every person with whom you cross-paths, with every hour you work.

So, hopefully, no matter how many pregnancies I manage to weather, or how many years I wait to adopt, no matter how many children I raise as part of my family, I will do it well. Hopefully, the seemingly weighty decisions will fall away, usurped by the more pressing, daily decision of what am I teaching today by my decisions?

Finger Painting

2011-04-21T13:00:00.020-05:00

The power was out. I'd bought and hidden the finger paints for just such an occasion. Spencer thought it was fun for about three minutes. Then, he thought it was fun to make me finger paint--another three minutes. Then, he thought it was really fun to run around the back yard with the works of art, using up at least thirty minutes. There was also much intermittent dancing to my humble rendition of "Go, Diego, Go!" and "Say 'Click'!" medly-style.

Mimi Visit

2011-04-20T19:50:00.001-05:00

Spencer is a very loved boy. On any given day, a Mimi might just knock on his door. Just to play with him and to rescue him from a decent nap time.

She's the one who knew of his secret, passionate desire for Dora's Backpack. She got it for him for his 2nd birthday. He plays with it almost every day. This particular visit included many-a-question pertaining to the next gift on her list for him. An Easter gift.

I have to admit, she made a mean Easter basket in my days of receiving them. Lots of chocolate, jelly beans, and even some Peeps. None of the candy ever compared to the stuffed bunny that we knew we could count on EVERY year. I know my mom must have hated it, but I loved stuffed animals. I never played with dolls or Barbies, but I "collected" stuffed animals. I continued to look forward to stuffed rabbits for years and years after it was age appropriate.

However, many a grand and great-grand parent have visions of Easter gifts for this little guy, so I think Mimi is going to go a different direction. I'm afraid she didn't heed my warning of not spending an arm and a leg.

He's her first (and so far only) great grandson. It took them a while, but they seem to have finally bonded. (Again, he takes his sweet time warming up; but once you're "in," you're in.)

She's in.

And as long as she doesn't reinstate her long-standing tradition of offering minor grand children a beer at every major holiday, they could have something really special.

I posted twice today! Check the "older" post too.

Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder

2011-04-20T15:24:00.000-05:00

When she came through on her Spring Break weekend, Spencer's cousin finally got to hold him...

...bless her heart, she's been waiting for over two years!

Just to clarify, she has visited him many times in his 28 months, but he has never acquiesced to being held until now. What can I say? It takes him a while to warm up.

Another Non-Interesting Pregnancy Post

2011-03-27T21:39:00.000-05:00

This week I've had some "ok" days and some horrible days. "Ok" days are defined as still being too nauseated to shower (any and all contact with water is horrible to me when I'm nauseated), but just stable enough to actually leave the house and interact with people other than my immediate family members.

Horrible days are horrible. I gag whenever I walk if I'm lucky. I throw up when I'm not lucky. I sit very still and try to distract myself from everything.

Poor little Spencer is a champ. He is really growing up, partly, I think as a natural function of time but partly because of our little adventure called "Mommy's first pregnancy while already a mommy."

The unsung heroes of it all are my family. Oh. My. Gosh. There would have had to be strong psychiatric drugs administered long ago if it were not for my parents and my sisters. Seriously.

And there truly could be an entire blog devoted only to all the ways in which Jonathan actively, consistently, and unselfishly shows how much he loves Spencer and me on a daily (typically hourly) basis.

This is not for the faint of heart. That's why I can't figure out why I'm doing it. Ha! I remember being much sicker with Spencer--more vomiting, MUCH more sleeping, more breadsticks--but I don't remember wanting "out." It was new. It was an achievement to be pregnant. It was an unknown as far as duration and degree of sickness. I don't argue that made it better, but it's almost like I'm reliving it, and thinking, "Yeah, this is the same. I still hate it. I think I'd like to be finished now, please." In today's popular slogan, "I'm over it."

Unfortunately, I'm stuck. FORTUNATELY, I have a mom and a host of others to remind me that I'm not treading water, I'm making progress. I am. On days I feel horrible--making progress. On days I throw up before I can get Spencer a cup of milk--progress. On days I manage to get our hard-earned money out of our Netflix account for our TODDLER to watch all day--Oh, what's that? Yes, it's PROGRESS! Every day is one step closer to getting our little baby strong enough to get out of me where I can be a decent mother again. 'Cause you gotta hear me when I say that even as a sophisticated incubator, I ain't great. Sure, I'm "ideal." And, ok, yeah, there's no other way for a baby this young to survive. I get it. But the nutrients (or lack there of) are probably less than those my toddler gets in his daily waffles (which he prefers for breakfast and dinner these days).

So, anyway, if everything could just be regular I could get on with being a good mom. Now who sounds like a toddler?

I know. That's not how life works.

Thanks goodness for after bedtime Gilmore Girls viewings. Outta this life. Comfortable enough to lull me to sleep. Entertaining enough to distract a bit from the nausea and allergy symptoms.

Good night.

The Flickering Light at the End of the Tunnel

2011-03-23T17:05:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, I could see the light at the end of the tunnel. I felt some relief from the "gagg-y" part of the nausea, the part that feels acute as opposed to chronic. I started thinking it was only a matter of weeks before I'd be able to do what moms do every day.

And, then, somehow, the part of my brain that exists to flood my body with hormones to ensure a healthy pregnancy got word that the rest of my brain (and GI tract) wasn't feeling tortured beyond belief, and it kicked it into high gear. By the time nine o'clock rolled around, I was laying down while adding to the obsene amount of carbs I'd consumed since 3 p.m. in a desperate attempt to get enough relief to fall asleep.

The plus side, if there is one, was that I was able to sleep until 4 a.m. before waking up to go to the bathroom instead of getting up at midnight and 2 and 4 and 6. As I noticed with my previous pregnancy, when the nausea hormones are at some of the most intolerable levels, it usually brings some nice exhaustion along with it.

This morning I hardly made it to the bathroom before I threw up uncontrollably for a few minutes (I don't know when or if you ever actually throw up in a controlled fashion, it just seemed like an appropriate adjective for what was going on--you'll have to trust me unless you'd like to watch). Then, I stumbled into the living room, and Spencer grinned, and said, "Mommy! Mommy!"

That's supposed to make this worth it. And I suppose it does.

Blocks and Dogs

2011-03-15T15:03:00.001-05:00

If we threw out all of his other possessions, these toys would probably suffice. There'd remain the problem of what to climb, knock over, flip, and tear apart; but Spencer pretty much utilizes his parent's furniture to fill those needs.

Above is a picture of what I thought was Spencer's first time to build the block tower by himself. This "feeling like crap" is going to do wonders for his independence--whether he likes it or not, bless his heart. This particular morning, he asked for me to play blocks with him and I told him, "No, Spencer do it." We talked about it for probably ten minutes. He fussed and flopped and I remained as still as I could on the sofa. I can't lean over or sit on the floor and do blocks in the morning. I just can't. I'm saving my strength for necessary actions--life-saving measures, libation-securing, and diaper changing. Every now and then, I change out the dvd.

As I determined to remain resolute, I noticed that the two bottom-most blocks have been torn up (surprise, surprise!), making it so that the smaller block does slip over the bigger block sometimes. That's confusing to the two-year old who has learned that if the block slips over the top of the block under it, rearranging is in order. So, I realized he was sitting there, going back and forth over which block should be the bottom block. I felt really bad for him. I couldn't help but fix the two bottom blocks for him. BUT that little bit of leaning over sealed the deal--I would not be doing that again any time in the near future. So, I told him again, "Now, Spencer do it."

I closed my eyes, he fussed, and I ignored him. I attempted to slip into some sort of Nirvana state where I'd transcended the nausea. I can do this for short periods of time when everything is quiet, and still, and dark, and I'm perfectly comfortable where I'm laying. So, basically never. But, I digress.

The next thing I knew, he was saying something that my suppressed consciousness felt needed to be attended to, so I gave up my search for transcendence and looked over where he was. I was SHOCKED to see the entire block tower, built perfectly right next to him. SHOCKED. I have been "helping" him do these blocks for a year and a half. I bought them for him two Christmases ago, when he'd just turned one. Jonathan had just mentioned a month or so ago that it seemed like Spencer should have mastered these by now based on how long he'd had them. I went on to explain to him my never-humble and typically only partially informed reasons for why it's still perfectly in the range of normal for a kid Spencer's age not to be able to stack ten progressively sized blocks perfectly by himself. I had myself convinced.

It was such a big deal in my mind, that I took a picture (as you can see). And THAT, my friend, involved getting off of the couch! So, again, I was impressed. When Jonathan got home from work that day, I finally had something to tell him besides my puke stats and how many times HIS son pooped for his gagging mom to change that day. Spencer had stacked the blocks by himself! (Except that broken bottom one that makes him mad / confused)! Jonathan was all casual, like, "Yeah, he's done that with me lots of times." Hmph. That's what happens when you ignore your kid for two months. They learn stuff. Maybe even from their father!

I jokingly told my mom and sister that there really are blessing in disguise going on during this time for our family. For example, if I did not feel so puny, Spencer would probably be ten and still insisting that his mom help him stack up his blocks. And I would probably help him, sure that if he could do it himself, he wouldn't want me to do it. Where's the fun in that? What kid would knowingly rather manipulate and control his parents into doing what he wants them to do than get lost in the world of building block towers and knocking them down? Affirming the fallenness of man seems to bring little to no insight into things like this, until it cannot be denied. And, for the most part, that's ok. Moms are moms for a reason. They think good of their kid. But woe be to the one who withholds tough love when the time is due. After all, a kids gotta learn to stack the blocks! Or, better, a kids gotta learn that eventually his mom will find out that he knows how to stack his own blocks!

Now, on to a less theologically charged topic (please note my use of tongue-in-cheek throughout my blog or you will terribly misunderstand me!), this little cutie loves dogs. Still. I'm steeling my heart and nerves for the conversations that I know will persist throughout his childhood. "No, we cannot get a dog. Mommy is allergic to dogs. I know so and so's mom told you that their dog is hypo-allergenic but she doesn't know what she's talking about. All dogs make mommy sick. Very sick. No, we cannot get a dog. No. No. No. No. No."

Please don't let me let my kid get a dog. He'll gain a pet and lose a mother. Surely that's a poor trade off.

This picture makes this pregnancy all the more worthwhile in my tiny little selfish, easily depressed, and easily wavered mind. This morning, Spencer had a specific breakfast arrangement in mind. I was still "asleep" (in bed), and Jonathan started asking me where the camera was. I'm so glad he did.

Spencer didn't want to eat breakfast alone at his big, oblong table. He wanted his doggies to join him. Who wants to dine alone?

He put the two smaller dogs up in the chairs by himself, but Jonathan had to help him put his St. Bernard in the chair. The St. Bernard is still about twice the size of Spencer. I love this little boy, and he loves his doggies.

Please don't let me get him a dog.

Fear of the Unknown (And Perfume)

2011-03-14T21:43:00.001-05:00

[Disclaimer: If you don't care for vulnerable, open (aka: whiney, repetitive) pregnant-woman posts, you need not read on.]

We got out of the house today with Gigi's help, and mentally, that was good for all of us. The fresh air was refreshing (original, I know). And the perfume-stink at the mall was still as horrible as it always is. Seriously, why retailers feel the need to scent their merchandise is beyond me. It makes me nauseated and gives me a headache even when I'm not pregnant. I sound like I'm doing well mentally, don't I? Ha.

Just to clarify, the mall is not typically my choice as a fun outing location, especially since I have a wonderful two-year old side kick. But he'd outgrown his almost new pair of tennis shoes, and the kid's foot is so wide that he gets the fancy shoes. Gigi actually wanted to get him the shoes this time, and I didn't even fight her on it. I just said "Thank you" a lot. At the end of the experience we both concluded that neither of us could have successfully completed today's assignment alone. Apparently it was worth getting off the sofa for a few hours.

But now, this evening is punishing me for having the gall to attempt to act like I felt "normal" today. I almost lost my dinner making my way from the sofa to my bed, and I haven't done that at all with this pregnancy. Yet. Apparently I should say be saying "yet," because things just got a little too close for comfort.

Throwing up first thing in the morning is one thing. I mean, it's gross, and horrible, and I hate it. But there's not any food involved. Throwing up in the evening. Well, surely I don't have to explain that in detail. And to be honest, throwing up for "the first trimester" is gross and horrible, but it sounds like a WONDERFUL alternative to how things went when I was pregnant with Spencer. You see, you have to understand unending nausea for what it is. A mind game. An annoying, ever-present cloud. But you've got no meteorologist. You can't say, "Only two more weeks." I tried that last time. It didn't work. I suppose you can say the ever-annoying (but nonetheless true) "Every pregnancy is different," phrase. But that's not true for all people. No, it's not. Ask around. If you have trouble finding some witnesses, ask me, I've got references.

Admittedly, this pregnancy has been different than my pregnancy with Spencer. Mainly in degree. And, when it became obvious that it was going a bit "better" than the one before it, I got a little optimistic that all this nausea nonsense would be over in no time. Enter, the mind game called nausea. If you feel a little better than last time, you should be doing more with your kid. If you got out of the house today, you should get out of the house tomorrow. If you'd take some medicine not created, intended, nor tested for pregnant women or fetuses you'd feel better.

You can see I have way too much time to think about it all. Mostly thanks to the loving devotion of my sweet family members who rescue me on a daily, nigh hourly, basis. Don't even get me started on how much time I have to think about the seventy plus pounds I gained with Spencer. With every fork, spoon, and cupful of refined sugar and flour I waver between fighting the nausea and fighting the amazing propensity towards massive weight gain.

Please know I've been to infertility doctors. I've had "trouble" getting pregnant. I'm elated that God has chosen to bless us by entrusting children to our care. But also know that doesn't make pregnancy any easier. Truth be told, it just heaps on a little more guilt. You can't just whine openly or share how you're really feeling because you know it could be heard or perceived incorrectly (not that that piece of rhetoric stops me much lately).

Every time we weren't pregnant with Spencer, I was really disappointed. As there were more and more times that we weren't pregnant with Spencer, I worried it would never happen for us. Each time we weren't pregnant this time around, I was relieved. I know that is horrible to hear for lots of people. I felt horrible feeling it. Ha! Talk about conflicted. When we found out we were pregnant, I was excited and terrified. And thankfully, it hasn't been as hard as I thought it was going to be. But that's just because what I had to compare it to was pretty close to the worst case scenario. (To put it in perspective, I was never hospitalized for dehydration when I was pregnant with Spencer mostly thanks to my mom (a nurse) who came over daily to force fluids and remind me of what would happen if I couldn't keep some down).

So, to sum up, if you have any pull with national retailers, tell them some people prefer the neutral smell of clean to some nasty perfume all over their textiles. And being nauseated stinks--you can never trust the current trend. You can have an "ok" day followed by "the worst day yet." You never know when (or, in my case IF) it's going to end. Or, even more unsettling, if it's going to come back.

Embarrassingly Poor Writing

2011-03-11T21:03:00.001-06:00

Do not tell the husband of a pregnant woman there is no wait at your restaurant when in fact there is a 35 minute wait. Crazy people.

When you're nauseated constantly for months at a time, it's really a mental battle. And mentally, I'm weak. Truly. I don't have a lot of mental "endurance."

Spencer brought me a chopstick the other day. It was black, not cheap and platick-y. I have NO idea from whence it came. What in the world?

I've been throwing up less, but feeling just as bad. I'm trying to see this as progress. I'm hoping this pregnancy will be more "textbook" with the nausea ending with the first trimester.

My parents are graciously hosting Spencer as their overnight guest this evening. Jonathan was going to get some things done at the house while I soaked in the silence and the luxury of being COMPLETELY still. Instead, we held our friends' new born baby and then got dinner. We're on fire.

You forget how precious newborns are. They are just a warm, cuddly little bundle of goodness. They should be for all the nonsense it takes to get one here.

The only time I care anything about real ice cream is when I'm pregnant. I usually (and honestly) prefers Breyer's low carb chocolate "dairy dessert." Right now it's Blue Bell's Banana Split.

Even when your entire family chips in to do all the things that you're supposed to be doing but can't because you feel so crummy, no one can make up for the fact that you aren't able to be Spencer's best mommy. No one can make you feel better.

For some reason, I'm more curious regarding the gender of this baby. I'm also seriously reconsidering any plans for future pregnancies.

I was pregnant with Spencer the summer that Kung Fu Panda came out in theaters, and I started calling "the baby" "Skadoosh." I think it's funny that Kung Fu Panda II is coming out this summer. That's not really funny to you? Humor me, ok? I'm pregnant and cranky.

I DID manage to take a shower today, and I took it a GIANT step further by blow drying my hair about an hour later. I was pretty spent after the shower, I had to regroup. It does look much better. Now, if only I could start caring.

This may be the only writing I'm capable of until our next child is one year old. Perhaps your comments-to-come will help make things interesting.

March Favorites: Ketchup, Ice, and Guitars

2011-03-08T10:36:00.000-06:00

Only-Slightly-Little-Anymore Spencer,

It's cold and rainy. And Elmo is about to be over for the day. WHY Netflix won't include Elmo in their streaming options is quite a sore spot for me. We need to cancel our "1 month trial" subscription anyway. It's been four months now.

This particular morning, you have an uncharacteristically snotty little nose, and you're determined to be in my face. However, you've been so sweet to play and talk and bounce solo quite a lot this past month and a half that I really shouldn't complain. You're either really growing up or currently being emotionally damaged for life. I know some children who I fear are being emotionally damaged for life, though, and your plight has very little in common with their own. So, I'm hoping you're just well on your way to understanding what being a big brother and a part of a family is all about.

You refuse that you're hungry 98% of the time you're asked. You currently LOUDLY and VIGOROUSLY protest having your diaper changed. Wrestling my two year old to the ground to wipe his pooped bottom while trying not to throw up everywhere is killin' me, kid--and between Daddy, Gigi, and Natalie, I don't even have to do it that often. I have the perfect solution--go in the potty! You don't mind giving it a try every now and then, but you end up playing and wanting to run your hands all over the toilet seat, etc. It's just disgusting. Clearly, I've got a lot of maturing (or disinfecting) to do before we formally potty train you. I'm thinking we pick a warm week this summer and just live outside. I'm hoping we do that anyway based on the rate at which you can make the house look like a tornado hit.

You're persisting on the "Cutest Kid I've Known In My Life" list, and many others--related or not-- are quick to agree. It really works for you. As I type you are pulling all of our silverware out of the silverware drawer. The drawer DOES have a child-lock on it. And the child-lock is locked. You just slide the utensils out of the small opening that occurs because of how we had to install the lock. Money. Down. The. Drain.

You fell about six weeks ago right on your face. You weren't being rough or crazy or anything. You just slipped. You fell directly onto your two front teeth. They were not loose, but they are rapidly turning grey. Honestly, they look pretty gross. I'm sure in a year or two you'll be proud. They definitely "man" up your "look."

Your daddy came home last night and asked if you wanted to go play "Get you Get you" (tickling/wrestling/etc.) in your room. You heartily agreed, and as you ran out of the living room, you looked straight at your Gigi who had come over to help out that afternoon and said, "Bye bye!!!" She and I laughed and laughed. Your tone seemed to suggest, "See you later, suckers! And don't follow us--we don't want to hear your 'be careful' gasps the whole time!" You're lovin' your daddy!

You have finally settled down enough to "dine out." And while no one would watch and call taking you out "easy," it is certainly a complete turn around from the past two years. As soon as we sit down, you start asking for ketchup, and you spend most of the evening eating ice. Quirky child. You have twice thrown your crayon halfway across the restaurant. Here's an idea--how 'bout we stop handing you one. It takes us a while to catch on. You'll have to forgive your mother who cannot imagine that you don't have a secret, if latent, desire to draw and color.

You went to your buddy Benjamin's 3rd Birthday Party on Saturday and had a grand old time. You got to play outside, eat cake (exclusively), and narrate (in your own little way) as Ben opened his presents--you probably remembered him helping with yours in December and just wanted to return the favor. You latched on to the guitar that Mr. Todd got Benjamin, and I do think I see one in your future. It's the least I can do after hiding and consuming your M&M's party favor.

I'm certainly not over-documenting these first few months of 2011. I'm hoping Spring brings new, refreshing, non-nauseating feelings for me and lots of fun and outside adventures for you.

"May have Monday"

2011-02-28T14:58:00.000-06:00

I may have stayed in bed long past acceptable "mommy" rising time thanks to my husband who stayed home this morning after being gone all weekend for work. I may have dragged myself into the shower for the first time in a week. I may have, yet again, turned a blind eye to the pieces of leaves, dirt, and other nonsense littering the floor around our carport door, gingerly tip-toeing for the sake of my newly-cleaned feet. I may have forgone any sort of beauty regimen, only managing to brush my teeth and put on clothing appropriate for hosting any emergency personnel should the need arise.

I may have let my toddler proceed to peel and eat an entire banana while walking around our house. He may have ground the last quarter of it into the carpet with his maverick-y little foot. I may have disciplinarily punted, telling him, "We don't squish bananas into the carpet. Next time, you're going get a spanking." He may have not even cared.

I may have helped him with his shape sorter and laughed as he perfectionistically lined up every shape, utterly bereft whenever he was incapable of getting each specific groove of one shaped block to sit flush or be inserted into the groove or lack thereof of the shaped block he attempted to "lock into place" next to it.

I may have concluded this particular morning's audition for mother of the year by sweetly and calmly rocking my toddler for five or ten minutes and then laying him in his bed. I may have been so naive as to think that he'd drifted off to sleep just in time to hear him calling me from underneath his doorway. (He may have, of late, grown accustomed to a few curtain calls at nap and bed time.) I may have decided that today was not his lucky day. He may currently be asleep on the hardwood floor.

I know what you're thinking. But there's one thing that could make sense of this whole, sad, pitiful morning of neglecting our home, my appearance, and some arguably pivotal child-rearing moments.

I may have something to announce.

I'm pregnant.

This post has been brought to you compliments of Emily's "Mayhave Monday" link up, and of course, my pregnancy hormones.

"Fun Friend?"

2011-02-11T16:50:00.000-06:00

We have been snowed in. We have been slightly sick. And we are officially sick of being snowed in and sick.

Bright spot? My sweet friend Emily paid me the ultimate compliment by asking me to write something for her blog series "Fun Friend Friday." She likes to focus on "keepin' it real" by talking openly about issues and struggles and what to do (or not do) with them. My post doesn't make me sound like a very "fun friend," but I did manage to keep it pretty real.

Thanks so much for the opportunity, Em!

http://keepinitdownanddirty.blogspot.com/2011/02/fun-friend-friday-lauren.html

Faulty Assumption #3792

2011-01-25T15:35:00.000-06:00

A ring pop will be analogous to a dum dum in the way in which Spencer will be able to handle and/or consume it.

Drama at The Little Gym

2011-01-19T15:15:00.001-06:00

The middle of January began the "new semester" at The Little Gym. Many of the same people were there, but there were also a lot of new people. I'm horrible at guessing numbers, so this following statement means little to nothing, but I'd say there were probably three times as many people there than there usually are. You know what I'm going to say next, right? Spencer did not react well. He wasn't bad, per se. He was just super active. And it is winter, and he doesn't get to go outside very often, so I would never qualify his activeness as "bad;" it's just, what's a good word? It's awesome--in the purest sense of the word. It inspires in you a sense of awe.

I had not bargained on there being so many new people in addition to all of the regulars, so, in my naivete, I tried to take his pacifier away as he was on his way into the gym. I asked if he'd put it in his bag, if I could hold it for him. We'd already discussed leaving it in the car, to which he gave me a resounding and negative response. But, usually, once the fun gets going, he's cool being paci-less. So, his teacher, "Miss Erin" yanked it from his little mouth and handed it to me as he ran into the gym. I'm not sure if it was that she took it away or that it appeared to him that I wasn't coming in to the gym with him or that all of that happened as he simultaneously realized there were a bunch of strangers in the room, but he had a little fit. And by little, I mean big.

All the moms who've been around him all fall are so sweet. They are not judgmental; they believe you are doing the best you can; their kid is totally different from yours and you both affirm that there is equal and amazing value in them all. But I could feel the stares from all the new moms. And I'm sure they are also just as understanding and kind (at least most of them probably are, lol!), but their poor little children are in a brand new, huge gym, which could be overwhelming to some toddlers (it never was to Spencer, by the way), and I just kept thinking, "Just smile, and act calm. Raise your eyebrows. Distract him. He'll settle down. Don't give the paci back, it'll just reinforce this behavior (you know, behavior any and every human naturally displays from time to time when their comfort is ripped from them just as their expectations for the day are broadly swept aside)." But he didn't stop.

Malin's (the "a" is like the "a" in "mail"--isn't it a cute name?) mom and I had an entire conversation about how they didn't give Malin her paci the other night before bed, and she never asked for it or missed it, so they're done with it. But she can tell that probably won't work for Spencer. (lol! probably not!) She said he's probably more of a "paci party" kid. He'd probably do better when he could understand why he couldn't have it anymore, etc. And as we discuss this paci-quasi-philosophy, he was still screaming.

I made a few last-ditch efforts at "redirecting" his energy, but he must have felt my resolve dwindling because he just got louder. Finally, I decided this was not the time or the place for a battle of the wills over his paci. Or maybe it was the time and the place, and I admitted defeat. I'm cool with either rendition. Many, many other little children were starting to look down-right upset because of the adorable, screaming little boy in their class. What must his mommy have done to him? I asked him if he could say "Paci please," and he said "Peeese." And immediately dried it up. I left the gym to get his paci and returned to a sweet little boy awaiting his security object. He immediately received it; and then, he was off.

It was as if, on this particular Wednesday morning, his pacifier had given him strength--or maybe endurance would be a better word. He ran, climbed, swung, and pulled me places non-stop. One of the new mom's complimented the utter adorable-ness of his curls (you know, once people could hear people well enough to actually have conversations since Spencer had stopped screaming). I told her they were his saving grace. "Miss Erin" laughed and agreed. He did his skills with "Miss Erin," but otherwise he was outta there. He was obsessed with standing on the bars like a balance beam. I was helping him do front and back hip circles and the kind with one leg over the bar (I can't remember what those are called). He was jumping from the bar onto the ground. I can't even remember much more besides being jealous of the mom's who've been coming as long as I have, standing on the side of the mat talking to each other while their children were playing happily in the gym without their input or assistance.

There is a mat wrapped around the water fountain and a two-door closet that is perpetually unlocked--both of which Spencer knows are off limits. He went down both of those paths today. And he hadn't messed with those things in so long. I'd totally underestimated the power of things being a "little" bit different to totally sabotage all of Spencer's "progress" in class. He was (not surprisingly) begging for his milk by the end of the class. He wouldn't go get in line (or the blob of children) to get a stamp. So, we just walked out. And as soon as we did, it was like the clock had struck midnight, but in a good way. He walked directly where I told him to go. He sat down as soon as I asked. He drank his milk as I put on his socks and shoes. He said good bye to "Miss Erin." And the whole gymnasium breathed a sigh of relief as we walked out.

Towards the end of the ~~class~~ hour-long session of crazy, a sweet mom who has known Spencer since August told me that her oldest daughter could not handle being over-stimulated, and that now, even at eighteen, she is still like that. At first I was so thankful for her encouraging words (not automatically assuming I'm some half-brain-dead mom who can't calm, comfort, or control her own child but instead seeing Spencer and his needs in the broader context of all the differences that were at work today), but now that I'm reflecting, I wonder what this means for his (and my) future.

Then we went to get my allergy shot, where I decided it was the day to fight the battle over whether or not we stand in the chairs at the doctors' office. I think the earlier paci defeat gave me new resolve. I won, but it wasn't pretty.

Wound A Bit Tightly?

2011-01-12T15:23:00.000-06:00

The night of the Sugar Bowl, I could not get over the behavior I witnessed from Spencer. In the forefront of my mind swirled images of his less-than-joyous reactions to many of the "new" people and schedule amendments throughout our Christmas rounds. I fully expected him to behave basically the same way towards all of the guests that would be dropping by his Gigi and Papa's house to watch the game. Instead, he reinforced my slowly-learned "clarity statement" that I should employ any and every time I enter a room with my Spencer--expect the unexpected.

Had he not been identical in appearance, weight, speed, and strength to the Spencer I'd been with throughout the winter holidays, I would have sworn he was not the same child. He smiled, squealed--still running off from many who greeted him--but he did so with a skip in his run (he doesn't take many "steps") and a welcoming grin on his face. Spencer's countenance was inarguably unprecedented for a group event. I could easily write enough for a year of blog posts with my hypotheses for this bewildering phenomenon; but suffice it to say I think it has much to do with his parents' subtle differences in mood and expectation levels--differences that I would argue are not so subtle to their young child. Those of you who know us well know that we're both wound a bit tightly.

I don't hold that our every negative or ambivalent emotion is the cause of Spencer's every negative and ambivalent action. And, I'm in no way new to the idea that there exists some sort of correlation. These ideas are in no way an epiphany to me; but there was no ambivalence in the display of good will and excitement on this particular evening. Not from me, not from Jonathan, and not from Spencer.

And since y'all don't come here just to hear me play psychologist, see for yourself.

"Hillary, come here! I've got a plan."

"Not too bad for a rookie."

"I'd prefer you not catch me when I dive."

It's hard to get good pictures, no matter where I moved, he was turning the other way. But, just know, behind those curls is a big smile alternating with looks of determination. Either way, he wasn't screaming.

Perfect angle for maximum leverage.

"Now they're off."

"Time for some bouncing."

~~Abusing~~ Creatively arranging the sofa cushions take one hundred eighty six million.

"It was the best day." --Ross reminiscing about mini-muffins at work.

I include the sheer volume of sofa cushion pictures to give you a proportional insight into what the evening entailed. Yeah, it was mostly this. He certainly stayed true to himself and continuously ripped the sofa cushions off of his Gigi's Century sofa. [Side note, if you squelch your fear of his seemingly un-tameable physical conquests and invite us to your home, I won't let him do this to your furniture.]

Later, Spencer discovered a wooden recorder that was left out of his Christmas booty because his Gigi didn't think he'd be able to use it. If you've ever seen Spencer anguished in the mire of frustration, you understand the importance of not setting him up for it on a holiday past his bedtime. However, although Spencer was able to blow into the recorder and make one high, woodwind note fill the air; he was much more interested in forcing me to play it. A failure at the piano for many, many years, I can still play the rendition of "Amazing Grace" taught to my entire fifth grade class in Music on the recorder. Spencer ate it up. He wouldn't let me quit. Really. I eventually had to switch to "Hot Cross Buns" just to make it less boring for me. My mom and sister were cracking up; and it's hard to laugh and play the recorder simultaneously. Spencer had no patience for my nonsense. He will make quite the conductor someday--or merciless dictator. We're all pulling for conductor.

While forcing me to play the recorder, he sashayed around the room. Again: expect the unexpected. In my naivete, I'd pictured him running through the house, blowing on the recorder as hard as he could. Glowing in his new found ability to add piercingly high sound waves to the already raucous atmosphere he enjoys creating. Wrong again.

The testosterone was palpable that evening--which also may have contributed to putting Spencer at ease--and Spencer zeroed in on the one grown man who could match him bounce for bounce in both energy level and overall craziness--Steve Craig. And bounce they did.

Again, to know Spencer is to know the rareness of this occurrence. He doesn't let other people with whom he is not intimately acquainted bounce him. Apparently Steve Craig ain't people.

That same night Spencer spontaneously counted to four with coasters for his Gigi. And when I say, "counted to four," I expect you to know that the average person on the street would have recognized the word "three" maybe. If they'd had kids, who hadn't talked well, in the past two years--ha! He does these sorts of things best when we are attempting to ignore him. If we talk amongst ourselves, he'll approach us with a trick that he knows will get attention. If you ask, or even invite or suggest, that he do an activity of this nature--you're sure to be left high and dry. I found a great article about this "type" of kid. It was written by an SLP about (surprise surprise) another boy. She had to explain to his parents that "testing" him was not the way to get him to learn how to do things or to evaluate whether or not he was able to do them. Poor kid. I think he was three or four and his parents still hadn't figured this out about him. I could also write a year's worth of blog posts about that! But, don't worry, I won't.

Christmas Memories: 'Twas Quite A Few Nights Before Christmas

2011-01-11T22:51:00.000-06:00

We celebrated Christmas with my parents, sisters, and their husbands (how in the world are we all three grown and married?) a few days early this year. Nat and Levi were heading to Witchita for Christmas, and we couldn't bear to be without them at "Christmas." Dad missed the delicious meal since he was at work paying for it; but he made it home for the opening of gifts and the labile toddler.

We videotaped a lot of Spencer, so we didn't take many pictures. My brother-in-law graciously spent his first Christmas as an official husband-to-a-Vinsant-girl by playing photographer. Much appreciation shouted out his way.

Gigi's gone all modern on us in her old age, and we love it. I remember trees she decorated all throughout my childhood. Each year she had a different "inspiration," and each year I thought it was beautiful.

Keepers.

Each one deemed a keeper by a keeper.

Spoiled much?

I don't know what we'll do when Angel goes to doggy heaven. DON'T suggest getting him one for our house. I'm terrified that I'll cave and do it; and then I'll be physically ill for the next decade (or more). Don't. let. me. buy. him. a. dog.

We were trying to hold him off 'til Papa Kurt got home. He'd already plundered Gigi's bed and watched quite a few Dora's or Little Einsteins--I forget. He'd refused to eat all of the delicious food, including home made mashed potatoes. I can't wait until he's older, and I can (good-naturedly) harass him about his ridiculous eating habits. To be fair, he's had GI issues for over half of his life. But still, they're mashed potatoes for crying out loud. He was mad they weren't sweet potatoes.

He got a magnetic zoo that he loved. Eventually we had to convince him to go on and open another present. But only that once.

He's pointing at which animal he wants me to punch out for him to stick to his magnetic zoo.

Our little family.

He was also a big fan of the sandwich set. Are you seeing a theme? Many toys with many many pieces per toy.

Asking Jonathan if he can borrow his Sugar Bowl t-shirt.

Hard at work.

At the time, it was so relaxing to do one Christmas experience a few days apart from the rest of them. We didn't have to rush home and get everything prepared to jump out of bed and do it all over again in less than twelve hours. In that way it was a refreshing change. However, this was the first year of my life to not see my immediate family on Christmas day; and I have to admit that I missed them terribly. I know for many people this is not a big deal, and for many more it's their idea of a great Christmas, ha! I kept reminding myself that we had already had our Christmas, yet I couldn't shake the feeling that it was all a little surreal--a major holiday came and went without all of us being in the same room. As I've already shared, we had a great Christmas day, it had nothing to do with that. Growing up is just hard to do.

Christmas Memories: Christmas Day Is A Little Blurry...

2011-01-06T22:11:00.001-06:00

"Preh! Preh! Preh! Preh!" That means "I can't say, 'Let me open all the presents that I can see right now or I'm going to burst!' So I'm going to continue to say this same syllable over and over until you address my heartfelt concern and give me something for which the intended purpose is destruction of the outside wrapping in order to find something fun inside to be played with at a later date" for those of you who don't speak Spencenglish.

His goal everywhere we went was to tear open every present. If there happened to be a gift sitting to the side because for whatever reason, that person wasn't there or couldn't open it right now, it drove him crazy. It had to be opened. No present left behind.

He truly didn't seem to care much about what was inside.

He didn't mind finding toys inside, but he relished tearing, ripping, and opening the boxes, bags, and packages themselves exponentially more.

It was like a sport to him.

And it wasn't over 'til it was over.

For the most part he remained amazingly focused, but at one point he heard his Nana telling his cousin Audrey that the Calico Critters were "pigs," and he immediately spun around and went over to investigate. It was so funny. He sure loves animals. Pigs included. But don't worry, he'd gotten a toy pig that morning.

I guess he was just making sure he didn't need to acquire any more livestock for his growing menagerie. I tried to assure him that we had enough pigs for the time being--plenty of animals and plenty of dust mites. He's got animals he doesn't even know exist. No one can ever say I didn't let him have pets.

Our little bit of Christmas Day drama is probably best recounted during another burst of moderate to poor writing when I ought to be resting (or at least doing laundry), but I'll leave you with this apt summary as spoken by my sister Hillary, "You know it's a good Christmas when there's blood involved!" However, in the midst of it all, we received a very light dusting of sleet and snow that ever so softly accumulated on the boxes and bags I was cramming into the trunk of the car. I put one load in the car, and when I returned with the next load, I was greeted by the noise every Arkansas child knows and loves, the pitter patter of "wintry mix," and the picturesqe scene of snow-dusted Christmas excess.

A few days before Christmas, I was wrestling with Spencer, and I said, "You're my big big big boy!" To which he whole-heartedly replied, "BABY!" And while I know that my job as his mother is to bring him out of that mindset and to the place where he is willing, able, and ready to be an independent, autonomous self, I have to admit that little memory is certainly in the running as my favorite Christmas present.

Christmas Memories: Christmas Eve

2011-01-05T15:11:00.008-06:00

This year, Christmas was every adjective you could think of to describe Christmas--the good ones and the bad ones. I felt it coming like a steamroller, impervious to my feelings, desires, or dreams concerning what I consider to be a good, appropriate and somewhat restful Christmas for my family. I made a few last-ditch efforts in an attempt to maintain some of the sanctity of Christmas and sanity of myself only to regret those decisions to cut out and skip over people and places. All the edits without any noticeable reduction in "complication" or exhaustion levels (complicated and exhausting in a GOOD way, of course) were, in hindsight, probably not my best decision. I'm not consumed with thoughts of how it should have been or what I would have done differently, so in case you were rushing over to share your latest prescription with me, know that I did manage to cope and have successfully moved on. I'm just telling you how it was.

Just because all of the Christmas fanfare rivaled that of the idea of "chaos" personified in the Old Testament, it's not to say that there weren't some wonderful, enjoyable, precious memories made. On Christmas Eve I got to meet the new born baby of one of my best friends. There's just something about those tiny, scream-y little creatures that gets your endorphins flowing. We talked and ate and oohed and aahed (while Spencer napped at home). It was at once festive and restful. It was great.

That evening we took Spencer to our church's Christmas Eve service. Let's just say that I was relieved to hear that people seated around us were amused as opposed to outraged. I'm a huge proponent of children attending adult worship services, in theory. And this particular service was intended for families, including babies and screaming toddlers; but there's a fine line between a child-affirming congregation who overlooks the periodic outbursts and enjoys the wiggly, spazziness of a toddler and your impossible, thrashing two year-old who will be calmed by neither milk, nor cookies, nor coloring, nor cell phones, nor digital cameras--who can out-wrestle you while simultaneously kicking his shoes off and pulling your shirt down truly disrupting things to the point of absurdity. And that's just the part of the service when he was behaving. So after the singing and the wrestling, the screaming and the thwarted attempts at eating his candle, we headed on home.

After muscling through an hour-long period of any type, you need a little sustenance; and I know no food so sustaining and delicious as my mom's Sausage Breakfast Casserole. You need to pause and just think about the deliciousness, because it's basically irreverent not to. Please don't take offense if you have served me a breakfast casserole in the past, but compared to this one all of those other ones pretty much fall into the disgusting category. Again, I'm sorry. You know I'm not a "controversial topics" blogger, but I have to stick to my guns on this one. This is the only one worth cooking or eating. So we did both.

Spencer played with his grandparents, particularly drawn to the one who had announced having a cold and intending to stay away from Spencer as much as possible, with specifically mentioning the goal of staying out of his face. Since Spencer says so little right now, I still catch myself operating under the (false) assumption that he doesn't understand a lot of what the "adults" in his life are talking about--particularly when we are talking to each other. But he heard that conversation as a challenge to get as much face-time as possible from the infected grandparent. It wasn't just me who thought so. In fact, I was in the kitchen cooking and they were in the living room talking amongst themselves about how he was acting and doing things he never does in a typical evening of entertaining the grandparents. He was determined to play with the one who'd declared "no playing tonight." He got his way but got no cold, so it's a funny story.

I'd settled on "Happy Birthday, Jesus" brownies as opposed to cake because we have a myriad of December birthdays in my family, and so for us cake can get over done. And who doesn't love some Christmas Eve brownies? Unfortunately, Spencer spotted those before dinner, and threw a fit every time I stopped him from climbing onto the kitchen counter to eat them. It did put a little bit of a damper on the festivities. The diversion that finally saved the day was the lighted Advent wreath candles and getting to "help" blow out the birthday candles after we sang "Happy Birthday" to Jesus. I tried to stress that we were singing to Jesus (and that Spencer wasn't Him--a life lesson for all of us). After getting though all of the red tape, we reached Spencer's favorite portion of the evening, that of eating the brownies. And if you'll simply superimpose all of that action over a none-too poetic but nonetheless entertaining and somewhat theologically edifying double feature of the Veggie Tales' "The Story of St. Nicholas" playing in the background you have a pretty accurate description of our little family's Christmas Eve 2010--that and Spencer screaming through his compulsory bath.

(Very) Short Stories from the Life of Spencer

2011-01-05T13:53:00.000-06:00

Chapter 8: In which I realize that this chapter should encompass all noteworthy Spencer stories from September through December. I can guarantee you that my memory is not that good. That's why I try to do this every month... (Hear Pheobe saying, "That's why you have a kid!" when she learns that Ben goes to school with Sting's son).

In an effort to "let it go," I'm allowing myself to focus on things I can remember from December and attempting to let go of the guilt associated with the "lost months" of months gone by sans an installment of "(Very) Short Stories."

On the puzzle front, things are looking up. Spencer has acquired more patience as well as more cunning. He patiently convinces me that he needs help putting his puzzle together--cunning because I have found out of late from his Gigi that he does not, in fact, need much help at all. More than anything, I think he enjoys the company and the interaction, and I'm certainly happy to provide both. Still, there's nothing like learning that your two-year old has been tricking you into feeling needed. I have a feeling that will work in his favor for years to come. The good news is he can do his puzzles, not to mention he's excelling quite predictably in areas including emotional manipulation and feigning helplessness. While the puzzle adeptness seems to be a trait from the Kelley side primarily, the emotional manipulation comes in high amounts from all of the gene pools in question.

Few things satisfy Spencer's desire to conquer and climb more these days than pulling, pushing, and throwing cushions off of upholstered furniture and using them as key components in his obstacle-course construction. A few nights ago, he was jumping from the cushion-less sofa, to the ottoman, adding a few little jumpity-jumps once on the ottoman, you know, to get his speed up, and then jumping "can-opener" style onto the bean bag on the floor in front. Fortunately for Spencer, he thoroughly enjoyed over-shooting the last jump onto the bean bag and landing heel-then-bottom on the floor. Thankfully we aren't on a slab and the hardwoods give a little. He couldn't have been more thrilled. He immediately jumped up with a huge smile on his face and determination to recreate the thrilling scenario.

All this he did as his grandparents looked on in half-amusement half-paralyzing fear, hoping that the "paralyzation" part never came true. Spencer, realizing that his Gigi was constantly reaching for him throughout his living room conquests, decided to take her up on the offer. Without any warning, he careened off of the ottoman, head thrown back, arms out-streched before him, grinning from ear to ear, saying, "Giiiiiii!" Luckily, Gigi's reaction time is still decent, she got one hand under each arm pit and swung him around in a circle. Just catching him at a stand-still would have been painful for both of them, because, you know "objects in motion tend to stay in motion..." So, she wisely worked with his inertia and gradually inserted herself as the "outside force" to bring him to a state of "rest." Spencer was well-pleased with this arrangement, and convincingly threw himself off of the ottoman many more times that night to be successfully caught and delighted by his Gigi.

Other days, he is happy just to remove the cushions in order to climb and slide down them.

Playing in the backyard is still high on Spencer's list of great-things-to-do-at-any-time-of-the-day-or-night. And, I'll admit, I've been a little lackadaisical in my efforts to get him out there as often as he'd like. I'm not a huge fan of winter. Even when it's not that cold, it's just not as fun as being out in the spring or summer. But furniture can only take so much, and there is something about the limitless ceiling, the unlimited access to dirt and rocks, and the plentiful climbing apparatus that does a toddler good. After we'd been out for over an hour the other day, I was getting bored and allergic. So, I decided that Spencer needed to learn how to race. I told him we were going to run to the tree, and I said, "Ready, Set, Go!" (of course, he was already half-way to the tree by the time I'd said "Go!" but he was giggling all the way). He had a big ol' time, and gave the tree a big hug once we'd both arrived. I kept trying to persuade him to run from the tree on the left side of the backyard to the tree on the right side of the backyard, but he really didn't want me to leave out the tree in the middle of the backyard.

So our multi-disciplinary lesson touched on a number of new principles including 1) running on "Go!", 2) practicing the words "Ready," "Set," and "Go," 3) trying to ignore the tree in the middle of the backyard since it was not part of the "game", 4) trying to understand that games had rules and boundaries, and 5) recognizing when Mommy has gotten too bored after the obligatory hour she'd promised herself she'd play outside with you and realizing that you'd better engage in one of her new games or she'll get so bored she'll bring you inside. And, last but not least, the sixth and main lesson Spencer took away from it all was: saying and signing "More! More!" still works great so you don't really have to learn all of those other things Mommy is trying to teach you.

As of late, Spencer has become an increasingly light sleeper. It may be his last couple of molars coming in or his toddler, age-appropriate desire to be the king of his own castle, but it's making my already mediocre house-keeping really nose-dive into the unacceptable category. Ever since he "learned" how to fall asleep around four months, napping and bed time have really been non-events as far as struggle is concerned. Don't get me wrong, if he's out of his routine or sick or not in his own house, he's as maverick-y as the next toddler; but generally speaking he goes down for a nap and for bedtime without ordeal.

Lately, however, he'll want me to put him down as usual; but if Jonathan or I make so much as a peep, he fusses and plays--or even wakes up from a dead sleep prematurely. He has a noise maker, etc. and I (like every other mom I've consulted with) am vigilant to try to insure that he's not hot or cold, etc. At first we couldn't figure out what was "wrong" with him, but the more we sat completely still in a house completely darkened for his nap time, it became clear--he can't sleep well right now if he can hear us at all. Our house is not tiny, but it's also not carpeted, so noises do carry very well throughout. So, where I used to get him to sleep and then go along my merry little way doing things that are impossible to do when he's awake, I now sit still, avoid phone calls, and attempt to maximize my "down-time" as well as I can, while the dishes pile up, the Christmas decor clutters up the "extra" room, the bathrooms grow new layers of who-knows-what, and I feel more and more behind. We're hoping this "stage" ends, well, um, immediately. If you're wondering, yes, I was (and am) a light sleeper.

Other quirky Spencer memories from these past few weeks include his newfound habit of getting a mouthful of milk and then opening his mouth really wide--you know, just to see what happens; convincing Jonathan to put the radio flyer wagon in our back flower beds (which lie at a considerable incline) and pull him around while he lays flat on his stomach; finding any piece of furniture that he is physically able to flip over, doing so, and then lounging and jumping on the bottom of it (on a good day) and ripping off or making holes in the bottom of it and storing his mom's breakable decorative objects inside (on a not as good day); willingly going places with his dad without his mom without crying; taking off his clothes when he sees fit (sometimes getting stuck in his shirts as a result), pointing at letters wherever he sees them and saying "E!" and "O!"; and brightening our short, often dark, winter days.

It's "Ok" To Be A Quitter

2011-01-03T15:48:00.007-06:00

One night, eleven years ago, I was on the floor of my closet crying in the fetal position. Between work, dance, Fine Arts, the school play, and Trigonometry--I was at the end of myself. That and I kept offering to help everyone with their English Lit research papers.

And from that night forward, I've never been over-committed again. Really. It cured me for life. Now, I've been severely under-committed often since then. And, lazy as that may seem, it's all part of my promise to myself to never be that crazy again--at least not because of extra things I've signed up for!

So, compared to many of you who have full-time (or even part-time) jobs, families, exercise programs, weekly date nights, organic, home-cooked, frozen meals for 3 months, church responsibilities, hair appointments every 2 months, and time to read blogs I may appear to be a lazy or at least under-motivated person. However, the complete inverse is true. I am a highly motivated person. I am highly motivated to doing the best I can; and this is just how I have to do it.

My latest decision to be under-committed was made during our holiday break. I sent an email to my Bible study leader (whose endearing fun, warm personality made the decision even harder) telling her I wouldn't be back for the Winter/Spring semester.

It went a little something like this:

Hi, Cindy!

Tomorrow's the big night! =) Jonathan will be rooting for the Hogs at my parent's house (so he can watch it in HD on the big screen), and I'll be home putting Spencer to bed (ha!) but ALSO rooting for the Hogs!

[Her son plays football for the U of A]

I've been thinking and praying about my Winter/Spring schedule a lot this past month. We've been treading water all Fall/Winter for various reasons, many of them having to do with Spencer's tummy troubles, but we're also trying to conceive, which for us involves doctor's appointments, babysitters during doctor's appointments, etc.. Jonathan will be teaching a class at OBU this semester which is a huge blessing for us (because of the extra income), but it definitely makes "family time" harder to come by. I do a "Little Gym" class with Spencer once a week, because he needs a safe place to literally bounce off the walls. We have been doing it on Friday mornings, but Fridays are when Jonathan is supposed to be "off" (since he's a pastor and Sundays are definitely not a "day off"). In an effort to eke out a little more unstructured, family time on Fridays, I need to change the day Spencer goes to his "Little Gym" class, and it looks like that day is going to be Wednesday. =(

[The day of our Bible Study]

I have really struggled with this decision all month, because it's hard for me to think that the "right" thing to do is to drop Bible Study. Having had no brothers of my own, I have been trying to understand little boys for quite a while now, I was a nanny for a little over a year when we lived in North Carolina, and I read as many books as I could to better understand Ryan, the sweet (yet puzzling!) 3.5 year old that I took care of. I read "Why Gender Matters" by Leonard Sax and loved it. It's fascinating. During the break I read another one of Dr. Sax's books called "Boys Adrift." (By the way, I think you'd really enjoy reading both of the books since you have boys of your own--it's not just about "little" boys). I was again struck with how different their needs are from that of girls; and it helped re-affirm to me that Spencer (at this point) truly needs to be running and climbing. In the summer, it is SO easy to accomplish this with him--open the door, turn on the hose--and we are good for HOURS. However, in the winter, every day is a challenge to not lose our minds--couch cushions yanked off both sofas and pointing almost straight up in the air to mimic climbing walls and slides--I know that you know exactly what I'm talking about.

Speaking of talking, that's one area in which Spencer is not currently excelling. So, nothing is set in stone yet, but it looks like we'll be doing a little Speech Therapy--another thing to add to the weekly schedule. I know that MANY people have MANY children with MANY more needs, classes, and "issues" than I have to juggle with Spencer; but I also know that everyone has their own set of limitations. I just so happen to have a lot of limitations =) I need a lot of sleep, and I need a lot of "down time" to be even a decent wife and mom.

God bless you if you actually read all of that. I'm truly bummed because although I made it to BIble Study only a few times last semester, I really loved having you as my leader, and I loved all the ladies in our group. I know that being a CBS leader is a huge commitment, and I want to thank you so much for all of your prayers and phone calls and everything else that is behind the scenes.

Please tell all the girls I'm sad I won't get to come back and that I'll miss them and that I hope to be back next fall. You can send them this email, with a disclaimer that I know it's ridiculously long. =)

I'll try to answer your call for next week so we can at least chat a little bit.

Talk to you then,

Lauren

I don't know that being under-committed is any healthier than being over-committed. I'm pretty sure there's a balance that I struggle to find. What I do know is how I start to feel when, for whatever reason, my margins* are being encroached upon. And, I know what to do--quit stuff immediately!--or end up on the floor of my closet crying in the fetal position. And, I like to avoid that whenever possible.

*Another book I enjoyed years ago as I learned this about myself--"Margin" by Richard Swenson.

Things To Let Go in 2011

2010-12-31T22:49:00.000-06:00

Tell me I'm not the only one for whom lists of things to start doing or to do better is extremely overwhelming. However, as daunting as it feels, I still have quite an urgent desire to reflect and examine, and then to go forth in new and better ways. So, I give you my top five

"Things to Let Go in 2011"

1. Documentation. I don't have to take pictures or video of my child every day. Or even every week. Spencer will still feel loved. He might even get more face time.

2. Expecting others to be what I expect them to be. I'm not the boss of them (even though maybe I should be...) See? It leads to erroneous thinking.

3. My own timelines regarding childbearing, home improvement, or self-improvement. The more I know myself, the more I'm amazed at all of my expectations. Wow. Just wow. I have thousands of expectations that I didn't even know I had. Just ask my husband. And, no, expectations are not necessarily bad or wrong (though many of mine probably are), but when things don't happen that way, it sets in motion quite a treading of water to try to get it all "under control." How long can you tread water? Not nearly as long as a lifetime.

4. The idea that I need to get finished with something quickly and efficiently so that I can move on to the next thing. That thing I'm in the middle of, it's my life. I hurry through it all the time. I already feel as if I've neglected to "live" much of my life. I am so blessed to be doing exactly what I've always wanted to do--being a wife and a mother--so dishes, and laundry, and sick days, and tantrums are life. Those things are not something to be hurried through or wished away. How much could I teach Spencer by example through embracing each and every day in all its imperfections and disappointments? I'm still his mom, I still love him--throwing up or throwing a tantrum. I'm to treat him with love and respect and to train him to love God and others with all that he is. Every day. No matter what.

5. Anger that crops up when real life is lived--more on that later. But I want to let it go every day. It definitely holds me back and threatens to intrude on all the joy and wonder that exists for me to experience.

That's not an overwhelming list of things not to do, right? My hope for this coming year might best be summed up with this picture.

I'm striving for that sort of run-giggling-with-your-eyes-closed approach to life. Care to join me?

Decorative Cupcake Liners' Precarious Existence

2010-12-23T20:58:00.001-06:00

Helpful tip if you're planning an upcoming birthday party or other festivity at which you plan on using cute-sey cupcake liners:

Light-colored cake

(unless you think it's cool that the design "disappears" when you use a dark-colored option).

Just lookin' out for y'all.

Coat Refusal in 40 Degrees

2010-12-21T15:05:00.000-06:00

Or, "For the Love of Dirt"

"Here's some dirt, Mom."

"It's for you."

"Take it!"

"It's nice, right?"

"Ah, here's some more dirt."

"Hang onto it for me, ok?"

"Oh, man! It's all over my hands!"

"Get it off!"

"Fine. I'll wipe it in my hair."

"Now, let's play some football."

A Louisiana Christmas

2010-12-19T22:18:00.009-06:00

This weekend we made the trek to Natchitoches, Louisiana. And by "we," I (unfortunately) don't mean Jonathan. He had to stay behind for a youth lock-in. My aunt and her family have lived in Natchitoches for seven years, and this year she hosted the Richardson Family Christmas! We dined on meat pies, scalloped greens, gumbo, fruit salad, and Boulevard Bread rolls (imported from Little Rock). Then, we threw caution to the wind and topped it all off with bread pudding and German chocolate cake. It was delicious. I can say that with integrity because Spencer was asleep for the first ten minutes of the meal, so I really did get to eat--and even taste--quite a bit! I was literally the first person in line and the first person to start eating. I have no shame.

In fact, the food was so remarkable that when I had to abruptly leave the table to tend to my cranky, half-napped two-year old, my sister and father divvied up the remainder of my meat pie and roll! Imagine my disappointment when after ten or fifteen minutes of cuddling and coddling, I manage to walk by the chair where once was my food, only to realize my plate was completely empty. You know food is outstanding when people are willing to eat after the mother of an often-disease-afflicted toddler.

The company and the food were definitely the highlights of the trip. The traveling itself went very well but not without exhausting everyone involved. I won't bore you with all of the details--just most of them. On the way down, we realized Spencer had a dirty diaper, but we were on a stretch lacking good stopping spots. We pulled over into a church parking lot, but we really didn't want to get out of the car, because once you get out you have to get Spencer back in. And that's not fun for anyone. Toddlers are strong. If he doesn't want to be put into his car seat, it's basically impossible to get him into it. So, I got him out of his car seat, but only to put him in the front seat. Then, I got in the floor of the front seat while my mom held his portable dvd player at an angle pleasing to His Highness. We managed to get him changed and back into his car seat lickety split, all the while, singing along with the Wonder Pets who were saving the nutcracker. It was a magical time.

Dining out with the fam' and getting checked in to the hotel did not go as smoothly as far as Spencer was concerned. He's never been a fan of dining out, and he was apparently very distraught that Jonathan wasn't meeting us at the restaurant. He insisted on standing at the door screaming and crying for "Ga Ga" (which, unfortunately, still means "Dada"). Well-meaing family members kept offering him pieces of food, thinking that it would distract and delight. After he threw two of those love-offerings across the restaurant they began to get the bigger picture. Disdain for food and lust for cold, dark parking lots--that's who we're dealing with here.

We didn't arrive at the hotel until 8:45 p.m. We'd left home at half past noon, hoping to encourage as much napping as possible (with only minimal returns, might I add), and that night at 9:00 p.m., I realized that I hadn't gone to the bathroom since. As my sister said, "That can't be good for you."

Spencer took a long time to fall asleep, but he was really good while he did it. I've never experienced anything like it from him. He laid by me in the bed. This was the first time he had ever slept in a bed with me. He hates it. I really don't care for it either, but alas, the Pack and Play is now analogous to a vestigial organ. He laid in the bed, on his back, moving occasionally, jabbering every now and then for over an hour and then finally drifted off to sleep. All I can say--'tis the season for Christmas miracles. One time he sat up, just once, and I said, "It's time to go to sleep. Can you lay your head back down?" And immediately, he did.

I, on the other hand, was apparently suffering from some ridiculous, repressed jealously that Jonathan was going to be up all night, because my psyche or my hormones or the elevator bell kept me up ALL NIGHT LONG. I saw the clock hit every hour but five a.m. I would fall asleep an hour before my child wakes up. It resembled an act out of an absurdist play: crazy-active, out-of-his-element toddler, sleeping soundly, still, not kicking, not talking, not waking restlessly throughout the night; exhausted mother who, for an "easy" day requires eight plus hours of sleep--probably got a combined two and a half hours. Thankfully my sister drove the whole way back. I really do feel like I should go by her an extra Christmas gift...

While much of the next morning made it look as if I don't try hard enough to "distract" my toddler as opposed to saying plain old "no" and facing the imminent, screaming situation head-on, it again became increasingly clear to all who dared offer to lend a hand--a kind, sweet, naive hand--that attempts to "distract" Spencer from things he can't do by showing him fun things he could do instead just don't work. No less than three different family members concluded their particular interaction with some version of "Well, he's very focused!" (insert Spencer crying in the background).

Spencer takes a while to warm up to people, and, unfortunately, we didn't have a while. So, he didn't really embrace his fan club in the manner I'd hoped he would. That kid has a lot of love being offered to him, I hope it isn't too much longer before he'll be able to get in there and receive some of it. There were some smiles here and there, and lots of love for the people he already knows well. He did manage to settle in a little towards the end of the afternoon. He was playing happily in my cousin Sam's closet, enamored with the toy cash register and the cow and the horse that came out of the Lincoln Logs box.

Part of his issue that day could be attributed, at least in part, to the neglect and resulting abuse he'd experience that morning in the hotel room. After a leisurely time of cartoon-viewing with Hillary and then with Gigi and Papa Kurt, he had to accompany his mother back to their boring room. Not all of us get out of bed looking as cute as Spencer. We made it through quite a few hurdles, but then I made the fateful decision to go for the gold and apply some eye make-up. It takes concentration, time, limited range of motion. It renders you vulnerable to Spencer's shenanigans.

I looked over to see him standing on top of the toilet tank--not the toilet seat. It was a big, tall hotel room toilet. He was only a yard or so away from me. I looked at him. His eyes twinkled. I said something having to do with "No" and "Be careful" or "Get down." And, then, in slow motion, he started jumping up and down--one of his signature moves when he knows he's doing something he shouldn't be doing and he's getting called out for it. Jumping up and down. He jumped for what felt like an eternity. And then, one last time, just down. I think he did a sort of front flip. I think his face hit the toilet seat and then also the floor. It all happened so fast, and in addition to bruising and abrading a good deal of his face, it must have scared him, because he was hysterical. He falls a lot, and he gets hurt a lot. And he doesn't get that upset very often. And there I'd been so proud of myself for not letting him get his tooth brush into the toilet even one time. Yeah, that would'a been dangerous.

After that little adventure, he was wounded, body and spirit. Thankfully, a little fresh air did us all a world of good. We strolled through downtown, my once stroller-hating infant, now tolerates it fairly well, especially if you keep it moving at a nice brisk pace. He wasn't in the mood for a lot of browsing, but I was. And in a family, we all have to make sacrifices. Don't worry. His sacrifice was certainly not too great. He also got to romp around outside with Sam's dog Butter, which was probably the highlight of Spencer's Louisiana Christmas.

I had brought the video camera to capture Spencer playing with my cousin Sam (who is seven). I had even charged the battery and made sure all of the settings were right. I so wanted to look back some day and watch footage of Spencer interacting playfully with my aunts and uncles, all who had lovingly entertained and endured me when they were the age I am now. I had visions. They were not realized. And, that, Charlie Brown, is what Christmas is all about. While Spencer has spunk and drive and passion rivaling that of his mother's, he is not me. Deep, isn't it?

Sometimes it's really difficult for me to watch him refuse to jump in and play and interact with people. I'm just thinking, "It's so fun! What is wrong? Don't fuss and look away and squirm when someone (who is not creepy!) smiles at you and speaks to you kindly!!!" But a lesson I'm having to learn, especially around the holidays, is that Spencer is not comfortable with that. And just because I was / am does not make me right. And it does not make him wrong. It makes us different. It makes me a little crazy. Ha! But it makes him special. And it certainly makes his smiles and interactions more valuable, at least according to the law of scarcity.

And, so eventually we packed it all back up, approximately twenty nine hours later, and headed home. Spencer, again, did amazing well in the car (much better than he did on the trip as a whole). And, as testimony to his enduring spirit, he stayed awake the WHOLE drive home. We rolled in at 10:00 p.m., with a wide awake toddler who saved all of his screaming for the moment I attempted to get him out of the car. I won't say it to him, but I'll say it to you--Weirdo!

P.S. Clearly, my time to take pictures was severely limited. A big shout out to *Holly for a couple of these gems. Including this fabulous one of her hubby.

*A nickname created by me for my sister Hillary. The evolution of the various sister nicknames is a whole 'nother blog post.

Music Appreciation

2010-12-15T14:56:00.000-06:00

Spencer has it. He brought out his instruments this morning, and wanted to play with them with me. He conducted most of the songs showcased in "The Wonder Pets Save the Bengal Tiger."

I asked him to stand by his instruments and "look at Mommy," so he giggled uncontrollably and ran towards me. Then, I'd put him back next to his instruments and repeat the command. Again, explosions of giggles, as he ran at me as fast as he could. You can see, I managed to get one (poor) shot. He was pretty proud of himself.

The drum stick has been given new life as a conducting baton, as seen in--you guessed it--"Little Einsteins." Below, you can see him conducting with his left hand, while making his (own personal) sign for the word "help" with his right hand. He signed "help" the exact time they said the word on the movie. He also said it. It doesn't sound like "help." It sounds like "he--ump." And it's staccato.

Also fascinating this morning was the tambourine made to resemble a caterpillar. When I told him it was a tambourine he corrected me repeatedly with his own version of the word caterpillar. So, we decided to go with that. He had initially dragged all his instruments into the kitchen, presumably because that's where I was stationed at the time. He put the caterpillar tambourine on his head and balanced it perfectly for about ten seconds. I cheered and rooted for him, and told him, "Wow, that's hard work!" He was extremely proud of himself and handed the tambourine to me.

In retrospect, I realize that he wanted me to balance it on my head; however, at the time I concluded that he OBVIOUSLY wanted me to play a little something for him to show him the "right" way to use it. So, I broke out my own personal version of "Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man" that I have vague memories of watching a hippie sing on a Nick at Nite commercial many moons ago. Spencer was mildly amused but asked for it back in the middle of my rendition. No applause.

It quickly became apparent that we'd veered from his agenda. He brought me into my room (where he prefers to watch movies these days), and then he climbed on my bed and asked for me to do the same. Then, he came over and balanced the caterpillar on my head. Oh, clearly! What's the fun in playing the tambourine when you can make your mom balance it on her head?

I did pretty well if I do say so myself. It slipped every now and then, but he was always right there to assist me in returning it to its rightful spot.

He would walk over and check on me every now and then when he wasn't singing with the Wonder Pets, conducting with his baton, or throwing himself into my pillows. Taking pictures of it all was harder that you'd think.

So much to say behind that paci and those sparkling blue eyes.

Someday

2010-12-14T14:52:00.004-06:00

Someday, Spencer, someone is going to ask me what you were like as a toddler. It probably won't be you because most boys I know aren't very interested in that sort of thing as it pertains to themselves. However, IF you happen to be the exception to the rule or IF, more likely, you have a sweet wife who has a little toddler and is puzzled as to his or her unique behavior, I will have this to pass along.

As an "almost" and "just-turned" two year old, you have some favorite activities that include throwing all the pillows off of my bed or off of the bench by the bed or off of the stool in the corner of the room--anything that involves heaving them off of something onto the floor. We do tell you not to do this. It seems to fuel your resolve to do it more often and more vigorously.

You also love to run behind, between, and beneath all of the large loropetalum bushes in the flower bed. You love to pull of your socks and any and all sofa cushions. You LOVE to be chased. You love it so much that I frequently feel guilty for not chasing you more. You recently started playing with some Mega Bloks, and you love to stack them up. You hate it if all of their corners and edges are not in perfect alignment.

"Don't think of it as having my feet on the table. Think of it as me taking off my socks. That was just the only way to do it."

"What? It's not hard to eat like this!"

You love music. You sing as much as you are able with any and all of your movies. That's the number one motivator for you as far as trying to say new words goes. You add a few "song" words every week. For a couple of months, you'd sing along with the WonderPets song whenever they'd say "Team work!" You'd say, "Teeee." But, last week you decided to add a second syllable. Now it's more like, "Teee (long pause) mock!" It's also comforting to me that you do in fact hear the difference between the noises you are making and the actual correct pronunciation of a word. Sometimes I start to wonder...

Not only do you show off your language skills when there's music (WITH big-eyed cartoon characters singing, dancing, and zooming to it), you are fascinated and delighted with the concept of pitch. It's hilarious. Many "Little Einstein's" episodes and some "Dora"'s elaborate on whether a note is high or low. You are captivated by the discussion. You grin so big and usually burst into giggles at some point of the discourse. You love it when they say, "HIGH HIGH, low low..." and so forth. We play high and low C's on the piano sometimes and you think that's really fun. We're all very interested to see if this is something that's fun for now or something that will actually keep your attention for later. You just might be a music lover.

One night after your Papa Kurt witnessed your affinity for all things music, he texted me that he thought you were going to be a musical prodigy. I read the text to your father, and his exact words were, "Yeah, that or a professional wrestler." That's how bouncing off the walls, tossing yourself off of furniture, dive-bombing anyone and anything you can be these days. We'll see who's right. Someday.

A doctor lover, you are not. And, to be completely honest, no one blames you right now. We haven't told you that Papa Kurt is a doctor. Better that you find out later after you've gained some perspective. Even lower on your list of "fav's" are nurses--and, again, you've never seen your Gigi in her scrubs and we plan on keeping it that way, at least for now. And at the complete bottom of the totem pole would be the lab people, aka, blood drawers. To be fair, from any sampling of adults, you'd get only sympathetic responses with your current stance on blood work. All in all we are fervently praying that after ten more days on a very strong, side-effect-laden, horrible tasting, but completely invaluable antibiotic, you'll be all better. Maybe even in time for Christmas. We miss your fun-loving personality. It comes out every now and then; but I can tell you don't feel great. You point to your eyes and tell me about them hurting--you do the same thing with your head. You're fatigued BUT gaining weight. We're so hoping for the best possible outcome.

Above all else, you probably have no greater love than that which you feel for your pacifier. At your 2 year old "well-visit" (for which you were not "well"), the pediatrician said we needed to get rid of it. I told her that I will not be taking it away from you when you feel horrible. She seemed ok with that, but pushed me to commit to taking it away once you are feeling better. If you're totally well in the near-future, we'll work on it. That just feels like a really big "If." So, if it ever comes up in counseling--your rigid, perfectionistic mother, stealing your ONLY attachment object at the ripe old age of two--just know that the doctor made me do it.

Eating Cheezits in Sunday School whilst holding your "pass."

Also know that you are one of God's greatest blessings in my life to date. I love you so much, and I show it so imperfectly most days. Thanks for hanging in there with me--unfortunately I know all too well that "that's what first-borns are for"--you're doing a great job.

Happy Birthday, Spencer!

2010-12-06T15:01:00.000-06:00

Dear Older, Stronger, Louder, Heavier Spencer,

Your daddy and I (and quite a few other people) love you so much. You are sweet and adamant and sensory seeking. You give hugs and open mouth kisses one minute and throw yourself into backwards ariels on the bed the next. As your little personality blossoms and your language helps us understand more and more of who you are, I'm shocked by the amazing continuity I've observed. So much of who you are has not changed one iota since the day I met you. You've always had a flare for the dramatic and a fairly short fuse--I have no idea from whom you inherited either of those traits.

You kept us on our toes the day of your birth. You decided to pull some sort of physical gymnastics when it was time for me to deliver you, and as a result, your heart rate plummeted (perhaps gymnastics are best reserved for the days you are not full-term and tethered to an umbilical cord). All sorts of machines beeped, and people ran in, others were told to leave the room, they flipped me over, stuck an oxygen mask on me, and I thought, "Well, this is it. They're going to cut me open right here and yank that baby out." Thankfully, they got you back to where you needed to be. Interestingly, this was just the first of many physical maneuvers by you that has scared the living daylights out of all those around to observe your antics.

After letting you "rest" for a while in utero, we tried again to deliver you safely. You didn't want to rotate around so that your head would face a favorable direction for being born, and you won. The doctor (and probably God) finally succeeded in convincing you to rotate halfway around, and we all had to agree to disagree and just get you "born!" To this day, I'm in awe at the poetic foreshadowing in the commentary by the obstetrician in response to your refusal to rotate. I will never forget when he looked at me and said, "He's certainly going to have his own perspective on life."

It was quite disturbing for a me, a woman with some child-care experience to speak of, to watch my baby scream himself purple because he was having his diaper changed, or being bathed, or being put in clean clothing, or being held by his father. A. little. dramatic. Truly, to this day I feel like not much has changed. But really everything has. In 24 months you've gone from a completely helpless new born to a little boy who runs and talks and loves and sings.

You had fun at your second birthday party. Unlike last year, when playing with toys was very low on the list compared to taking over the world via gross motor acceleration, you've truly spent hours playing with your new toys. Your favorite new toy of the day is Backpack. You opened it early on in the process and held onto it tightly no matter what else you unwrapped. You've been playing with all of your new things, but it's obvious there is a special place in your heart for Backpack.

One of the cutest things I've seen you do to date happened the morning after your birthday. I walked in to see you helping one of your new "dog dogs" play your new piano.

You really enjoy seeing what components of each toy are compatible with each other and with other toys. You are convinced the stop light from your Little People car wash is the perfect size to sit on top of the mechanic's head. And, apparently, you're right.

Just like last year, every toy you opened had to be opened all the way. Someday you'll understand how inconvenient this is. Unlike last year, when you were running laps around the room showing everyone each newly opened gift, you sat fairly still, much more focused on the actual toy and what it could do for you. Not that the running has come to an end! You had engaged in plenty of running and bouncing outside at the beginning of your party--maybe that was the difference.

Unlike last year, when you refused to even be served a piece of cake, you ate a little bit of lunch and then answered, "'Kay," to my inquiry of whether you'd like a cupcake. Unlike last year, when you preferred to be held by your Mommy in a room full of loving relatives, you happily sat in your chair and worked on your lunch and cupcake for a good seven minutes.

Unlike last year, we were unable to trick you into wearing any sort of headdress. You didn't care if this was your birthday or that I'd bought adorable dog-ears to go along with your dog-themed party. You were NOT wearing them. I didn't particularly blame you, because headbands give me a headache. But your Nana did try a few more times on her own--to no avail.

Just like last year, we have no idea what new adventures the next twelve months will bring; but your dad and I are so humbled that God chose us to be with you along the way.

"How Long Will That Last?"

2010-11-28T20:54:00.000-06:00

That's the question. I sprinkled some Christmas around the house, and all the while, I heard the voices. "How long will that last?" Feel free to leave your guesstimate in the comments section if you're so inclined.

I have never opened this glass front cabinet in Spencer's presence. Either he hasn't figured out that it opens or he hasn't decided it's worth his while to try. Every now and then he looks at himself in the reflection or in the mirror inside the cabinet. So, I'm really pressing my luck by putting new items inside of it for Christmas. Hopefully, they won't look too interesting. They're only oversized glittery letters. Nothing eye-catching about that, right?

My mother-in-law got us part of a collection of ornaments last Christmas. They are painted with Bible verses that tell the Christmas story and illustrations of each verse--one of my favorite Christmas gifts to date. I have them up high this year because they are glass. I almost broke one when I was unpacking them. I really shouldn't be allowed around breakables.

The back of the ornaments have the rest of the verse as well as the reference. There is also a series of ornaments with lines from Christmas songs and illustrations. We have "The Little Drummer Boy" and "Silent Night" on this tree with the Christmas story ornaments.

I've got a few ornaments that are not toddler hazards that don't "go" with the rest of the toddler-friendly ornaments on the Christmas tree, so they are standing in as lamp jewelry. That little snow creature in the middle of the ornament doesn't look nearly as creepy in person.

Other ornaments from my previous collection. I couldn't help myself. Our little birdies are perpetually in flight this Christmas season.

If you are looking at this and thinking, "Come on, Lauren, are you already trying to teach Spencer to play the piano?" I understand. I know that piano book is for someone about Spencer's age. Unfortunately, it's also the perfect skill-level for me.

My mother-in-law also gave me that "Silent Night" plate. I think it's so sweet. An added bonus: it actually has something to do with Christmas.

A Christmas platter, from, my ~~fairy godmother~~ mother-in-law. I end up needing platters a lot this time of year--and this year I'll have such fun ones to use! But how could I leave it in a cabinet until then? It's too cute.

I bought these trees for Spencer's nursery last Christmas. They sat on his shelf, looking so cute AND boyish. I was SURE he'd be in there for another few years. Shows you what I know. Luckily, our hall bath is gray, and they look ok in there.

I thought I should include an honesty shot. This is what holiday decorating REALLY looks like--at least when I do it.