And hopefully, it's still there Sunday...
Smart Home Tech: Affordable Gadgets You Need
2 years ago
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Friday, August 26, 2011
Cape Lookout
It's a vacation within a vacation. My absolute favorite place in the world.
And hopefully, it's still there Sunday...
And hopefully, it's still there Sunday...
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Oh, am I Lucky...(WMW Post)
I'm linking up for the first time in a while with Julia and the gang at Working Mom Wednesday. Are you a working mom? Check us out!
As I am not a very good scheduler in the least (you can expect if I say "we'll be there no later than 10" you will see me around 10:30) I have chosen today's second prompt: would you rather have a large salary and crappy benefits or a smaller salary and stellar benefits?
As someone who has been in both positions, I can definitely say "Option B, Alex".
See, before kids I worked in retail management and I did this in some capacity or another for almost 10 years. I was 26 years old, in the mid-2000's, no kids, newly married, buying my first house, making close to 50 grand with no college education. I felt special, as if I had somehow charmed my way into being someone I shouldn't be. (Looking back, obviously I worked hard for that position.) Our benefits were better than most retail companies: I got 3 weeks of paid vacation, 4 personal days a year, and sick time when my store wasn't too short-staffed to manage without me (ok, so I rarely got sick time).
On the other hand, I only got one full weekend off a month, had to work until 10PM twice a week, and some weeks (during floor changes and inventory) worked well over my salaried 40 hours. I had to bow out of last minute weekend trips to the beach and turn down free college football tickets while all of my friends went tailgating on Saturdays. I was beginning to imagine raising a child in all of this and thought we could make it work, but looking back, I am SO GLAD I lost that job. The company has gone through rough times, been bought and sold and their commitment to a "work-life balance" is nearly non-existent at this point.
And then there's my job now. I started at the ground floor, doing a job that a lot of people feel is suited for a retiree or college student, and taking a cut in salary back to what I was making as a 21 year old in my first assistant manager retail position. But as I've learned this new world of banking and all of it's intricacies and regulations and audits, I have fallen in love. Sure, I have the occasional complaint about the battle between salespeople and operational people. Sure, I have clients that sometimes are like a stump in the thick mud I'm trying to navigate. Sure, I occasionally talk my husband's ear off on our commute home at the crazy thing that happened this morning. But overall, I love being able to pack up at 5PM (ish...sometimes 5:30) and head home.
Friday nights have a new meaning: a relaxed family night where we're not as strict on Jacob's bedtime and we don't feel the rush-rush-rush to get dinner made, eaten, baby bathed and in bed within 2 hours of getting home. And I now know the feeling of having the whole (3-day Holiday) weekend stretched out before me, with no mind paid to work whatsoever. I traded in my lovely weekday off for having off Columbus and President's Day, Memorial Day, Labor Day, Veteran's Day, and any other day the Federal Government deems a holiday. I was paid in full for 8 of the 12 weeks I was home on maternity leave for doing absolutely nothing for this company.
The typical benefits are pretty similar to what I was getting in retail, comparable vacation-sick time. Slightly better health benefits (I paid $750 total for my entire pregnancy from the first visit to the surgery to the 6 week follow up.)
But the work-life balance benefits are incomparable. And worth every bit of the $48,000ish (before taxes) that I've "lost" over the last 3 years.
As I am not a very good scheduler in the least (you can expect if I say "we'll be there no later than 10" you will see me around 10:30) I have chosen today's second prompt: would you rather have a large salary and crappy benefits or a smaller salary and stellar benefits?
As someone who has been in both positions, I can definitely say "Option B, Alex".
See, before kids I worked in retail management and I did this in some capacity or another for almost 10 years. I was 26 years old, in the mid-2000's, no kids, newly married, buying my first house, making close to 50 grand with no college education. I felt special, as if I had somehow charmed my way into being someone I shouldn't be. (Looking back, obviously I worked hard for that position.) Our benefits were better than most retail companies: I got 3 weeks of paid vacation, 4 personal days a year, and sick time when my store wasn't too short-staffed to manage without me (ok, so I rarely got sick time).
On the other hand, I only got one full weekend off a month, had to work until 10PM twice a week, and some weeks (during floor changes and inventory) worked well over my salaried 40 hours. I had to bow out of last minute weekend trips to the beach and turn down free college football tickets while all of my friends went tailgating on Saturdays. I was beginning to imagine raising a child in all of this and thought we could make it work, but looking back, I am SO GLAD I lost that job. The company has gone through rough times, been bought and sold and their commitment to a "work-life balance" is nearly non-existent at this point.
And then there's my job now. I started at the ground floor, doing a job that a lot of people feel is suited for a retiree or college student, and taking a cut in salary back to what I was making as a 21 year old in my first assistant manager retail position. But as I've learned this new world of banking and all of it's intricacies and regulations and audits, I have fallen in love. Sure, I have the occasional complaint about the battle between salespeople and operational people. Sure, I have clients that sometimes are like a stump in the thick mud I'm trying to navigate. Sure, I occasionally talk my husband's ear off on our commute home at the crazy thing that happened this morning. But overall, I love being able to pack up at 5PM (ish...sometimes 5:30) and head home.
Friday nights have a new meaning: a relaxed family night where we're not as strict on Jacob's bedtime and we don't feel the rush-rush-rush to get dinner made, eaten, baby bathed and in bed within 2 hours of getting home. And I now know the feeling of having the whole (3-day Holiday) weekend stretched out before me, with no mind paid to work whatsoever. I traded in my lovely weekday off for having off Columbus and President's Day, Memorial Day, Labor Day, Veteran's Day, and any other day the Federal Government deems a holiday. I was paid in full for 8 of the 12 weeks I was home on maternity leave for doing absolutely nothing for this company.
The typical benefits are pretty similar to what I was getting in retail, comparable vacation-sick time. Slightly better health benefits (I paid $750 total for my entire pregnancy from the first visit to the surgery to the 6 week follow up.)
But the work-life balance benefits are incomparable. And worth every bit of the $48,000ish (before taxes) that I've "lost" over the last 3 years.
Thursday, March 24, 2011
I'm Doing Something Good for a Change!
The March of Dimes is one of those organizations that just work. Who doesn't love babies, right?
I have personal experiences with premature birth. Without the technological advances made possible by the research and development supported by the March for Babies, I wouldn't have my son. Mostly because my husband would not have survived after being born at 32 weeks way back in the 1970's.
I cannot imagine how different my life would be if I hadn't met my husband. I may have never wanted kids, I wouldn't have the awesome network of in-laws that are really just my family as much as my own blood relatives are. I wouldn't have the most hilarious, precocious, prissy 3 year old niece in the world, who makes me laugh the way she loves to boss her little cousin Jacob around. I may have never understood the blinding pain that a loss to premature birth causes for the parents and everyone who already loved a little girl we were waiting to meet.
I am walking this year in honor of all of these things, and I hope that any of you who feel moved donate to help prevent more heartache in the future. You can use the button on the side of my page to donate, and I never see any of your info: your money goes straight to the March of Dimes.
I have personal experiences with premature birth. Without the technological advances made possible by the research and development supported by the March for Babies, I wouldn't have my son. Mostly because my husband would not have survived after being born at 32 weeks way back in the 1970's.
I cannot imagine how different my life would be if I hadn't met my husband. I may have never wanted kids, I wouldn't have the awesome network of in-laws that are really just my family as much as my own blood relatives are. I wouldn't have the most hilarious, precocious, prissy 3 year old niece in the world, who makes me laugh the way she loves to boss her little cousin Jacob around. I may have never understood the blinding pain that a loss to premature birth causes for the parents and everyone who already loved a little girl we were waiting to meet.
I am walking this year in honor of all of these things, and I hope that any of you who feel moved donate to help prevent more heartache in the future. You can use the button on the side of my page to donate, and I never see any of your info: your money goes straight to the March of Dimes.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
The Whole Debt-Free Thing?
Thank you to TurboTax for sponsoring my writing about household finances.Learn more about how TurboTax can help you find every tax deduction you deserve. I was selected for this sponsorship by the Clever Girls Collective, which endorses Blog With Integrity, as I do.
Yeah, so back in October my husband and I attended a Dave Ramsay seminar. It was inspiring, it was relevant, it was motivating, and we were going to come home, make a budget, and be debt free within a year. To our credit, we are lucky enough to not carry as much debt as the average American household, but we knew if we didn't change some things we eventually would reach that number.
We had switched back and forth about managing our family's finances for a while, but one thing we had rarely done was sit down and have a budget meeting, and make decisions together. Dave's comments about the roles of the two heads of household and why budget meetings were tough fit us to a tee. My husband makes excel spreadsheets of our income and output, including the amount we pay in taxes and social security, in his free time for fun.
He also does supernerd things, like this one time when he made himself a fake student ID to get basketball and movie tickets.
I check our balances each week, make payments as I feel like it, and forget our online banking passwords. If you even say "budget meeting" to me I get the hives.
I try to contribute to the family finances in a positive way, too. I am a coupon QUEEN, and love finding good deals. I will not pay more than $2 for a box of cereal or $1 for a pound of pasta. I have a very well stocked pantry, so if we have to go into hiding we'd be okay if we found some clean water.
I have about 4 priorities when I get on the computer for personal use: email, facebook, blog, Amazon. Now and then I might think to Twitter, or shop for bras (that never ends up well), or visit my favorite mommy message board, but I never, ever think "It's time for our budget meeting!"
So, things I like to do to procrastinate on the dreaded budget meeting. Because I am a master procrastinator.
1) Say I want to put a new background on my blog. Since I am HTML-illiterate, this could take upwards of three hours, and is good for multiple excuses.
2) Tell my husband that I couldn't get my blog template to work, so that he spends budget night trying to help me upload a new one.
3) Sign up to be bracket manager for our March Madness pool, and then remind him each night that he needs to get his picks set.
4) Feed my little guy spaghetti for dinner, guaranteeing a bath night.
5) Offer to do laundry for my hubs, and therefore spend multiple hours folding the backlog of clean, wrinkled laundry in the bonus room floor.
6) Make sure there are plenty of back episodes of Kill It, Cook It, Eat It on the DVR.
7) Remind husband that I do occasionally have a blogging deadline, that I procrastinate to the last day (as usual) and I MUST use the computer that night to blog.
I could go on, but I think you get my point!
No, really, next week, we HAVE to have a budget meeting.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
WMW: A twofer
Today, I am participating in both prompts at Working Mom Wednesday. Mostly because I find number one awesomely intriguing and way better than the second, in the scheme of things that matter. But also because I've had it out for Courtney Mazza for a few weeks now.
Yes, I admit it, I am being a judgy breastfedding Nazi. And I don't care if you know. The whole celebrity pregnancy/celebrity raising children thing just befuddles/fasinates/infuriates me on a regular basis. I wish I could sort out who actually does the cooking, cleaning, raising in their household, and who has nanny times 3 to do most of that so that they can come and go into their children's lives exactly as they please. I am very, very lucky to have so much family in the area, and I know some moms are either jealous or judge me for having date nights or adult-outing nights (sans Jacob) at least monthly because we have 3 sets of grandparents as well as an aunt and uncle that are always offering to babysit. But I see some of these celebrity parents going out 2 or 3 nights a week.
What disgusts me even more, is Courtney Mazza (Mario Lopez's baby mama) touting her use of some diet pill to lose her baby weight. First of all, this thing contains Hoodia, which has not been researched enough to gain widespread medical approval for use in weight loss products. It can be a really dangerous substance, even though it's "all-natural". Second of all, her baby is like 6-months old. Why the need to get back into her size-0 jeans so fast? Shouldn't she be concerned with her daughter's health and well-being before worrying about if Mario's eye is straying to a younger, skinnier model yet? (Oh, that's right, kid's fine...nanny's taking care of her.) Third, (and this is where I have to enter my judgy-mom disclaimer) it's obvious that she's not breastfeeding, because that crap she's putting into her body is in no way safe for the possibility of passing it through breastmilk to her daughter. The thing that bother's me the most is that by proclaiming this substance as an ideal alternative to being healthy and losing weight the right way, she is encouraging new moms to run out and buy a dangerous substance to take to lose weight. If they are breastfedding, this is dangerous is so many ways to mom and baby, not to mention the fact that new moms have enough trouble trying to find the time to eat: who needs an appetite suppressant? I seriously worry that new moms will not take in enough calories to sustain the energy to care for their newborn.
Ugh. Rant over, I'm stepping off my soapbox now to bring you a letter from my son.
Dear Mama,
Even though I love it when you let me sleep late on the weekends, and even though I went to bed late last night and only got to sleep for 10 hours, as soon as you walk in I am going to jump up and greet the day. I know you and daddy aren't morning people, so I don't know where I got this energy from, but I love mornings in our house!
It was still dark this morning, and even though it was cloudy, when you opened my blinds and let me look out I tried to tell you that the moon is still out there. I know it is. But that doesn't matter, because it was time for my mama milk, and I got to cuddle with you while you whispered that this was the most relaxing part of your day. I like when you get my blanky out of the crib and wrap it around us. I feel so close to you, mama.
Thanks for reading my favorite Hippopotomus book, too. Since I went to bed late I didn't get to read it last night, so when I asked for a "buh" and pointed to it this morning, I was hoping you wouldn't tell me we didn't have time.
I know you worried about me when I played with the ABC Puppy by myself in the bonus room. You asked if I was coming to your room while you got dressed and seemed surprised when I said "no", but you let me hang in there in the dark with my puppy. It's ok that I'm independent, mama. I still love your cuddles when I feel like it. I'm just a cool dude who is okay sitting in a dark room across the house from you sometimes.
And I miss being around you while I'm getting dressed, but that is my fun time with daddy, and he touches my belly and makes me laugh because it's tickly, and I love when he tells me what a big boy am I because I took the arms of my "supersuit" pajamas off all by myself. It's our time, mama, and it's worth being away from you when I see daddy notice that you spent that time straightening your hair and he tells you it looks pretty.
As much as I love you guys, I love riding to school reading my Barney the Backhoe book and copying the sneeze and cough noises y'all make in the front. And I love when you put me down in front of my classroom and let me walk in by myself. Don't worry about me while you're working. I have so much fun with my friends, eat seconds at snacktime, and my teachers are so nice, but I always remember that you will be there at the end of the day to get me.
Love,
Jacob.
Yes, I admit it, I am being a judgy breastfedding Nazi. And I don't care if you know. The whole celebrity pregnancy/celebrity raising children thing just befuddles/fasinates/infuriates me on a regular basis. I wish I could sort out who actually does the cooking, cleaning, raising in their household, and who has nanny times 3 to do most of that so that they can come and go into their children's lives exactly as they please. I am very, very lucky to have so much family in the area, and I know some moms are either jealous or judge me for having date nights or adult-outing nights (sans Jacob) at least monthly because we have 3 sets of grandparents as well as an aunt and uncle that are always offering to babysit. But I see some of these celebrity parents going out 2 or 3 nights a week.
What disgusts me even more, is Courtney Mazza (Mario Lopez's baby mama) touting her use of some diet pill to lose her baby weight. First of all, this thing contains Hoodia, which has not been researched enough to gain widespread medical approval for use in weight loss products. It can be a really dangerous substance, even though it's "all-natural". Second of all, her baby is like 6-months old. Why the need to get back into her size-0 jeans so fast? Shouldn't she be concerned with her daughter's health and well-being before worrying about if Mario's eye is straying to a younger, skinnier model yet? (Oh, that's right, kid's fine...nanny's taking care of her.) Third, (and this is where I have to enter my judgy-mom disclaimer) it's obvious that she's not breastfeeding, because that crap she's putting into her body is in no way safe for the possibility of passing it through breastmilk to her daughter. The thing that bother's me the most is that by proclaiming this substance as an ideal alternative to being healthy and losing weight the right way, she is encouraging new moms to run out and buy a dangerous substance to take to lose weight. If they are breastfedding, this is dangerous is so many ways to mom and baby, not to mention the fact that new moms have enough trouble trying to find the time to eat: who needs an appetite suppressant? I seriously worry that new moms will not take in enough calories to sustain the energy to care for their newborn.
Ugh. Rant over, I'm stepping off my soapbox now to bring you a letter from my son.
Dear Mama,
Even though I love it when you let me sleep late on the weekends, and even though I went to bed late last night and only got to sleep for 10 hours, as soon as you walk in I am going to jump up and greet the day. I know you and daddy aren't morning people, so I don't know where I got this energy from, but I love mornings in our house!
It was still dark this morning, and even though it was cloudy, when you opened my blinds and let me look out I tried to tell you that the moon is still out there. I know it is. But that doesn't matter, because it was time for my mama milk, and I got to cuddle with you while you whispered that this was the most relaxing part of your day. I like when you get my blanky out of the crib and wrap it around us. I feel so close to you, mama.
Thanks for reading my favorite Hippopotomus book, too. Since I went to bed late I didn't get to read it last night, so when I asked for a "buh" and pointed to it this morning, I was hoping you wouldn't tell me we didn't have time.
I know you worried about me when I played with the ABC Puppy by myself in the bonus room. You asked if I was coming to your room while you got dressed and seemed surprised when I said "no", but you let me hang in there in the dark with my puppy. It's ok that I'm independent, mama. I still love your cuddles when I feel like it. I'm just a cool dude who is okay sitting in a dark room across the house from you sometimes.
And I miss being around you while I'm getting dressed, but that is my fun time with daddy, and he touches my belly and makes me laugh because it's tickly, and I love when he tells me what a big boy am I because I took the arms of my "supersuit" pajamas off all by myself. It's our time, mama, and it's worth being away from you when I see daddy notice that you spent that time straightening your hair and he tells you it looks pretty.
As much as I love you guys, I love riding to school reading my Barney the Backhoe book and copying the sneeze and cough noises y'all make in the front. And I love when you put me down in front of my classroom and let me walk in by myself. Don't worry about me while you're working. I have so much fun with my friends, eat seconds at snacktime, and my teachers are so nice, but I always remember that you will be there at the end of the day to get me.
Love,
Jacob.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
WMW: I Challenge Myself to Enjoy a Holiday
People keep asking me "How was your Christmas?" And I'm not quite sure how to respond. I think mostly I feel guilty, and I must move past that, like yesterday.
The truth is, I didn't enjoy Christmas this year. I tried to force myself to, and I had my moments like the Friday night date shopping with my husband and stopping for cupcakes at a downtown shop afterwards that were absolutely memorable, but overall, I felt so stressed, so overwhelmed, and so let down by the weather that I just couldn't move past it.
I think I set up a lot of expectations for my son's first "real" Christmas (he was 4 months old last year) that I forgot all about just letting myself enjoy the season, no matter what traditions we accomplished. I really wanted to take my son to go see lights this year, but every weekend it rained or snowed, which is in no way normal for NC and really thrw a kink in our plans. I'm sure we could have figured out a way to go on a weeknight, but December was a tough month at work as well. Demands and goals and expectations have changed, and lately it has not been the kind of job where I can "take off early" one afternoon on a whim.
I also was excited to put our Christmas tree up, but again, with the weather, we never got around to it and the last weekend we were left staring each other, saying "it's not worth it to go through all that effort for one week". So my sweet toddler did not have a tree in his own home. Santa had to leave his presents laid out on the couch. My husband at least managed to dig out our stockings, so that was a tradition left unharmed. (Sidenote, kind of gross: apparently at some point in Dec 2009 my son spit up on a corner of his stocking...ewwww...what a surprise!!!)
We also started some new traditions of sorts: we attended the Christmas Program at our church, and invited our closest friends and their kids over for a spaghetti/Festivus gathering. I hope that these will be added to our busy Christmas event season, because I actually enjoyed them so much.
Jacob's nap schedule threw a kink into our plans as well: we ended up showing up anywhere between 30 minutes and 2 hours late for our family events. I'm not even kidding: we made it to exactly 2 out of 6 actually on time. This is not what I want to be known for. I also stress-ate my way through the holidays. I am not lying when I say I gained almost 10lbs since Thanksgiving.
Despite all of this, I feel very blessed to have a healthy, loving son who was the life of the party all December, a wonderful husband who has been my equal partner the last few months when it comes to childcare and getting everything done, amazing family on both sides of our marriage, a home, two jobs, two cars that run, and plenty of good food.
And my challenge this year to myself is to let these things go. I have to get past trying to get everything perfect. I stress so much, that I spend valuable time worrying about stress and what I have to do next that I forget to just live in the moment and enjoy it. Even if the kitchen is dirty. Even if I don't have a plan for dinner. Even if I shouldn't be taking a 10-minute break to blog because I have a deadline at 5PM that I cannot miss today.
To quote my friend Candy, this year, I will own you.
(Prompted by Working Mommy Wednesday. Please join us, it's FUN!)
The truth is, I didn't enjoy Christmas this year. I tried to force myself to, and I had my moments like the Friday night date shopping with my husband and stopping for cupcakes at a downtown shop afterwards that were absolutely memorable, but overall, I felt so stressed, so overwhelmed, and so let down by the weather that I just couldn't move past it.
I think I set up a lot of expectations for my son's first "real" Christmas (he was 4 months old last year) that I forgot all about just letting myself enjoy the season, no matter what traditions we accomplished. I really wanted to take my son to go see lights this year, but every weekend it rained or snowed, which is in no way normal for NC and really thrw a kink in our plans. I'm sure we could have figured out a way to go on a weeknight, but December was a tough month at work as well. Demands and goals and expectations have changed, and lately it has not been the kind of job where I can "take off early" one afternoon on a whim.
I also was excited to put our Christmas tree up, but again, with the weather, we never got around to it and the last weekend we were left staring each other, saying "it's not worth it to go through all that effort for one week". So my sweet toddler did not have a tree in his own home. Santa had to leave his presents laid out on the couch. My husband at least managed to dig out our stockings, so that was a tradition left unharmed. (Sidenote, kind of gross: apparently at some point in Dec 2009 my son spit up on a corner of his stocking...ewwww...what a surprise!!!)
We also started some new traditions of sorts: we attended the Christmas Program at our church, and invited our closest friends and their kids over for a spaghetti/Festivus gathering. I hope that these will be added to our busy Christmas event season, because I actually enjoyed them so much.
Jacob's nap schedule threw a kink into our plans as well: we ended up showing up anywhere between 30 minutes and 2 hours late for our family events. I'm not even kidding: we made it to exactly 2 out of 6 actually on time. This is not what I want to be known for. I also stress-ate my way through the holidays. I am not lying when I say I gained almost 10lbs since Thanksgiving.
Despite all of this, I feel very blessed to have a healthy, loving son who was the life of the party all December, a wonderful husband who has been my equal partner the last few months when it comes to childcare and getting everything done, amazing family on both sides of our marriage, a home, two jobs, two cars that run, and plenty of good food.
And my challenge this year to myself is to let these things go. I have to get past trying to get everything perfect. I stress so much, that I spend valuable time worrying about stress and what I have to do next that I forget to just live in the moment and enjoy it. Even if the kitchen is dirty. Even if I don't have a plan for dinner. Even if I shouldn't be taking a 10-minute break to blog because I have a deadline at 5PM that I cannot miss today.
To quote my friend Candy, this year, I will own you.
(Prompted by Working Mommy Wednesday. Please join us, it's FUN!)
Saturday, October 2, 2010
I'm Not Who I Claim to Be...
A rare Saturday confession...
I've been struggling a lot lately, with the fact that I am struggling. It seems counterproductive to being a good mom/wife/person/Christian that I have the luxury of being the first person awake in my house on a Saturday at 8:45AM yet I can complain that I am always busy and have too much going on to breathe. I have it SO EASY compared to my mother, who had me just before she finished nursing school and had to take care of the house, the baby, and find time to study. Or so many others out there who have gone through a separation with their baby's father and have to do it all on their own. Or the parents whose children have had to endure medical issues, multiple doctor visits, surgeries, and complicated feeding schedules.
And now I must confess: I am lazy. I have motivation issues. I am obese. I don't take care of myself or eat right (damn Starbucks for re-introducing that Salted Caramel Hot Chocolate this fall...). And I desperately want to change that. Finally, I feel that I am making a commitment I can follow through on.
The time is right: October is my absolute favorite month, and this October began for me with a 3-day weekend and the most beautiful fall weather you could imagine. I joined a work-sponsored wellness program that starts at work on Monday. I am starting a new home-party business with Scentsy (more on that in a couple of weeks with a giveaway) that motivated me to get my house company ready since I've invited oh, about 50 people over in 2 weeks. And this new drive has caused a sort of pay-it-forward morning for me.
I got up and began preparing breakfast for my family, when usually I lie in bed until the last possible second on Saturday and then bring Jacob in to nurse while hubby goes downstairs to cook. After breakfast, we had wonderful family time playing for an hour or so and then we let Jacob play on his own while we started dusting and cleaning the clutter out of our living room. I think starting to clean before he was down for his nap really drove me to do more. I usually wait until he's asleep, get on the web for a while, sip my coffee and watch College Gameday, and then clean for a half hour or so.
Now, I have clean baseboards, doors, the top of the fridge, a dusted, vacuumed, and mopped kitchen and living room, and significantly reduced clutter. My nearly 3 hours of work possibly burned my sensible breakfast's calories, and my ensuing cool shower was better for my hair, skin, electric bill, and possibly even environment than my usual 15 minute hot ones.
I'm using the rest of my "me" time effectively by sending out e-vites for my Open House and getting ready for a family gathering.
And my underwear even matches my shirt.
Who is ready for a whole new me?
I've been struggling a lot lately, with the fact that I am struggling. It seems counterproductive to being a good mom/wife/person/Christian that I have the luxury of being the first person awake in my house on a Saturday at 8:45AM yet I can complain that I am always busy and have too much going on to breathe. I have it SO EASY compared to my mother, who had me just before she finished nursing school and had to take care of the house, the baby, and find time to study. Or so many others out there who have gone through a separation with their baby's father and have to do it all on their own. Or the parents whose children have had to endure medical issues, multiple doctor visits, surgeries, and complicated feeding schedules.
And now I must confess: I am lazy. I have motivation issues. I am obese. I don't take care of myself or eat right (damn Starbucks for re-introducing that Salted Caramel Hot Chocolate this fall...). And I desperately want to change that. Finally, I feel that I am making a commitment I can follow through on.
The time is right: October is my absolute favorite month, and this October began for me with a 3-day weekend and the most beautiful fall weather you could imagine. I joined a work-sponsored wellness program that starts at work on Monday. I am starting a new home-party business with Scentsy (more on that in a couple of weeks with a giveaway) that motivated me to get my house company ready since I've invited oh, about 50 people over in 2 weeks. And this new drive has caused a sort of pay-it-forward morning for me.
I got up and began preparing breakfast for my family, when usually I lie in bed until the last possible second on Saturday and then bring Jacob in to nurse while hubby goes downstairs to cook. After breakfast, we had wonderful family time playing for an hour or so and then we let Jacob play on his own while we started dusting and cleaning the clutter out of our living room. I think starting to clean before he was down for his nap really drove me to do more. I usually wait until he's asleep, get on the web for a while, sip my coffee and watch College Gameday, and then clean for a half hour or so.
Now, I have clean baseboards, doors, the top of the fridge, a dusted, vacuumed, and mopped kitchen and living room, and significantly reduced clutter. My nearly 3 hours of work possibly burned my sensible breakfast's calories, and my ensuing cool shower was better for my hair, skin, electric bill, and possibly even environment than my usual 15 minute hot ones.
I'm using the rest of my "me" time effectively by sending out e-vites for my Open House and getting ready for a family gathering.
And my underwear even matches my shirt.
Who is ready for a whole new me?
Monday, September 13, 2010
Mom Friendly Meals Monday
All right, I'll bite. Literally. I love a good recipe, and lately I have felt like my head is not screwed on straight. I'm sure you can tell by my "tone" lately...do I seem stressed out? Overwhelmed? Pushed to my limit? I'm trying to calm myself down, realize that life ebbs and flows, and this is a phase I will soon conquer just as we conquered low milk supply and sleeping through the night.
My cute friend Mama Insomnia is someone who I know without a doubt I would make fast friends with if she didn't live somewhere in the middle of the country instead of being an East-Coaster like myself. And she is starting up a Monday service to the poor, crazy, stretched to the limit working moms like myself where we share an easy, fast, stress-free recipe on Mondays. Because honestly, who wants to go home and cook on a Monday?
Since I wasn't prepared today, I will rattle off my go-to recipe for busy weeknights and those chain email "recipe exchanges". (This used to be what hubs and I made when we wanted to spend dinner on the couch. It fits in one bowl, and a beer fits nicely in hand number two while you are on your way out of the kitchen.)
What shall we call it? Chicken and Apple sausage. Shopping list: a package of chicken and apple sausage (found somewhere in between the breakfast meats and hot dogs), a vidalia or other sweet onion, and an apple. Granny Smith or gala work fine for us.
Cut everything into discs (sausage) or strips (onions and apples). Saute the onions in a little butter or canola oil. And when I say saute, I mean caramelize, which basically consists of putting the heat on about 6-7 to start, and only stirring when the onions have sat enough to start browning. In this dish, you want those nice "burned" bits. Eventually, you will add the sausage and continue to cook (the sausage is usually pre-cooked and needs to be heated). Towards the end of the caramelization, you'll throw the apples in and cook just until they get soft. Spoon a generous portion into a nice bowl, add a fork, and voila.
Feel free to spend the in-between stir times like I do: feeding the dog, and chasing the baby around the house while he drags every single toy he has from the living room to the kitchen.
Enjoy! And please link your recipes to IMO:FWIW blog!
My cute friend Mama Insomnia is someone who I know without a doubt I would make fast friends with if she didn't live somewhere in the middle of the country instead of being an East-Coaster like myself. And she is starting up a Monday service to the poor, crazy, stretched to the limit working moms like myself where we share an easy, fast, stress-free recipe on Mondays. Because honestly, who wants to go home and cook on a Monday?
Since I wasn't prepared today, I will rattle off my go-to recipe for busy weeknights and those chain email "recipe exchanges". (This used to be what hubs and I made when we wanted to spend dinner on the couch. It fits in one bowl, and a beer fits nicely in hand number two while you are on your way out of the kitchen.)
What shall we call it? Chicken and Apple sausage. Shopping list: a package of chicken and apple sausage (found somewhere in between the breakfast meats and hot dogs), a vidalia or other sweet onion, and an apple. Granny Smith or gala work fine for us.
Cut everything into discs (sausage) or strips (onions and apples). Saute the onions in a little butter or canola oil. And when I say saute, I mean caramelize, which basically consists of putting the heat on about 6-7 to start, and only stirring when the onions have sat enough to start browning. In this dish, you want those nice "burned" bits. Eventually, you will add the sausage and continue to cook (the sausage is usually pre-cooked and needs to be heated). Towards the end of the caramelization, you'll throw the apples in and cook just until they get soft. Spoon a generous portion into a nice bowl, add a fork, and voila.
Feel free to spend the in-between stir times like I do: feeding the dog, and chasing the baby around the house while he drags every single toy he has from the living room to the kitchen.
Enjoy! And please link your recipes to IMO:FWIW blog!
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
I'm Not Much For Country Music
You wouldn't believe it by hearing me speak, knowing my family, or seeing the farmland that lies within a mile of my neighborhood, but I didn't even listen to country music at all (well, other than the Charlie Pride 8-track that I used to catch in my Mema's car when I was little) until well into high school. And only then because a boy I liked was a fan.
Even now, my "love" for country music ebbs and flows like the tide. Some days I like it and it gets me jazzed, some days I think it sounds like a bunch of redneck trash and I just want to hear David Gray or Pearl Jam. But yesterday, country music saved me. Not from anything big, just from a little despondentness. (If that's not a word, it should be.)
I don't know if it's my monthly friend, my breastfeeding hormones continuing to wane, or just being worn down from the daily grind, but I was feeling really down Sunday night. Like, bordering on depression down. It was a long weekend; I got to see family, sleep in, hang out with my baby, spend some quality time with my hubby, and I should have been feeling good and rested and loose Sunday evening, knowing I had a whole other day off work. But instead, I felt like I was still working. I was tired, worn down, emotionally drained, and just feeling like I hadn't really gotten a rest yet.
The worst part of feeling this way for me is the guilt that accompanies those feelings. I have friends with children with major health and developmental issues, who have suffered debilitating PPD, who live 1000 miles from any family or friends that could help out and give them a much-needed break now and then, whose marriages are suffering, who have been searching fruitlessly for a job for over a year and who may have to sell their home, and the list goes on and on (this is not one friend but several, just in case you were confused by my misuse of possesive and tenses). I have a home, a little piece of land, a stable (if sometimes a little too volatile, I mean, passionate) marriage, a supportive family, two incomes, and an amazingly healthy child. I am lucky. I have NO RIGHT to complain.
But sometimes, y'all, the loss of control I feel over my life gets to be a little more than I can handle. And I try to rely on good friends and my husband to bring me through that, but occasionally it takes a little more to escape that drowning feeling. And yesterday, driving along with Jacob babbling in the backseat, I happened to flip to the country station and Trace Adkins "You're Gonna Miss This" started playing. And I lost it. It was just what I needed to break out of the slump I've been in this past week and get. over. myself. Life is hard, right? Some days I need to suck it up and just be thankful for what I've got. Even if that means I have too much laundry to sort, too much paperwork in the office that needs to be filed, and a lack of focus on the details of my life (like where Jacob's shoes may be).
So here's to shrugging off the shadows and focusing on the bright lights in my life. Because if it were not for those dark moments, I wouldn't be able to realize how much joy I get when that little boy grins at me. Or how amazingly successful and together I felt when the first shopping trip with my new Ergo was pure fun, even if people were looking at me like a crazyhippie mama while I talked to my son the whole time I was picking out veggies. I can DO this, y'all!
Even now, my "love" for country music ebbs and flows like the tide. Some days I like it and it gets me jazzed, some days I think it sounds like a bunch of redneck trash and I just want to hear David Gray or Pearl Jam. But yesterday, country music saved me. Not from anything big, just from a little despondentness. (If that's not a word, it should be.)
I don't know if it's my monthly friend, my breastfeeding hormones continuing to wane, or just being worn down from the daily grind, but I was feeling really down Sunday night. Like, bordering on depression down. It was a long weekend; I got to see family, sleep in, hang out with my baby, spend some quality time with my hubby, and I should have been feeling good and rested and loose Sunday evening, knowing I had a whole other day off work. But instead, I felt like I was still working. I was tired, worn down, emotionally drained, and just feeling like I hadn't really gotten a rest yet.
The worst part of feeling this way for me is the guilt that accompanies those feelings. I have friends with children with major health and developmental issues, who have suffered debilitating PPD, who live 1000 miles from any family or friends that could help out and give them a much-needed break now and then, whose marriages are suffering, who have been searching fruitlessly for a job for over a year and who may have to sell their home, and the list goes on and on (this is not one friend but several, just in case you were confused by my misuse of possesive and tenses). I have a home, a little piece of land, a stable (if sometimes a little too volatile, I mean, passionate) marriage, a supportive family, two incomes, and an amazingly healthy child. I am lucky. I have NO RIGHT to complain.
But sometimes, y'all, the loss of control I feel over my life gets to be a little more than I can handle. And I try to rely on good friends and my husband to bring me through that, but occasionally it takes a little more to escape that drowning feeling. And yesterday, driving along with Jacob babbling in the backseat, I happened to flip to the country station and Trace Adkins "You're Gonna Miss This" started playing. And I lost it. It was just what I needed to break out of the slump I've been in this past week and get. over. myself. Life is hard, right? Some days I need to suck it up and just be thankful for what I've got. Even if that means I have too much laundry to sort, too much paperwork in the office that needs to be filed, and a lack of focus on the details of my life (like where Jacob's shoes may be).
So here's to shrugging off the shadows and focusing on the bright lights in my life. Because if it were not for those dark moments, I wouldn't be able to realize how much joy I get when that little boy grins at me. Or how amazingly successful and together I felt when the first shopping trip with my new Ergo was pure fun, even if people were looking at me like a crazyhippie mama while I talked to my son the whole time I was picking out veggies. I can DO this, y'all!
Monday, August 30, 2010
Year Number Two...Aaannnd Go!
So. I have a toddler. A friend asked me today what it feels like to have a 1 year old, and at the time I wasn't quite sure what to answer, but now that I've had all afternoon to reflect, it feels...strangely anti-climactic.
I was pretty emotional last Wednesday, but not any more than usual. Since having a child, it's as though the pregnancy hormones have never quite left my body, and I can get weepy just at the image of my son stopping halfway across the living room to laugh at himself, for who knows what reason. Everything makes me cry. Especially being in church.
It's hard to explain, but, while I feel like I have far exceeded my own expectations of myself as a mother, I have been a big fat FAIL at being a better wife, homemaker, and caretaker of my family. I do not vacuum enough. I have not mopped the kitchen floor in way too long. I have dropped my 1st 6-months of mommyhood habit of doing a load of laundry each night (including folding and putting away) and now have two or three piles of unfolded laundry in the bonus room upstairs. I still have not unpacked the big suitcase from our beach trip a MONTH ago and just last night put the beach bags back in the closet upstairs.
I have paid bills late because I forgot about them, kept a constant pile of random stuff on the side table downstairs, and completely neglected my herbs this summer. My dog is not current on her heartworm medicine or flea and tick, and hasn't had a bath in over a month. (She did jump in the pool yesterday...that counts, right?) I can't find anything in my house or office because I don't have any kind of organizational system anymore...I am barely treading water when it comes to housework.
The worst is that I constantly nag my husband about every little thing. And I tend to do it quite passive agressively, like this exchange: "I'm going upstairs, can you let Sidney out?" "Well, no, I was going to go up first and take my contacts out." I paused and answered, "oh, that's right, I'm the mom so it's my responsibility." I'm mean to him. And that's just not right. I know he forgets to take his stuff upstairs sometimes and opens the packaging to any new electronic "toy" like a 12 year old at Christmas, leaving the box and instructions just lying on the table or floor. But he also cuts the grass every week and cooks just as much as I do. And I need to give him more credit.
So, given these realizations, instead of making New Year's Resolutions, I'm treating my son's birthday like a new year: things I want to be better at as a mom. Part of being a mom is taking on the extra task of caring for another family member without letting the rest of my life go to pot, and I need to be reminded of the women of the sixties and seventies and eighties, the original working moms who did it all. That doesn't mean I'm not going to stand up for myself when I need my husband's help, but lets face it: he does a lot more than men did back then, and a lot more than the weight I see some men pull. I need to learn to live my life without complaining.
And I'm going to try to start tonight, right after my Fantasy Football draft.
I was pretty emotional last Wednesday, but not any more than usual. Since having a child, it's as though the pregnancy hormones have never quite left my body, and I can get weepy just at the image of my son stopping halfway across the living room to laugh at himself, for who knows what reason. Everything makes me cry. Especially being in church.
It's hard to explain, but, while I feel like I have far exceeded my own expectations of myself as a mother, I have been a big fat FAIL at being a better wife, homemaker, and caretaker of my family. I do not vacuum enough. I have not mopped the kitchen floor in way too long. I have dropped my 1st 6-months of mommyhood habit of doing a load of laundry each night (including folding and putting away) and now have two or three piles of unfolded laundry in the bonus room upstairs. I still have not unpacked the big suitcase from our beach trip a MONTH ago and just last night put the beach bags back in the closet upstairs.
I have paid bills late because I forgot about them, kept a constant pile of random stuff on the side table downstairs, and completely neglected my herbs this summer. My dog is not current on her heartworm medicine or flea and tick, and hasn't had a bath in over a month. (She did jump in the pool yesterday...that counts, right?) I can't find anything in my house or office because I don't have any kind of organizational system anymore...I am barely treading water when it comes to housework.
The worst is that I constantly nag my husband about every little thing. And I tend to do it quite passive agressively, like this exchange: "I'm going upstairs, can you let Sidney out?" "Well, no, I was going to go up first and take my contacts out." I paused and answered, "oh, that's right, I'm the mom so it's my responsibility." I'm mean to him. And that's just not right. I know he forgets to take his stuff upstairs sometimes and opens the packaging to any new electronic "toy" like a 12 year old at Christmas, leaving the box and instructions just lying on the table or floor. But he also cuts the grass every week and cooks just as much as I do. And I need to give him more credit.
So, given these realizations, instead of making New Year's Resolutions, I'm treating my son's birthday like a new year: things I want to be better at as a mom. Part of being a mom is taking on the extra task of caring for another family member without letting the rest of my life go to pot, and I need to be reminded of the women of the sixties and seventies and eighties, the original working moms who did it all. That doesn't mean I'm not going to stand up for myself when I need my husband's help, but lets face it: he does a lot more than men did back then, and a lot more than the weight I see some men pull. I need to learn to live my life without complaining.
And I'm going to try to start tonight, right after my Fantasy Football draft.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
I Spent $18 Ruining a $30 Pedicure
And it was worth every sweet penny!
I am back from my OBX vacation with lots to tell, most importantly extolling the benefits of taking a vacation with a child and assorted family members willing to fight over who gets to feed him, play in the sand with him, change poopy diapers, etc. This allows you and the hubby to choose how much time you want to spend with the dear child, but also escape for a late night walk on the pier, a date night, or even just escaping into books. (I almost finished 2! That's 2 more than I've finished since he was born.)
There were definitely some frustrations about beach vacationing with a wee babe. Mostly because the hubs and I are beach vacation people, but not necessarily beach people. The whole sand thing is a problem. Plus our little man's skin is fairly sensitive, so the daily sunscreen/sand/sun/shower routine was not kind to us last week. Luckily he only gets the baby excema, not the full-blown, painful kind, and most of it seems to be clear this week after reverting back to the unscented lotion and Aquaphor routine. The amount of STUFF required to stay away from home for a week, as well as what is required just to go down to the ocean for an afternoon, was astounding. Our poor sedan was packed to the gills, with our furry black baby resigned to make the trip with only about 2 square feet of backseat to herself.
Also, our little guy is a poor daycare napper, which means he spends his weekends catching up on sleep, with a two hour morning nap and a two hour afternoon nap. This was exacerbated (wink, Anne) even more by the activity level he put out during his waking hours on vacation, and the fact that he shared a room with us. A given schedule on vacation: up at 5:30, nurse, back down for an hour if I was lucky, then a 2 1/2 hour nap from 9-11:30, and an afternoon nap beginning around 2:30 that sometimes lasted so long we had to wake him just to ensure he didn't sleep through dinner. There was a lot of waiting involved in this vacation. I didn't mind: see, I read 2 books!
The highlight of the trip by far, though, was our jaunt to the same waterslide where I spent my own childhood summers building my love affair with any kind of water activity. I spent $12 so I could ride the big-kid slides, hubby spent $3 so he could hang in the kiddie pool, and our tiny tot was free. We spent nearly two hours hanging in the kiddie pool letting Jacob "swim" back and forth between us, walk through the water, and sit in our laps while we went down the easy slides. This excursion was such a delight, I could have cared less that my new perfect pedi got scraped to all hell in the pool. My mother exclaimed "I guess we're going to have to install a slide on the pool next summer" with excitement. I would have gladly done it over and over to watch his laughing face as we hit the water.
I think we're even considering going again later this summer! Lucky for us, we only live 3 hours away!
I am back from my OBX vacation with lots to tell, most importantly extolling the benefits of taking a vacation with a child and assorted family members willing to fight over who gets to feed him, play in the sand with him, change poopy diapers, etc. This allows you and the hubby to choose how much time you want to spend with the dear child, but also escape for a late night walk on the pier, a date night, or even just escaping into books. (I almost finished 2! That's 2 more than I've finished since he was born.)
There were definitely some frustrations about beach vacationing with a wee babe. Mostly because the hubs and I are beach vacation people, but not necessarily beach people. The whole sand thing is a problem. Plus our little man's skin is fairly sensitive, so the daily sunscreen/sand/sun/shower routine was not kind to us last week. Luckily he only gets the baby excema, not the full-blown, painful kind, and most of it seems to be clear this week after reverting back to the unscented lotion and Aquaphor routine. The amount of STUFF required to stay away from home for a week, as well as what is required just to go down to the ocean for an afternoon, was astounding. Our poor sedan was packed to the gills, with our furry black baby resigned to make the trip with only about 2 square feet of backseat to herself.
Also, our little guy is a poor daycare napper, which means he spends his weekends catching up on sleep, with a two hour morning nap and a two hour afternoon nap. This was exacerbated (wink, Anne) even more by the activity level he put out during his waking hours on vacation, and the fact that he shared a room with us. A given schedule on vacation: up at 5:30, nurse, back down for an hour if I was lucky, then a 2 1/2 hour nap from 9-11:30, and an afternoon nap beginning around 2:30 that sometimes lasted so long we had to wake him just to ensure he didn't sleep through dinner. There was a lot of waiting involved in this vacation. I didn't mind: see, I read 2 books!
The highlight of the trip by far, though, was our jaunt to the same waterslide where I spent my own childhood summers building my love affair with any kind of water activity. I spent $12 so I could ride the big-kid slides, hubby spent $3 so he could hang in the kiddie pool, and our tiny tot was free. We spent nearly two hours hanging in the kiddie pool letting Jacob "swim" back and forth between us, walk through the water, and sit in our laps while we went down the easy slides. This excursion was such a delight, I could have cared less that my new perfect pedi got scraped to all hell in the pool. My mother exclaimed "I guess we're going to have to install a slide on the pool next summer" with excitement. I would have gladly done it over and over to watch his laughing face as we hit the water.
I think we're even considering going again later this summer! Lucky for us, we only live 3 hours away!
Monday, July 19, 2010
Travelling...With Children
I guess I've been reflecting a lot lately on before and after mom-dom because I'm nearing that one year mark ever so quickly, and since little man is now starting to talk, walk, and be generally more self-sufficient than I think I'm ready for, I have more time to reflect on just how different reality versus my expectations of parenthood are.
I think I feel the opposite way of what I heard before having a kid. I heard a lot of "you will never sleep/eat/have a romantic date again" and while I get that for some people looking back at their child's first year, that may be what it feels like. But I feel so much more fulfilled, settled, and just right. I'm pretty sure I underestimated my own abilities as a mother before my son was bored. I had a lot of "wow, is this really going to work" moments during pregnancy. Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed it and I basked in the attention, the coddling, the thought of those last few months to be a family of two and a dog, but I also wondered what would happen when my monthly "free" nights to have a bath, order Indian takeout, and watch a chick flick alone in my house disappeared. I feared that I would be resentful to my son for this loss of freedom and personal space.
While on vacation at the beach last summer, I watched other mothers as they chased their kids around, making sure they had sunscreen on and/or didn't poop in the sand. They couldn't kick back and read a book while catching some rays. They had to drag so much more crap down to the beach...umbrellas and cabanas and cooler bags and extra towels and beach toys and a hat and a rash guard and...it was never ending. At night, I took as much time reading in the recliner as possible because I just knew it would be the last vacation where I would be free to do that all I wanted. I thought I would dread this year's vacation because I would finally realize how much my mom's "vacations" had really been harder work than she did at home all these years.
But, as we're getting ready to take one of these beach trips soon, I find that I am in a totally different place than expected. The thought of 9 days with my son, husband, parents, and sister's family sounds amazing. I may be more excited for this vacation than any other. My son is going to hang on the boat with Pops. I will have built in babysitters for the evening that my husband and I choose to go out for a nice dinner and walk on the pier. I get to take my baby to Cape Lookout and show him the fun I enjoyed growing up. We can play in the sand (which I've always secretly loved to do anyway, even after I was kind of too old to do it alone). I don't care that I have to load a pack n play, high chair, and other assorted baby junk into the trunk of our sedan.
And, after he goes to bed exhausted at 8:30 each night, I can spend all the time I want in that same recliner, reading a new book.
I think I feel the opposite way of what I heard before having a kid. I heard a lot of "you will never sleep/eat/have a romantic date again" and while I get that for some people looking back at their child's first year, that may be what it feels like. But I feel so much more fulfilled, settled, and just right. I'm pretty sure I underestimated my own abilities as a mother before my son was bored. I had a lot of "wow, is this really going to work" moments during pregnancy. Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed it and I basked in the attention, the coddling, the thought of those last few months to be a family of two and a dog, but I also wondered what would happen when my monthly "free" nights to have a bath, order Indian takeout, and watch a chick flick alone in my house disappeared. I feared that I would be resentful to my son for this loss of freedom and personal space.
While on vacation at the beach last summer, I watched other mothers as they chased their kids around, making sure they had sunscreen on and/or didn't poop in the sand. They couldn't kick back and read a book while catching some rays. They had to drag so much more crap down to the beach...umbrellas and cabanas and cooler bags and extra towels and beach toys and a hat and a rash guard and...it was never ending. At night, I took as much time reading in the recliner as possible because I just knew it would be the last vacation where I would be free to do that all I wanted. I thought I would dread this year's vacation because I would finally realize how much my mom's "vacations" had really been harder work than she did at home all these years.
But, as we're getting ready to take one of these beach trips soon, I find that I am in a totally different place than expected. The thought of 9 days with my son, husband, parents, and sister's family sounds amazing. I may be more excited for this vacation than any other. My son is going to hang on the boat with Pops. I will have built in babysitters for the evening that my husband and I choose to go out for a nice dinner and walk on the pier. I get to take my baby to Cape Lookout and show him the fun I enjoyed growing up. We can play in the sand (which I've always secretly loved to do anyway, even after I was kind of too old to do it alone). I don't care that I have to load a pack n play, high chair, and other assorted baby junk into the trunk of our sedan.
And, after he goes to bed exhausted at 8:30 each night, I can spend all the time I want in that same recliner, reading a new book.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
I Had a 4 1/3 Day Weekend!
And I have to say, despite an occurrence that could have sucked big-time, I made the most of it.
So let's get the assorted happenings of my trip to see my sister and the site of our country's first Independence Day going.
First of all, the plane flight was fantastic. My baby was an absolute doll, charmed everyone on the plane around us, and settled in for a snack as the plane was being secured. He recognizes the nursing cover now, so my plan to "get ready" early was thwarted when he just couldn't wait five more minutes to begin his meal. So of course, who popped up from under the cover about 15 seconds before takeoff? That's ok, because daddy had the paci handy and my little guy drifted off to sleep instantly. It used to be that I looked forward to the 51-minutes of peace and quiet and my gossip magazine on this flight to Philly, but I have to tell you, the 51 minutes I spent with Jacob asleep on my shoulder, nuzzled into my neck with his arms tucked in between us, was 167 times better than if Jake and Vienna were standing in front of me arguing themselves. It reminded me that things we are scared of before we become parents maybe aren't as bad as we think. I used to nervously eyeball frantic moms with babies on the plane thinking, "yikes! That must suck for her." But no more...now, I get it.
I also learned just how proud my hubby is of the fact that I made a commitment to breastfeed our son as long as possible and stuck to it. When the security person checking the diaper bag pulled out the bottle and said, "um, this is empty?" My husband looked at her and said proudly (and really, almost bordering on snobbishly) "my wife breastfeeds our son". I might have been more in love with him at that moment than ever before!
I'm going to enliven you with a few pics from our trip. First up, we visited a city park. Now, us being Southern suburbian-country folk, a city park is a new experience. I like how this pic says, "We bad...don't mess with us, son, or we'll jack you up."
Of course, there was also a parade. A parade that was interrupted when I foolishly tried to support more weight than I should have at an awkward angle as I was hoisting my fat ass up onto a ledge. That ended with my knee buckling (I actually felt my kneecap slip out of place and back in) and me bruising my tailbone, crying on the sidewalk for nearly a half hour. Luckily I wasn't holding Jacob when it happened. The pain was literally as bad as labor...I had to breathe through it to keep from passing out. I can't believe that
1) I am able to walk, and
2) I was able to walk an hour later
I thought for sure we were going to be wheelchair/emergency room bound. But, while sitting on the sidewalk I happened to snag my new favorite pic of my little guy. Tell me what pain this face couldn't erase:
We tried really hard to watch fireworks. They were supposed to start sometime between 9:30-10:30 and I was really excited because with a birthday of July 7th, you kind of grow up obligated to assume that the fireworks are for your birthday. And I knew Philly would have big ones. Unfortunately, we spent over an hour camped out in a field waiting before finally packing it in at 10:45. Jacob had fallen asleep after being cranky for a half hour. I knew as much as I wanted to see fireworks, it wasn't fair to him. We had to get up early for our flight the next morning, and he hasn't gone to bed past 10 since infancy. There were definitely good times in the field, though! And he loves his aunt and uncle. Until we see them at the beach in three weeks, they will just have to remember this:
I'm going to enliven you with a few pics from our trip. First up, we visited a city park. Now, us being Southern suburbian-country folk, a city park is a new experience. I like how this pic says, "We bad...don't mess with us, son, or we'll jack you up."
Of course, there was also a parade. A parade that was interrupted when I foolishly tried to support more weight than I should have at an awkward angle as I was hoisting my fat ass up onto a ledge. That ended with my knee buckling (I actually felt my kneecap slip out of place and back in) and me bruising my tailbone, crying on the sidewalk for nearly a half hour. Luckily I wasn't holding Jacob when it happened. The pain was literally as bad as labor...I had to breathe through it to keep from passing out. I can't believe that
1) I am able to walk, and
2) I was able to walk an hour later
I thought for sure we were going to be wheelchair/emergency room bound. But, while sitting on the sidewalk I happened to snag my new favorite pic of my little guy. Tell me what pain this face couldn't erase:
We tried really hard to watch fireworks. They were supposed to start sometime between 9:30-10:30 and I was really excited because with a birthday of July 7th, you kind of grow up obligated to assume that the fireworks are for your birthday. And I knew Philly would have big ones. Unfortunately, we spent over an hour camped out in a field waiting before finally packing it in at 10:45. Jacob had fallen asleep after being cranky for a half hour. I knew as much as I wanted to see fireworks, it wasn't fair to him. We had to get up early for our flight the next morning, and he hasn't gone to bed past 10 since infancy. There were definitely good times in the field, though! And he loves his aunt and uncle. Until we see them at the beach in three weeks, they will just have to remember this:
Thursday, June 17, 2010
CABOODLES!
That is a seriously funny word...one I had forgotten about for quite some time (like, since waaaay back in the '90's). Until someone I know wrote it in a facebook status. Man, it brought back one searing memory faster than I could blink, and here I am, sharing it with you.
Come on ladies, you know that either brought you right back to somewhere between 7th and 9th grade, or you are now slack-jawed in all of the early '90's awesomeness going on right therr.
I am a meticulous gift giver. I feel like I spend hours thinking about what I'm going to give people at Christmas, making lists, converting those lists to Excel files complete with a budget calculator, and then online shopping until I find the perfect deal. On the flip side, I worry about gifts given to me. I want people to know that I am truly thankful for anything they give me, and I've always stressed when people have asked for me to make a list of what I want. It feels so incredibly vain and selfish, yet I sit down and plot out all the restaurants I'd love to eat at, spas I'd love to visit, and beauty products that I won't splurge on with my own money (well, most of the time...)
One year when I was around 11 or 12, those horridly awkward tween years (although we didn't call them that back then, we were just still children) my grandmother wanted my Christmas list. And the one thing I really wanted was a Caboodles make-up case.
Come on ladies, you know that either brought you right back to somewhere between 7th and 9th grade, or you are now slack-jawed in all of the early '90's awesomeness going on right therr.
Now, knowing my Granny the way I do, I was all excited for Christmas that year. I had been asking my mom for a Caboodles for months and she just would not give in. Every time we went to Wal-Mart I eyed them, wondering which color Granny would pick out for me, how big it would be (b/c ya, bigger was totally better, we used a lot of eyeshadow AND hairspray in middle school in North Cack). I couldn't get over myself and this Caboodles deal.
And then we got to her house for Christmas, and as I eyed all of the gifts under the tree (Granny went WAY overboard with Christmas presents) I spotted one of those plastic Christmas bags with my name on it. And the shape of made my stomach churn. Because under that bag, I could tell, was a makeup case. A Sassaby makeup case. And I just got more and more nervous and anxious as my turn to open gifts came. Not because I was a bratty spoiled kid, but because I could tell Granny was so proud of getting me exactly what I had asked for and I was nervous that she would be able to tell from my reaction that it was not the right thing. I tried to fake it, I really did. I smiled and hugged her and said thank you and nodded my head when she beamingly asked me if it was the right one. But she could tell.
She kept asking me if I was sure it was right, if I was sure it was ok. I assured her I loved it, but when we got home it just sat in my room untouched. None of the cool girls at Carnage G.T. Magnet Middle School (yes, I went to a school named Carnage, and yes hubby teases me every time I saw it) carried a Sassaby. I would be mocked if I brought that Burgundy monstrosity to the dress rehearsal for our dance recital. Finally my mom just made me exchange it for the one I wanted, and it was like a sigh of relief.
I don't know why I am so worried people won't like my gifts, but I know I am much more worried that people will think I don't appreciate theirs. I would love to hear your gift giving/receiving stories!
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
How I Picked a Fight With My Husband Because the Baby Spit Up.
So, I met a friend for lunch today. A new friend, as in, a blogger friend from online that I was meeting for the first time in "real life". I was very excited for said meeting, as we have "known" each other online for some time and well, to be honest, from the moment I "met" her I just knew we'd have a lot in common.
And we did: we both had to pull our hair into ponytails to eat, we both like cheese on our burgers, and she let the first "f"-bomb fly about 4 1/2 minutes into our conversation, which put me totally at ease. In any case, the point of my story is first impressions are important and I actually cared how I presented myself, so I decided against the still-in-use maternity top even though I am now 7 pounds lighter than when I got pregnant and put on what I consider a nicer top and shrug.
And then my husband woke up late. So, at 7:12, with exactly 3 minutes left before we had to pack into the car, I was holding Jacob and preparing his bottles (after I had already nursed him, changed him, dressed him, and kept him from sticking anything sharp or poisonous in his mouth all morning) while my husband was STILL GETTING HIMSELF READY OVER 40 MINUTES LATER, and the kid puked. All down the front of my shirt, all over his own outfit. What the what? Seriously, he hasn't spit up in months, and this is the moment he picks to let it all out? So unfair, right? So what did I do?
I yelled at my husband. Poor guy happened to make it to the kitchen within seconds of the incident and said, "do you need any help?" I looked him with sharp, sharp daggers instead of eyes and said, "yeah, like RIGHT NOW, and five minutes ago too, by the way." He had to take Jacob upstairs to change him while I frantically "washed" my shirt in the sink. And I'll admit it now, it was totally mean and uncalled for, and not at all the kind of wife I want to be, but we all have those moments. In the car he said (this is him apologizing for not helping) "I don't know how I wasn't ready on time today. I got up at the same time yesterday and had 15 extra minutes to fix the bottles."
What can I say? I've always been a beast in the morning anyway. I am not a gal that wakes up smiling and waiting for the birds to come and visit. I need a pee, a shower, and a good iced coffee before I'm really up and at it, and he is well aware of that. I have a friend that always says to her husband, "you knew what you were getting when you married me, so you shouldn't be surprised by it." I guess that's how I feel. Hopefully tomorrow will be a better commute.
And we did: we both had to pull our hair into ponytails to eat, we both like cheese on our burgers, and she let the first "f"-bomb fly about 4 1/2 minutes into our conversation, which put me totally at ease. In any case, the point of my story is first impressions are important and I actually cared how I presented myself, so I decided against the still-in-use maternity top even though I am now 7 pounds lighter than when I got pregnant and put on what I consider a nicer top and shrug.
And then my husband woke up late. So, at 7:12, with exactly 3 minutes left before we had to pack into the car, I was holding Jacob and preparing his bottles (after I had already nursed him, changed him, dressed him, and kept him from sticking anything sharp or poisonous in his mouth all morning) while my husband was STILL GETTING HIMSELF READY OVER 40 MINUTES LATER, and the kid puked. All down the front of my shirt, all over his own outfit. What the what? Seriously, he hasn't spit up in months, and this is the moment he picks to let it all out? So unfair, right? So what did I do?
I yelled at my husband. Poor guy happened to make it to the kitchen within seconds of the incident and said, "do you need any help?" I looked him with sharp, sharp daggers instead of eyes and said, "yeah, like RIGHT NOW, and five minutes ago too, by the way." He had to take Jacob upstairs to change him while I frantically "washed" my shirt in the sink. And I'll admit it now, it was totally mean and uncalled for, and not at all the kind of wife I want to be, but we all have those moments. In the car he said (this is him apologizing for not helping) "I don't know how I wasn't ready on time today. I got up at the same time yesterday and had 15 extra minutes to fix the bottles."
What can I say? I've always been a beast in the morning anyway. I am not a gal that wakes up smiling and waiting for the birds to come and visit. I need a pee, a shower, and a good iced coffee before I'm really up and at it, and he is well aware of that. I have a friend that always says to her husband, "you knew what you were getting when you married me, so you shouldn't be surprised by it." I guess that's how I feel. Hopefully tomorrow will be a better commute.
Friday, June 11, 2010
Family. The Kind I Didn't Come From.
While I cannot be as specific as I'd like at this time, I am having overwhelming feelings of love for my Mother-In-Law today. What a truly great person. And although I know my mom is my favorite, my husband's mom is a close second. I really lucked out, as we have all heard the jokes and complaints before...they eye-rolling "in-laws" comments, the rants, the family implosions. Hell, I honestly believe that I have better in-laws than some people have actual blood-relatives. (Oh, and don't get me wrong, somewhere down the chain of my husband's family are people I'd like to spend less alone time with Joran Van der Sloot at this point.) But luckily, those are few and far between and I totally lucked into some really great relatives that have adopted me as one of their own.
Today, however, is my mom-in-law's turn. When DH and I got too sick to take care of ourselves earlier this year, she didn't ask but informed us that she was on her way to pick up little man from daycare and keep him for the night so that we could recover. She brought us gatorade and chicken soup, had prescriptions filled, and just took care of it so that we didn't have to. No guilt, no questions asked, just an honestly selfless act. And this was before we sent him on overnight trips because he was still waking at least once or twice a night. No complaints from her.
This is a woman that had my entire family rolling in laughter as she told the story of how at 3 years old, my husband discovered his "junk" for the first time. He was riding his little tricycle around the kitchen naked before bathtime (the love for naked baby time runs deep in our family) when as he was getting off, he spotted "IT". He looked up at his mother with horror and said, as if a pest had attached itself to him, "What ISTHAT?!"
In fact, all of her stories have us laughing when she tells them and my own mother always talks about how she has such a knack for storytelling. And how you can hear the love for her children in her voice when she talks about them. Her sons are somehow both Mama's boys, but not the annoying, always have to call their mom before making a decision kind. More like they respect their mother's fairness and seek her opinion for important things. She somehow is able to give advice without being intrusive.
I don't want to share too much because some of our family is, in fact, private, but she is just a wonderful person. I remember being so scared to meet her when hubby and I had been dating for about three months. Would she judge me? Would she think I was too slutty for her son? Too loudly, obnoxiously flamboyant? (If Jacob brought home a girl like me that's what I'd be doing.) Would she spend our dinner's together Bible-thumping and feeling like I wasn't good enough for her son because I didn't believe in the religion they did? None of those things occured.
In fact, she has been a big part of my journey back to Christianity. Never judging, never pushing, never telling me I was wrong or ridiculing me, just being there in case I had questions, and using her own life to demonstrate a non-hypocritical Christian.
So today, I am celebrating the fact that I have two awesome mothers to look up to, to go to for advice and love and comfort, and to show my son what growing up with two of the most awesome grandmothers in the world feels like. I had that growing up, and I'm so glad that he will experience the same. Instead of having favorites, he will love his grandmothers as equally as I did, because they both love him so much!
Today, however, is my mom-in-law's turn. When DH and I got too sick to take care of ourselves earlier this year, she didn't ask but informed us that she was on her way to pick up little man from daycare and keep him for the night so that we could recover. She brought us gatorade and chicken soup, had prescriptions filled, and just took care of it so that we didn't have to. No guilt, no questions asked, just an honestly selfless act. And this was before we sent him on overnight trips because he was still waking at least once or twice a night. No complaints from her.
This is a woman that had my entire family rolling in laughter as she told the story of how at 3 years old, my husband discovered his "junk" for the first time. He was riding his little tricycle around the kitchen naked before bathtime (the love for naked baby time runs deep in our family) when as he was getting off, he spotted "IT". He looked up at his mother with horror and said, as if a pest had attached itself to him, "What ISTHAT?!"
In fact, all of her stories have us laughing when she tells them and my own mother always talks about how she has such a knack for storytelling. And how you can hear the love for her children in her voice when she talks about them. Her sons are somehow both Mama's boys, but not the annoying, always have to call their mom before making a decision kind. More like they respect their mother's fairness and seek her opinion for important things. She somehow is able to give advice without being intrusive.
I don't want to share too much because some of our family is, in fact, private, but she is just a wonderful person. I remember being so scared to meet her when hubby and I had been dating for about three months. Would she judge me? Would she think I was too slutty for her son? Too loudly, obnoxiously flamboyant? (If Jacob brought home a girl like me that's what I'd be doing.) Would she spend our dinner's together Bible-thumping and feeling like I wasn't good enough for her son because I didn't believe in the religion they did? None of those things occured.
In fact, she has been a big part of my journey back to Christianity. Never judging, never pushing, never telling me I was wrong or ridiculing me, just being there in case I had questions, and using her own life to demonstrate a non-hypocritical Christian.
So today, I am celebrating the fact that I have two awesome mothers to look up to, to go to for advice and love and comfort, and to show my son what growing up with two of the most awesome grandmothers in the world feels like. I had that growing up, and I'm so glad that he will experience the same. Instead of having favorites, he will love his grandmothers as equally as I did, because they both love him so much!
Thursday, June 3, 2010
I Used to Be a Night Owl.
Before baby, I was such a late night person. I used to work in retail management, and had a wonky schedule with nice time off during the work week, shifts that started at 1PM sometimes, and being at work before 9:30 was considered early.
I switched to my current career around a year and a half before Jacob's birth, with "banker's hours" and although it took a while, I eventually got used to it. However, I was still terrified of what would happen once I gave birth. Seriously, I could easily stay up until 2AM, sleep until 10AM, and my husband and I never seemed to be able to make it out of the house on the weekends until noon or later. The thought of waking before 7AM was reserved for plane flights, nightmares, and Easter Sunrise Service. How was I going to adjust to having to get myself and a baby ready, take him to daycare, and still be at work by 8 or 8:30?
Part of the solution was to find a daycare that only made my one-way commute 7.1 miles. Mission accomplished, until a recent promotion that puts my one-way commute at over 30 miles. I have to leave home nearly an hour before I'm scheduled to be at work. How has that worked? Surprisingly, exceedingly well. I am usually the first one to my office in the morning. My husband and I will soon begin carpooling three days a week. I go to bed between 10-11PM, wake up between 6 and 6:30, and I actually enjoy it.
This morning, before 8:15, I took a shower, got dressed, put bandages on my heels to prevent new-shoe blister syndrome, nursed Jacob and changed his diaper, played and flirted with him for 15 minutes, took him to daycare, took the dog to the vet/groomer on the way to work, and swung by Starbucks for an Iced Caramel Macchiatto. It felt GREAT! Next up, waking up at 5:30 to have half an hour of "me" time? I used to think that would be impossible, but now I think it can be done. We'll see...
I switched to my current career around a year and a half before Jacob's birth, with "banker's hours" and although it took a while, I eventually got used to it. However, I was still terrified of what would happen once I gave birth. Seriously, I could easily stay up until 2AM, sleep until 10AM, and my husband and I never seemed to be able to make it out of the house on the weekends until noon or later. The thought of waking before 7AM was reserved for plane flights, nightmares, and Easter Sunrise Service. How was I going to adjust to having to get myself and a baby ready, take him to daycare, and still be at work by 8 or 8:30?
Part of the solution was to find a daycare that only made my one-way commute 7.1 miles. Mission accomplished, until a recent promotion that puts my one-way commute at over 30 miles. I have to leave home nearly an hour before I'm scheduled to be at work. How has that worked? Surprisingly, exceedingly well. I am usually the first one to my office in the morning. My husband and I will soon begin carpooling three days a week. I go to bed between 10-11PM, wake up between 6 and 6:30, and I actually enjoy it.
This morning, before 8:15, I took a shower, got dressed, put bandages on my heels to prevent new-shoe blister syndrome, nursed Jacob and changed his diaper, played and flirted with him for 15 minutes, took him to daycare, took the dog to the vet/groomer on the way to work, and swung by Starbucks for an Iced Caramel Macchiatto. It felt GREAT! Next up, waking up at 5:30 to have half an hour of "me" time? I used to think that would be impossible, but now I think it can be done. We'll see...
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
"Your life will change, you know."
Man, if I had a dollar for every time I heard that while pregnant with this child, I could have quit my job and been a Stay at Home Mom. And I totally agree.
But what people don't tell you (or maybe they forget because life gets busier along the way) is that it changes in such amazingly good ways that you cannot fathom until your child is born. Or maybe you can't even fathom it until your baby is a little older and a little less needy. When he crawls over to your husband, pulls up to stand in front of him, and opens his little mouth like a bird waiting for Daddy to share his breakfast.
I am one of the lucky moms: I have tons of trustworthy family in the area that practically are begging to babysit, yet my husband and I feel like we get so little time with Little Man due to two full time jobs that our problem is letting him out of our sight enough to satisfy said family. People ask me all the time when they will get to babysit, and I think about the Strawberry Festival I want to take him to that weekend before giving an answer. Still, every now and then I get a surge of "rat-race" emotions and I just wish I could have a night off (this usually comes on a Tuesday afternoon when there is no one volunteering to babysit).
Twice since he has been born (nearly nine months ago) I have thought about life without baby in a somewhat rosy way. The most recent was when a co-worker bought lunch and mentioned that her husband was out of town, so she would be going home to leftover take-out, her lapdog, and a bottle of wine. What freedom, I thought. I forget what it's like to go home and have the house to yourself, enjoying Indian food (which my hubby can't stand) and a chick flick all by myself. Staying up until 2AM because I had no intention of waking up until after 9. When I was pregnant, I was afraid of what would happen when I didn't have any of those nights to myself anymore. Could I live like that? I tend to be a person who likes to have some "alone time" at least twice a week. My husband and I already fought about the times when he wanted me with him and I wanted to be selfish, soaking in the tub for an hour or two with a book.
Well, I drove home from work slightly jealous until I got to daycare. And my little boy beamed at me with such joy and pride that any feelings of "me time" just slipped away and I instantly slipped back into full-on MOM mode. As I played with him for the tiny hour I could, fed him his dinner, and nursed him to sleep around 8:30, I couldn't help but feel as though I was the luckiest woman on earth. And I laughed a little at myself. Because, honestly, a glass of wine and take-out could never compare to the feeling I get when I'm rocking quietly with a little being that likes to reach back and stroke my hand where it's cupping his little body next to mine.
But what people don't tell you (or maybe they forget because life gets busier along the way) is that it changes in such amazingly good ways that you cannot fathom until your child is born. Or maybe you can't even fathom it until your baby is a little older and a little less needy. When he crawls over to your husband, pulls up to stand in front of him, and opens his little mouth like a bird waiting for Daddy to share his breakfast.
I am one of the lucky moms: I have tons of trustworthy family in the area that practically are begging to babysit, yet my husband and I feel like we get so little time with Little Man due to two full time jobs that our problem is letting him out of our sight enough to satisfy said family. People ask me all the time when they will get to babysit, and I think about the Strawberry Festival I want to take him to that weekend before giving an answer. Still, every now and then I get a surge of "rat-race" emotions and I just wish I could have a night off (this usually comes on a Tuesday afternoon when there is no one volunteering to babysit).
Twice since he has been born (nearly nine months ago) I have thought about life without baby in a somewhat rosy way. The most recent was when a co-worker bought lunch and mentioned that her husband was out of town, so she would be going home to leftover take-out, her lapdog, and a bottle of wine. What freedom, I thought. I forget what it's like to go home and have the house to yourself, enjoying Indian food (which my hubby can't stand) and a chick flick all by myself. Staying up until 2AM because I had no intention of waking up until after 9. When I was pregnant, I was afraid of what would happen when I didn't have any of those nights to myself anymore. Could I live like that? I tend to be a person who likes to have some "alone time" at least twice a week. My husband and I already fought about the times when he wanted me with him and I wanted to be selfish, soaking in the tub for an hour or two with a book.
Well, I drove home from work slightly jealous until I got to daycare. And my little boy beamed at me with such joy and pride that any feelings of "me time" just slipped away and I instantly slipped back into full-on MOM mode. As I played with him for the tiny hour I could, fed him his dinner, and nursed him to sleep around 8:30, I couldn't help but feel as though I was the luckiest woman on earth. And I laughed a little at myself. Because, honestly, a glass of wine and take-out could never compare to the feeling I get when I'm rocking quietly with a little being that likes to reach back and stroke my hand where it's cupping his little body next to mine.
Saturday, May 8, 2010
Soo.....Mothers Day. About that...
I've been thinking a lot about Mother's Day this week, since so many people have reminded me (as if I could forget) that this is my first one. Something I guess I don't get is the whole "mom's day off" concept. Maybe six years down the line when I'm driving a minivan with a booster and a carseat to soccer practice and ballet class and life seems like it couldn't possibly be more busy or stressful, I will understand, but for now, I just don't.
Because I don't want a day off! I just feel like the whole point of Mother's Day is for me to celebrate the life I helped create and the bond that I share with my son. I have spent a good deal of my day caring for him: feeding him, spreading a blanket out in his room so he could hang around diaper free and climb stuff, urging him to follow me crawling around the house as I folded laundry and washed his dishes, giving him part of my lunch to eat/play with, sharing in his bathtime, more naked time with him shaking his head and grinning at me, now down for another nap. Why would I need time off from that?
I looked at my husband earlier this week and said incredulously, "can you believe we thought we may be bored after our kid was born?" We get home from work and just do nothing, but everything. Just sitting in the living room playing with little man and fur princess is enough to fill up the all too short hour of our time before feeding, bathing, and bedtime begin. Jacob is getting to the age where I can give him a tupperware bowl and wooden spoon and he will amuse himself happily while I do some kitchen work, as long as I'm watching him.
My favorite part of watching him grow right now is his independence that still mixes with the need for mama's safety. When he crawls down the hall and every few feet stops and turns to make sure I'm still there, still watching, just melts me. (Almost as much as I melt when he crawls towards me saying "MaMaMaMaMah".)
So, for Mother's Day, no day off for me. I want to soak up every spare second I can with my son, and give him as many cuddles, hugs, and kisses as he will allow.
Because I don't want a day off! I just feel like the whole point of Mother's Day is for me to celebrate the life I helped create and the bond that I share with my son. I have spent a good deal of my day caring for him: feeding him, spreading a blanket out in his room so he could hang around diaper free and climb stuff, urging him to follow me crawling around the house as I folded laundry and washed his dishes, giving him part of my lunch to eat/play with, sharing in his bathtime, more naked time with him shaking his head and grinning at me, now down for another nap. Why would I need time off from that?
I looked at my husband earlier this week and said incredulously, "can you believe we thought we may be bored after our kid was born?" We get home from work and just do nothing, but everything. Just sitting in the living room playing with little man and fur princess is enough to fill up the all too short hour of our time before feeding, bathing, and bedtime begin. Jacob is getting to the age where I can give him a tupperware bowl and wooden spoon and he will amuse himself happily while I do some kitchen work, as long as I'm watching him.
My favorite part of watching him grow right now is his independence that still mixes with the need for mama's safety. When he crawls down the hall and every few feet stops and turns to make sure I'm still there, still watching, just melts me. (Almost as much as I melt when he crawls towards me saying "MaMaMaMaMah".)
So, for Mother's Day, no day off for me. I want to soak up every spare second I can with my son, and give him as many cuddles, hugs, and kisses as he will allow.
Monday, April 5, 2010
A Divine Experience
Yesterday was Easter. Now, a brief history for those that do not know me in real life or have followed my blog since the beginning: I am a Christian, but my Christianity is something that has taken a long, slow wagon wheel journey to arrive at. Religion is something that I hold very personally dear to my heart, and I do believe it should be a personal experience for everyone. Most of the time I try to do right by my Lord, but it is a struggle.
Yesterday was one of the days it was easy. I went to a sunrise service with my mom and little sister. At a black church. (I use the term loosely...the service was held at a worship center with a congregation that is mostly African American.) I have never been to such a place before, but I've always kind of wanted to...what I've heard about traditionally black churches has definitely had my curiosity piqued for a while. Us Southern Baptists (which I'm still not sure is where my own religious alliances lie, but the church I attend is of this denomination) tend to like our worship on the serious side. Nothing wrong with that, reverence has it's place. But part of me has always felt like church lacks some of this "joyous noise" I've always heard about.
We drug ourselves into the sanctuary around 6:30AM, after a bone-tiring day of hot sunshine and Easter egg hunts and grilling and basketball the day before, grumbling about why weren't we having sunrise service outside where we could see the sunrise, not knowing what a surprise this church had for us. At promptly 6:48, four women stood up at the front and sang a song that was loud, exciting, and accompanied by a band. Immediately we all sprang to our feet, clapping and swaying to the music. One of my first thoughts was, "wow...how can you not feel good about God when you start your day this way?" We sang three songs total, with free reign to dance, clap, shout, sing, whatever we felt like letting out. It was such a release for me to be able to be joyous about every miracle God has placed in my life this past year.
The rest of the service was just as enlightening. I finally realize why people murmur during the sermon or a prayer. It just shows your agreement, your appreciation for what the speaker and God have done for you. It just made me feel so present and alive. And after the service was over, the congregation served breakfast and were the most welcoming people I have ever met. Genuinely welcoming and wanting to get to know us. It set the tone for the rest of my Easter Sunday, and what a day it was. Happiness abounds!
And as promised, the yearly Easter family portrait:
Hot mama dress and all.
Yesterday was one of the days it was easy. I went to a sunrise service with my mom and little sister. At a black church. (I use the term loosely...the service was held at a worship center with a congregation that is mostly African American.) I have never been to such a place before, but I've always kind of wanted to...what I've heard about traditionally black churches has definitely had my curiosity piqued for a while. Us Southern Baptists (which I'm still not sure is where my own religious alliances lie, but the church I attend is of this denomination) tend to like our worship on the serious side. Nothing wrong with that, reverence has it's place. But part of me has always felt like church lacks some of this "joyous noise" I've always heard about.
We drug ourselves into the sanctuary around 6:30AM, after a bone-tiring day of hot sunshine and Easter egg hunts and grilling and basketball the day before, grumbling about why weren't we having sunrise service outside where we could see the sunrise, not knowing what a surprise this church had for us. At promptly 6:48, four women stood up at the front and sang a song that was loud, exciting, and accompanied by a band. Immediately we all sprang to our feet, clapping and swaying to the music. One of my first thoughts was, "wow...how can you not feel good about God when you start your day this way?" We sang three songs total, with free reign to dance, clap, shout, sing, whatever we felt like letting out. It was such a release for me to be able to be joyous about every miracle God has placed in my life this past year.
The rest of the service was just as enlightening. I finally realize why people murmur during the sermon or a prayer. It just shows your agreement, your appreciation for what the speaker and God have done for you. It just made me feel so present and alive. And after the service was over, the congregation served breakfast and were the most welcoming people I have ever met. Genuinely welcoming and wanting to get to know us. It set the tone for the rest of my Easter Sunday, and what a day it was. Happiness abounds!
And as promised, the yearly Easter family portrait:
Hot mama dress and all.
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