When I Get That Urge to Kick Something, I Think of Emily (And Usually Do It Anyway)

Emily is very expressive.  Lately, when things are not going her way, she growls and says, "I'm frustrated!" Or, if Andrew is not doing things the way she wants him to, she angrily grunts "Andrew! Stop!"

I know exactly where she gets her grunts and expressions from - me.  While I could sit and feel guilty that my daughter is learning bad behaviour from her mom, I choose to look at her angry grunts, scowls, and snide remarks as evidence of her emerging self.  Like all kids her age, she imitates what she sees, so all my explosions of frustration and anger teach her how to respond when she faces similar situations.  And I don't see any problem with that.

Frankly, I think my responses are fairly mild.  I don't yell, spank, or call her and her brother names (besides pooky pants or other silly made up words) and I am quick to apologize and show an excessive amount of love.  Something that she has also picked up on.

When Andrew is having a hard day, she hugs him and gives him extra attention and special treatment.  When I am sick, she rubs my back and says, "I'm sorry momma."  If Andrew falls down, she runs to him and says "are you okay?"  And, best of all, she will randomly tell all of us how much she loves us.

Yeah, my daughter can get angry - like me - but, more often and more importantly, she is a sweet girl who willingly and freely expresses her affections toward her loved ones.  I can honestly say I taught her that too.

****Don't forget to comment on THIS POST for a chance to win a book!  I promise, it's worth it!****

Growing Together

With Emily being my first, I feel like I am blindly groping my way through the dark room of parenthood.  Her twos kicked my trash and now her threes are taking me on a Merry-Go-Round ride of emotions.  She picks up on everything I talk with Ben about and is starting to understand and fully express the various emotions of this human state.

Her wit is dizzying.

But rather than spinning out of control, I find us on the same ride: sometimes speeding up and sometimes slowing down.  The Universe is in control and the good we send into space returns, twenty-fold, keeping our ride bumpy, but safe.

I'm not always sure what to expect, but I feel confident that she and I will enjoy this ride and learn as we grow together.

This is part of Galit and Alison's, Memories Captured Linky.

 

 

 

A Birth(day) Story

My dear Emily turned three this month.  While I am amazed by all she is blossoming into: a thoughtful pre-schooler, a loving sister, an ornery monkey; I am thinking more about her birth.  It is time I write her story down.

To Emily: Your Arrival

Though I was a week late on my period, I refused to take a test.  At least until I could surprise Ben.  Naturally, as soon as he heard the test wrapper--at 4 am--he couldn't resist tumbling into the bathroom.  Since it wasn't a secret anymore, he sat with me as we waited for the results.

And there they were: two pink lines.  A perfect gift to your father on his birthday.

At exactly 22 weeks, while I was sitting in my morning class, I felt the first kick.  I had waited, somewhat impatiently, to feel those movements.  The location of my placenta--directly in front (behind?) of my belly button, insulated my skin from feeling your movements sooner.  Anyway, I felt the first movement and immediately stopped paying attention to the lecture.  I could hardly wait until I could call your father.

Two weeks later, I had an appendectomy.  It was a terrifying experience.  I am extremely glad nothing happened to you.

Finally, things settled down.  I eagerly awaited, and prepared, for your birth.

At 38 weeks, 10 days before your official due date, I took castor oil to get things going.  Within hours, I was having regular contractions.  Per the birth training I had used (hypnobirthing), I breathed through them.  They were intense, but I did not feel any pain.  By midnight, your father convinced me to pack our bags and head to the hospital.

Once there, we settled in for the hour wait to see if we would be admitted.  While I continued to breathe through the contractions--the peaks continued growing while the time between was shrinking--your father watched the Olympics.  At that time of night, the only event on was speed walking.  Talk about thrilling.

Though I had not progressed too far, the nurse convinced my midwife to admit me because clearly my contractions were not going to slow down.

The nurse wheeled me to our room and Ben turned on calm music.  I used a variety of breathing techniques to keep my body relaxed and felt as comfortable as I could.  Between contractions (which were happening every 30 seconds), I dozed.

Although I should have felt exhausted, I could not wipe the smile off my face; nor rid my body of the adrenaline.  I was to meet my little girl soon!  I would be seeing the face I had pictured so perfectly for the last 9 months.  I was ready.

As with most first pregnancies, the labor was slow and intense.  I was admitted in the hospital at 1 am.  By 7 am, I had progressed to a 6 and the midwife encouraged me to have my membranes ruptured.  I was too exhausted to argue, so she went ahead. Though things had progressed calmly, once my membranes were ruptured, the pain rocked through my body.  Sending me into spasms.  I tried everything.  I went to the bath, walked around (the hospital's strict policy of constant fetal monitoring did not ease my sufferings), and had Ben massage my back.  I breathed.  I pictured calm images.  Nothing worked.  At 9 am, a different midwife (one who I did not like) looked in, checked me, and insisted I start on a Pitocin drip.  Her reasoning was I had slowed down.  Since I was clearly in pain, and not in a condition to respond rationally, I agreed only after requesting an epidural.  My plan of natural birth went out the window, and I was okay with that.  And so was Ben.

I hunkered down, waiting for the anesthesiologist.  When he arrived, he asked that I stay still.  Since my contractions were still overlapping, with only a few seconds break in between, I knew this request would be utterly impossible.  With Ben's stabling hand, I held still long enough for the doctor to insert the needle.

Once the anesthesia spread through my blood, my body relaxed.  I was able to breathe slowly again and finally able to rest.  After a few hours, the nurse checked me and, much to my surprise, announced I had progressed to a ten.  She called the midwife and everyone else who is involved with the birthing part (I don't even remember who was in there, I just remember it was a big group of people).

Unfortunately, the midwife was not patient and holistic like she had learned in training.  After only one push, she said she would need to perform an episiotomy.  I refused.  Each push she would say the same thing and I would vehemently disagree. I knew I didn't need one.  I held her off long enough to push you out.  By that time, only 15-30 minutes had passed and I had pushed maybe 5 times.  When I felt your head and feet come out, heard your cries, and saw your face, I had a rush of emotions.



The silly midwife did not give you directly to me.  Instead, she handed you off to the nurses for your first bath as she sewed my few tears up.  Your daddy and I had to wait until almost 10-15 minutes after your arrival to hold you.  Everything felt surreal.  I couldn't quite grasp that you were really mine; that I was your mom and Ben was your dad.  I held you and, between exhaustion and fear, felt disconnected from the moment.

When I finally sat down to nurse you, it was both beautiful and incredibly painful.  I bore the pain and successfully managed to nurse you almost the entire time in the hospital. (It took 4 months for the pain to finally subside, but I grew to really love it and have never regretted sticking with it.)

There were many things I felt angry about with your birth.  As time progresses, the pain, anxiety, and fear of those first negative experiences fade.  I now look fondly on the labor and birth.  You were the first; as such, there are many special moments that are incomparable.

That first night, Ben held you.  I was physically and emotionally spent and needed some sleep.  You were awake that entire night, just looking at everything around you, exploring your new world.  As I woke up sporadically throughout the night, I would see you and your father gazing at each other.  You with curiosity, your daddy with amazement, and I fell in love with you and your father (again).  I knew those moments he had were moments that would be repeated--with both of us--over our lifetime.

There are many moments that I worry I have let you down.  As I grow more confident, I feel I am growing into being your mother. From birth to now, I still feel this sweet connection with you.  I love to hug, kiss, and snuggle you.  Thank you for loving me despite my many imperfections.

I remember our small family then.  You were--still are--the center of our attention.



Even though you share our time with your brother, my love for your has never divided.  Instead, it has multiplied the more I come to know you, your nuances, and your amazing personality.  I love you to pieces, now until forever.

Love,

Momma

How I Get Sleep

This week has been a monumental fail.  Parenting fail after fail after fail.  But, since this is supposed to be an upbeat post, I thought I'd talk about sleep.

For whatever reason, the babes have returned to their newborn schedules of waking up one to three times at night.  Which is why they end up in bed with us.  And this is what usually happens.

Sometime around 2 AM: Emily screams at the top of her lungs, I stumble out of bed, cursing, sure there is something dreadful happening and retrieve her from her room.  I place her in the middle of our bed and hope she sleeps.

Close to 4 AM: Andrew starts whimpering, than crying, then screaming.  Once again, I stumble out of bed*.  This time I go to the kitchen, prepare some milk, then pick him up from the crib.  I scoot Emily closer to her dad, place Andrew next to her, and hope he goes back to sleep.

Probably around 5 AM: Kids start rolling and jumping around, laughing, and alternate between sticking their bums on our faces and pulling our hair.  I grab them, grumbling nothing but sweet words under my breath, take them back into their rooms and hope they will sleep for AT LEAST another hour or so in their cribs.

Sooner than I wished: Kids wake up, yell, "MOM!" (Emily yells, Andrew babbles something like dadad mamama tyenah (Tylenol, his first word),  I stare at the ceiling wondering how long I can keep them in their rooms.

My sleep is less than optimal while they are in bed with me, and, rather than figuring out why they are waking up, I do what I can to expend the least amount of energy possible in the middle of the night.

It may not be the best solution, but it works for me.

*Since Ben is working two jobs, I think it's best that he gets all the sleep he can. Still, there are many nights where he takes his turn with the kids.

Are you an awesome parent?  Of course you are!  Write a post about a parenting style, philosophy, or moment you are proud of and let us know by linking up below or commenting. (Want more details?  Click on the button above or click here.)

Virtual Hot Cocoa

Cathy suggested we have a cup of virtual coffee together, much like Corinne's weekly series.   I think this is a wonderful idea and will only tweak it a little--by making mine a cup of hot chocolate.   Don't worry, you can keep your cup of coffee if you'd like.

If we met for hot chocolate, we would exchange holiday stories.  I would tell you mine were perfect: Relaxed and guilt-free.  Ben and I decided on a new tradition that will take a couple years to get going, but we are very excited to see it come to pass.

I would ask about your family then tell you about mine: How Andrew took his first steps on Christmas Eve among wild applause and shouts of, "Hooray!";  that I finally conceded to potty training Emily because she is doing it all on her own. You would laugh as I describe how she marches right to her little potty when she needs to relieve herself, stands up and yells, "I go pee pee, Mommy!" when she's finished and helps me empty the bowl it into the toilet.  Afterward, she instantly demands a treat.  Which I often agree to because she is just so big and I am just so proud.  You would ask about Ben and I would share how marvelous it was to have him work only one job over Christmas break.  We had so much fun together.

You would ask how I'm feeling.  A little rough emotionally, I'd explain, especially since some of my friends are having their babies right now.   It makes me hurt knowing that I won't be holding mine in May, even as I take comfort in knowing she (I always knew it was a she) is being held by God in Heaven.  Physically...well I'd quickly change the subject because that's a sore (no pun intended) topic right now.

We would swap resolutions lists.  I would tell you that I don't expect perfection in my goals, just gradual changes as I continue to grow through my experiences.  You would nod your head at my wisdom and then we'd both collapse in fits of giggles because, let's be honest, "being wise" isn't my greatest attribute.

As our time ended, always too quickly, we'd stand and give each other giant hugs.  We'd promise to meet at the same place, same time next week with new insights to share and stories to laugh about.

Until then...

What would you share?

My (Non)Thrifty Children

We have been on a budget for most of our marriage, but especially so after Ben graduated (hence the two jobs).  I thought I've taught my kids the importance of sticking to the budget.  Apparently I was wrong.

Just last week I explained to them that we needed to ration out our diapers and wipes.

"One diaper and ten wipes a day," I said.

"Blahadadalelabladamamkama!" Andrew replied.

"I wanna drink!" Emily responded.

Alright, I thought, it will be smooth sailing from here on out.

Then they decided to get sick!  This more than quadrupled our diaper usage!  I couldn't very well let them make messes on the floor, could I?  So I had to let them use more than their one diaper quota.

It's even worse when we head to the store.

"Don't touch anything!" I sternly warn them.

Before we are even down the first aisle, Emily has licked/bit on half the items.  I had only to buy milk, bread, and cheese, but by the time we head to the check-out stand, my cart is full from her diligent efforts at vandalizing my grocery budget.  Naturally, once I am loading all her groceries onto the conveyor belt, she grabs all the candy from the display, rips them open, and begins chowing down on her stolen goods.

Between my kids' out of hand diaper usage and Emily's expensive grocery trips, I've already spent my allotted allowance.  And it's only the first of the month.

I guess it's back to the drawing board.

Of Princesses and Puppy Dogs

After I came out about our family's lack of holiday spirit (every holiday, mind you), I felt greatly relieved.  So much so that I actually celebrated Halloween with the kids.  Please don't die of shock.

Ben worked all weekend, so I decided to take the kids to our church's trunk or treat and chile cook off.

It. Was. Hard.  After arriving, I kept asking myself why in the world I even went.  I did have a good reason.  Truly.  I cannot use the excuse of Ben's absence to abstain from out-of-the-home activities.  So, I will go when I can and do my best to make it fun for the kids.  I don't know how to describe the event in greater detail without sounding too negative, but I will say that I am proud of myself for staying through the dinner and not breaking down.  I waited until after we left to cry.  Go me!

Ben worked Halloween day, so we were able to take the kids trick-or-treating to a few houses that night.  It was worth trucking through our cold and deserted neighborhood to hear Emily say, "trick or treat!"

I guess I could share photos with all of you.  (In case you are wondering, Ben nor I dressed up.  That would have been too much effort.)   I am so very proud of myself for  getting the kids in their costumes two days in a row.



Andrew kept his costume on long enough for me to take this picture, and then he acted like a one-year old by ripping it off and throwing it at me.  Silly boy.

Emily loved being a "pincess."  Since she has never seen a Disney movie, I don't think she has any idea what that means, but she did enjoy the dress, the tiara, and the wand thingy.

I like this new freedom I feel from the holidays.  It makes them kind of fun!

Things I'm Teaching My Kids...And My Husband

A few afternoons ago, Emily was sitting at the table and farted.  She yelled, "Excuse me! Hahaha!"  Since I haven't taught her that, I looked at her, a bit confused, and she repeated it, "Excuse me! Hahah!"

That's when I realized where she learned it from.  Me, trying to teach her daddy to say that.

Wow.  My girl has more manners than her daddy.

Moving Forward

A Little Memorial

We held the memorial service in our living room--a fitting place since most the events happened there--with us, the kids, and my mother-in-law.  It was an emotional and peaceful service.  Short and sweet.

All About Science

Every person handles loss differently.  For me, I use my knowledge of science and reproduction to obsessively deduce what has happened.

Because of the severity of the miscarriage--the intense contractions, bleeding, and clotting--it would seem that I was about 8 weeks along.  Unfortunately, the hCG levels  remained at a 4-week level. Slowly increasing.  Very slowly.  This left the embryo in a very inhospitable environment, especially since the amniotic sac was already having trouble connecting to the endometrium.

My body rejected the growing baby.

Moving Forward

During the memorial service,  a little voice whispered, It's okay.  Your baby is safe with me.  Keep moving forward.

Moving forward doesn't mean forget, it means continue to live.  I have much living to do with my sweet husband and beautiful children.  And with myself.

I have kept myself secluded inside my house.  Afraid to be outside,  unsure of how I would react to questions and condolences.

I feel myself ready to take baby-steps.  Taking short walks around the neighborhood.  Cooking meals.  Talking with neighbors, friends, and family.   Big gatherings, like church, are still too much.  Too painful.  But I'm emerging.

On Life

Many friends have brought over flowers.  They bring much comfort.  Their vivacious beauty reminds me how to live: It's more than smelling the flowers, it's nurturing them.

On returning home from our short getaway,  I ran up the stairs, into my babys' rooms (they were sleeping) and scooped them into my arms.  I smelled their delicious scent and smothered their smooth faces with kisses.  Lots and lots of kisses.

Healing

I'm not as brittle as I was a few days ago.  I feel strong.  Powered by my husband's love, my children's affection,  and the Plan of Salvation, I know I can heal.  The pain will remain nestled within my heart,  nudging me every now and then (like all day today),  but I feel its rawness dissipating.

I am coming back,  armed with a new perspective and knowledge from my experience.

Seeing Beyond the Imperfections

I used to hide from the camera.  In my teen years, I didn't want to remember what I looked like.  In fact, I still feel that way.  Like most teens, I was insecure--about my acne, my weight, my smile, and everything else.  My measuring stick were my sisters.  They were and are beautiful.  In my mind, I could not compete to my dark haired beauty counterparts.

The struggle continued into my marriage.  But, like the famous Mahana (Mormon joke), my husband's continuous praise helped me see beyond the physical impurities and recognize my great potential.

Acceptance of my body has come in different stages.  The most important, for me, was accepting my face by no longer avoiding the camera.

Over the past few months,  I have obsessed about including myself in photos.  Not because I have some sense of impending doom,  but because I want my kids to have photographic proof that I was at certain events and that we did have fun together.

(The one catch,  Ben is not allowed to photograph me.  How do I put this...the photos he takes of me are not the most attractive.  Hey,  I have my dignity to maintain.)

Since I am alone with my kids much of the day,  I photograph us with the old-school style of holding the camera out and taking face shots.  That's right, face shots.   My fear of looking at my blemished face has disappeared.  This is for my kids anyway.

[caption id="attachment_942" align="aligncenter" width="500" caption="My sweet angel, Andrew"][/caption]

[caption id="attachment_941" align="aligncenter" width="500" caption="My gorgeous daughter, Emily"][/caption]

These kids? They make my life full.  Fuller than I could ever have imagined.

Since the miscarriage, I am often reminded to hold my two babies close. This is hard because the physical pain I am experiencing;  still, I hug and rock them constantly.

How can I possibly describe the indescribable?  My little Emily and Andrew are my life.  I say that unashamedly.  Sure I have myself outside of them, but right now that "self" seems so unnecessary.  Perhaps it was the miscarriages that helped me see my reality: Despite the challenges of being a mother, it is one of the best jobs I have and will ever hold.

I will also say, I am the best mother for them.  Yes I am.  No living person loves these two more than me.  Another person would not sing them personalized songs when they wake up from naps and in the morning or throw spontaneous dance parties when they wake up at midnight or miss them while they are sleeping.  I am their interpreter, teacher, cook, mediator, and, best of all, their mother.

In a short time they will be grown up.  The will no longer need me as much as now.  This doesn't make me sad, however, because I feel one of my greatest job responsibilities is raising them to be moral, industrious, conscientious adults. For now, though, they need me.  And I need them.

They see my face daily.  Not the face I crucially examine, but the perfect face of their beloved mother.

Just like I only see perfection in them.

To My Eldest:

When you emerged into this world,  your curiosity was unquenchable.   That first night, you stayed up with your dad,  learning about your new world.  Your bright eyes--big even then--stared at everything with wonder and amazement.  With your first breath, you stole my heart.



That curiosity has remained part of your personality.  You learned to sit up, crawl, and walk around on furniture early because it enabled you to explore further and deeper.  Though your adventurous spirit often led to calls to the Poison Control or the doctor,  I was ecstatic to have such an interested student of life.



This day marks your second year in this world.  Thinking about that makes me gasp with how remarkably fast everything went.  I am not sad to see you grow up because I thoroughly enjoyed your infancy.   Your ready smile and brilliant, blue eyes kept me joyful and captivated.  You taught--continue to teach--me how to be a mother.   Even when your brother came so soon after your own year birthday, you remained the happy little girl you have always been.



As you are learning to communicate better,  I am discovering another component of your personality: compassion.  When I am frustrated or in pain, you immediately recognize that something is wrong and quickly quip, "Are you okay?" while pausing in whatever endeavor you were pursuing.  This question always gives me chills, even when I respond, honestly, "No, I'm not."  This coupled with watching you interact with your younger brother has given me brief glimpses of the woman you will become one day.  I hope that you cherish that bond between your brother and yourself.



Dearest Emily, you have been patient with me during my evolution these past two years.  I am constantly grateful for your everlasting love.  You and your brother are my greatest treasures.

Love,

Your Mother

I emerged for a few days only to leave again.  Fear not,  I will be back very soon!  Have a wonderful (early) weekend!

On a Whim

I do not like being away from Ben.  Even though he is gone quite a bit, I prefer his current schedule to one in which he would travel.  My preference does not exclude me from feeling overwhelmed.  Especially when Ben's schedule becomes so packed that I am left to bear all familial responsibilities.  That is how last week was. When I recognized that my sanity was quickly slipping through my cupped hands, I made a difficult decision.

When Ben came home on Saturday night, I explained how I was feeling and offered a solution.  A visit to my family's house.  Even though he would miss us greatly,  he realized it was the best possible answer.

On Sunday,  I finished laundry and packed the suitcases.  I was nervous. I would be driving for 6 hours alone and with the kids.  Two very young kids.

The next morning, Andrew and Emily woke up 15 minutes prior to when my alarm clock was set to ring--at 4 am.  I decided it was now or never, so I quickly fed Andrew and loaded the luggage into the car (which included 2 suitcases, 2 Pack n' Plays, 2 booster seats, and 2 grocery bags filled with food).  After a long kiss good-bye and a prayer for safety, Ben helped me load the kids into the car and we were on our way.

Because I left so early, the kids slept most of the way.  The challenge was when I needed to use the restroom.  Thankfully, they are small enough that I could carry them into a bathroom stall with me.  Maybe not the most sanitary option, but that's why I am liberal with hand sanitizer.

I still miss Ben, greatly.  Yet, it is nice to be somewhere with instant entertainment for Emily, yummy meals each night, and help with my little Andrew.

It kind of makes me hope we can stay out west for medical school.

A Big Slobbery Thank You

It just so happens that I forgot to mention one major culprit in my emotional drama of last week: Miss Flow.  While I am grateful for this physical reminder of my fertility, I can't exactly gush about how she messes up my emotions.  Everything seems much more dramatic when she visits.

I recovered a bit of my spice over the weekend.  Your comments were a gigantic help in reminding me of the support group I have.   As much as days like those suck, it feels less overwhelming when I know that other people can relate.  Reading your comments while drinking Diet Dr. Pepper certainly alleviated much of the sadness I felt.

In case I forget how incredibly lucky I am, let me list a few things that made me smile this weekend.



Watching this little girl canter and twirl around our living room.

Feeling her sweet, slobbery kisses on my cheek.

Smiling as she sings little songs about me, Ben, and her little brother.



Tickling his numerous rolls.

Listening to his little baby noises.

Feeling like the greatest mom in the world as he smiles and laughs when I walk into the room.

Finally, all of you.  Your kind words of support.  Your wise suggestions.  Your digital hugs.  I really am a lucky gal.

Thank you, thank you, thank you.

A Special Birth Day

We are at the end of Five for Ten.  I have enjoyed this round as much as enjoyed the last round.  I have made many new friends, read many inspiring posts, and cried many times.   Thank you Jen and Sarah for hosting this and for all those who have participated.  It has been a blast! The last topic for this series is "Yes."

I got up, intending to take the test discretely.  The crinkle of the wrapper as I opened it woke Ben.  He knocked on the door and asked me if I was taking it.

I can't hide anything from him.

I took the test and he came in as we waited for the results.  In a few seconds, two lines appeared.

I looked at him, eyes glowing with happiness, and asked him if he was ready.

Nine 1/2 Months Later--Midnight

The contractions were getting stronger.  I squeezed Ben's hand as another contraction started.  He started packing the bag.

Bag in hand, he looked at me and asked, "Are you ready?"

The Next Day, Around 2:00 pm

The midwife checked me again.  "She's crowning.  You can start pushing."

Ben and I looked at each other, eyes blurred with exhaustion, hearts aglow with happy anticipation, the unspoken question hanging in the air,  "Are you ready?"

10 Minutes Afterward

The nurse cleaned the baby while the midwife stitched me up.  Ben alternated between holding my tired hands and staring at our beautiful angel.

When the cleaning was done, the nurse came over.  Holding our squishy faced newborn in her arms, she looked at us and asked, "Are you ready?"

We looked at each other, looked at our baby, and excitedly, emotionally, responded, "Yes!"

**********************

Kristen at Motherese is hosting an on-line book club at the end of this month.  The chosen book is our friend Aidan's rookie novel, Life After Yes.  Having had the opportunity to read it, I am proud to join Kristen in offering a free copy to a lucky ready.  Leave a comment on this post before 6:00 am on Friday, May 21 and a winner will be randomly selected and announced that afternoon.

10 Second Post

Dear Readers,

Thank you so much for your advice.   I read each and every comment to Ben.

Thank you so much for praising Ben.  Like any person, he needs to hear that from time to time from someone besides me.

Thank you so much for telling me about your ingredients in your guilt sandwiches.

Thank you for being patient with me.

Since this is another busy week, a few friends agreed to save me by guest posting.  I hope you are excited!

Shoot. My 10 seconds are up.

To show you my gratitude I am relieving you of your comment responsibilities.  Go ahead and let out a sigh.  Sometimes it's nice to have a break, huh?

Love,

Amber

I'll Have A Guilt Sandwich, Please

I am feeling pretty full these days.  I have engorged myself frequently on a guilt sandwich.  Nothing like a guilt sandwich to make me feel deliciously bloated.  I don't normally share recipes but I think I'll make an exception for this case.

Start with two slices of household guilt.  This can be anything, like the dirty dishes, unfolded or dirty laundry, or a messy living room.  It makes it even tastier when you have extra thick slices.

Spread the household guilt with some tangy blog guilt--worries over unread e-mails from blog friends,  little to no time to comment on your favorite blogs, or not responding to comments.  Remember, the more the better.

Now for the best part: family guilt.  I usually double this.  You have many options to choose from--unmade phone calls to siblings, arguments with your parents, no time for you spouse, and doubts about your mothering capabilities.  I usually go for spousal and mothering guilt.  I like it hearty.

Top this with the condiments of your choice.  A slice of not keeping in touch with your friend here, a slice of unchecked tasks lists there, whatever suits your fancy.

Sprinkle this with some yummy self guilt.

Top all of this with the other half of your household guilt and you have yourself a delectable guilt sandwich.

I like to take humungous bites of this sandwich daily.  And, the best part is, unlike other sandwiches, the more bites I take the bigger it gets!

Yes.  I like me a big guilt sandwich.

My Kids Hate Me

Before I continue, I want to make something clear:  I can't complain about my night's sleep.  When I am tired, I am completely to blame.  However, I can complain about my babies recent naptime sleeping--or lack thereof.

I find naptimes to be slightly more essential than nighttime sleep.  See, it is during naptimes that I take a shower, do the dishes, and write.  It is also during naptime that I gather my energy to make dinner, take walks, and start laundry.  So, when nap times are compromised, I become grumpy and my house becomes dirty.

Lately, my kids have been doing tag napping.  You know, when one falls asleep the other wakes up.  It is very aggravating.  It has led me to the conclusion that my kids hate me.  This must be true.  Why else would they put me through so much torture?

Now, if you are looking to excuse my children, it is because you don't know them.  Sure, they might look angelic,

but deep down they are devious little creatures. I should know.

Take Andrew.  He used to sleep moderately well.  He would at least give me a half hour to an hour of good napping 3-4 times a day.  I can do that.  Lately?  He has been fighting sleep.  After vigorous rocking, he might close his eyes.  But, the instant I put him down--BAM! He wakes up.

I did expect this.  He is 4 months after all.  His sister did the same thing around this time.  It doesn't make it any easier.

Emily, on the other hand, sleeps pretty well hen she wants to sleep.  If she does not want to sleep, she is grumpy.  She whines and has melt downs when I give her something besides cookies to eat.

After a day or two of their ornery sleep habits, I pout.  I'm pretty good at pouting.  I will put on a movie (I'm on a classics roll right now) and let them go crazy while I sit and inwardly moan and groan.

It's funny when epiphanies hit.  While writing this sarcastic, and somewhat true, post I realized something.  I really have a good life.  Sure, my kids may drive me nuts with their non-sleeping habits, but I know that phase will end too quickly.  Before I know it, they will be leaving the house.  Then I will have quiet.  I will be able to nap when I want and write when I want. Strangely enough, I'm sure I will miss this time.

I  think I will go and kiss my little babies' faces.  This sleeping thing will not last forever,  the joy they bring to me will.

I Can't Stop Smiling!

I am giddy.  So giddy that I can't hold still.  I am fluttering around like a butterfly, hopping from my husband's lap to the computer chair to the kitchen, with an unexplainable energy.

I'm sure it has something to do with this guy



this girl



and one amazing husband.



I think so.

Just  ignore the wings that suddenly sprouted from my back.

Finishing the 10 Things List

Hi friends.  My little guy has  been doing better and I am now back to my usual perky and silly self.  Or maybe that's because it's Friday.  You all know what Friday means right? Date night!! Okay, here it really means going out to eat.  Our weekly ritual.  It is what keeps me cooking during the week.

Moving on.

About that 10 things list, let's see, I have 7 items left, right?  Anyone been counting?  Well, I say 7 items so 7 items it is.  I know I was going to do a day-to-day list, but my attention span is very slight.  Thus, I became rather bored with that idea. So, here's a nice, smooth bulleted list of my last 7 things.

• I often write comments and posts that are not completed thoughts.  Usually by the time I sit down to blog, I have only a few minutes so I am rushing through my comments before one of the kids wakes up.  Now you know why half my comments on your blog probably don't make sense.  And why I jump around from freakishly happy to mournfully sad posts.  Sorry about that.


• I am paranoid about hand washing.  I wash my hands AT LEAST 20 times a day.  If I know you don't wash your hands (after using the restroom or changing diapers, that is), I will most likely not ask you to watch my kids (lucky you),  won't eat at your house,  and will avoid letting you hold my babies.  Yes, it is that bad.


• Hand washing isn't my only tick.  If I find a piece of hair in my food, my appetite will vanish.  It will take me a few months to make that food again let alone eat it.


• We don't have a dishwasher so I am extremely anal about how my dishes are cleaned.  I don't let Mr. B (or anyone else for that matter) wash the dishes because I know I will wash them again and I don't want to hurt his feelings.  Hey, at least I have a heart, right?


• We furnished our whole apartment with $300.   We went to hundreds of garage sales within a 2-month period, searching for the right furniture--kitchen table, queen sized bed and mattress, couches, end tables, bookshelves, desks, and dressers.  Obviously, our furniture does not match but, by golly, they are comfortable and make our apartment look cozy.


• I will do laundry all week long and pile it up on our big couch.  By the end of the week,  there is no where to sit on said couch.  Classy, huh?


• Mr. B's real name is......Ben. I know, I know, we all have really plain names.  I am getting used to it now.

Now that I have virtually unclothed myself I am going to hide in my closet, er, I mean bedroom (I can't fit in my closet).

10 Things You Don't Know About Me: The Queen's Name

The Queen's name was chosen long before she was born. 4 years to be exact.

When B and I agreed we were going to get married,  we started discussing girl and boy names.  We had this image of having a girl first, followed by twin boys (obviously we were wrong on the twin boys!).  We threw out certain girl names and quickly agreed on one.

Once we were married, and expecting our first, we knew it was a girl. Without hesitation, we began calling our soon-to-be baby girl by her chosen name.

Emily.

While pregnant with Emily, I dreamed about her.  Often.  My dreams reflected my desires for she was often a cute, little thing.

When she was born, she was a cute, little thing.

And she has remained a cute, little thing.  By little, I mean 5th percentile little.  I'm pretty sure her brother is going to pass her up in weight soon.

My 6 lbs. 13 oz. girl



is now a 20 lb. wild (little) thing.



I know she was sent down first for a reason.  She has patiently taught me many things about being a mother.  Her independence made it possible for me to finish school.  And, her sweet nature has made having a close sibling easier.

This girl has taught me that I am always behind.  I do something like install a gate to barricade her entrance into the kitchen and she soon finds a way to break in anyway.  She is always one step ahead of me.

Yet, this curiosity has enabled her to learn things fast.  Even though I am often exhausted by the end of the day from chasing her around,  I wouldn't have it any other way.

Besides, who could resist a little girl with eyes like these?



I sure can't.