Tag Archives: family

mURPHY’S lAW mONDAY

16 May

Things happen in my life on a near-daily basis that prove Murphy’s Law as truth. Each Monday is dedicated to showcasing my life’s crazy moments.

I don’t get to shower every day.  There.  I said it.  I try to shower every day but it’s not always feasible.  The shower is PRIME real estate in my house.  It seems as though every time I get a few minutes to wet myself down and run a bar of soap over my skin, Grady is immediately in need of a marathon feeding session.  I never deny him milk so I usually sit down with him, clean and flowery smelling, and nurse him until his stomach is completely full.  Maybe even over-full.  Because as luck would have it, (or as Murphy’s Law would have it) his stomach runneth over.  EVERY time I get out of the shower and feed him, he pukes all over me.  In my clean (dried and straightened) hair, all over my clean and lotioned body, all over my brand new clean clothes.   This past week, he puked all over me then proceeded to fill his diaper to the point of explosion so that I was not only covered in vomit, but bright orange buttered-popcorn smelling poop.  Awesome.

I’ve come to the conclusion that Grady prefers me dirty.

If it can happen, it will happen.

mURPHY’S lAW mONDAY

9 May

Things happen in my life on a near-daily basis that prove Murphy’s Law as truth. Each Monday is dedicated to showcasing my life’s crazy moments.

If it can happen, it will happen.

Yesterday was Mother’s Day.  OH, glorious Mother’s Day.  A day that looks like any other in my house.  My kids were great and after writing the tear-jerking post about their presents to me, I turned on one of my favorite movies (Title to remain nameless so as to avoid any and all teasing comments).  About 45 minutes into “How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days” (whoops), Styles began really pestering me to go to the pool.  It sounded fabulously refreshing but I knew that juggling my overactive 20 month old and my newborn just wasn’t going to make for a refreshing or relaxing anything.  I did the non-committal “maybe later” thing and continued drooling over Matthew Mcconaughey and his pre-pot smoking, nude on the beach, drum banging hotness.  About the time a small pool of saliva collected in my lap, my friend texted (thank God for technology) to tell me that she was at the pool.  A moment of insanity led me to believe that with an extra set of hands, we’d have  a great time splashing around in the water.  I lathered the kids up, minus baby, with SPF 30 and off we went.

Madilyn wasn’t interested in the water at first and I had no trouble wooing her to stay near me with cheeze ballz.  As time wore on, she grew more and more enthralled by the sparkling goodness of the pool so I commissioned my dear friend, Pat to hold Grady so I could take a dip in the pool with Madilyn.  She.  Was.  In.  HEAVEN.  Our community pool has what they call a “Kiddie Area” with a mushroom-shaped fountain and very shallow water.  What it doesn’t have is any sort of barrier to keep kids from falling into 4ft. deep water.  Needless to say, I was a bit of a wreck while Madilyn walked around the so-called kiddie area.  After about 5 minutes I realized that she was perfectly content to stay close to the wall and not venture towards the abyss.  Another friend of mine showed up and Pat left, leaving me with Grady, Madilyn, and Styles.

By this time, Madilyn had proven herself worthy of a longer leash so I felt perfectly comfortable whipping one out and nursing Grady on the edge of the pool.  No sooner had I done that, Madilyn high-tailed it to the edge of the kiddie area and fell off into the pool.  I nearly threw Grady onto the concrete, just before friend #2 dove into the pool (beer in hand), to rescue her.  When Madilyn surfaced, all she had to say for herself was “whoops” before attempting to kamikaze off the edge again and again.

Lesson learned:  When your overactive toddler makes you comfortable enough to extend a little bit more responsibility, shorten the leash, tighten your grip, lock-in your sights.  Because it is then that they will test Murphy’s Law.

If it can happen, it will happen.

My Mother’s Day Presents

8 May

Mother’s Day doesn’t look the same for all of us. As a Stay at Home Mom, I am with my kids all day, every day. My ideal Mother’s Day would be me, alone, sitting in a comfortable chair on a beach somewhere with a good book in my hand and a jug of water with lime slices in it. Alone. It would then be followed up with a pedicure. Alone. I would then go home to my family, completely refreshed and thankful for the “mommy time” and we would eat their favorite meal to avoid any dinner-time complications. Together.

But that’s not what Mother’s Day looks like for me. Mother’s Day, for me, looks like any other day. My dear, hardworking husband is a restaurant manager in a swanky restaurant in a posh hotel, and is therefore required to work all of the big, busy holiday-days. So for me, Mother’s Day looks a little like any other day. Yet still, I have already received three very different gifts from my three very different children.

Styles.

1. Styles: He woke up around 8:30, came into my room and asked if he could watch TV. I happily obliged so that I could have a few more uninterrupted minutes of sleep. He came back in at 9:15 and told me that he wanted waffles for breakfast. I laid in bed a few more minutes, finally drug myself out of the warm covers, and made him some waffles and a glass of orange juice. While he ate we talked and when he was done, he gave me a hug and told me “Happy Mother’s Day”. His gift to me was speech. And a hug. He is old enough to know that the day is significant and celebrates his mom who loves him unconditionally. His age makes him sensitive to the fact that today is my day but it is because of HIM that I am even able to celebrate this day. His gift of speech drives me nuts sometimes but it enables my job as a mother to be a little bit easier because I rarely have to guess at what he wants. Except for when he mumbles. Which is kind of a lot. I wish he’d stop doing that….

Grady.

2. Grady: He woke up at 5:30 this morning and nursed for a phenomenally long time then went back to sleep after a few burps and farts. He then slept until 9:45 which enabled me to spend time with Styles. Once he woke up, he was all smiles and coos. His gifts to me were time and talks. Last night was the first time that Grady had ever cooed at me. Well, it wasn’t really at me, it was at the writing on my t-shirt but nonetheless, I was wearing the t-shirt so by default, he was talking to me. But this morning. THIS morning was different. He looked into my eyes and smiled FIRST. He spoke FIRST. Without any prompting or making ridiculous faces at him first. I have been told that the first 6 months of having 2 under 2 is really difficult and sleep-deprived. I am so blessed that Grady is the easiest baby I could have possibly asked for. He has very distinct whines (not even cries, just whines) for his needs. He is easier to read than a picture book and the past two months have been some of the most fulfilling, wonderful, and easy months for me. Although if you were to ask my husband he’d tell you that these two months have been horrible because he comes home to a tornado of toys, laundry, pots, and pans all over the house. I digress….

Madilyn.

Madilyn: Slept until 11:40 this morning. NO. LIE. Her gifts to me today were time and laughs. Before she woke, I was able to take a shower. A good, quality shower where my hair got washed and my legs were shaved. It was absolutely glorious. When she woke up, Styles was on his computer and Grady was taking a nap. So Madilyn and I sat outside while she ate breakfast/lunch and I drank my coffee. She is becoming so animated and I love how excited she gets over the simplest of things. She is now on my phone having a very intense conversation with the person on the other end.

So though my husband may be at work, and I am literally stuck at home (his car got a flat so he had to take my van to work today), I am thankful for my three kids. I am grateful that despite being told that I’d never have any more kids on my own after Styles, that I had two more children. I am blessed to be able to be home with them every day, even on Mother’s Day. The littlest two might not know what today is about, but I do so today I am going to relish them a little more than I normally do.

What did you get for Mother’s Day? What did you do for Mother’s Day? Tell me about you, your family, and what Mother’s Day looks like for you.

C.A.B.D.

5 May

Today on a trip to the happiest place on Earth (WalMart), Madilyn found a Creepy Ass Baby Doll that she really, really wanted.  You know the kind of doll I’m talking about.  It’s airbrushed to look real, has wrist-rolls, fat piggie toes, and those eyes that close when you lay it down?  The kind of baby doll that likely spends the night perusing your home looking for the sharpest object to stab your eyes out with.  Yeah.  That kind of Creepy Ass Baby Doll.

I hate baby dolls.  As a matter of fact, I always have.  I was a My Little Pony and books type of girl and I prayed every day that I was pregnant that Madilyn would find baby dolls boring and weird too.

Um.  That didn’t happen.  She loves them.  And naturally as she gets older, she’s beginning to like the super-creepy ones.  So I’m going to have to start locking my door when I sleep.

Tell me what you think:

Geez, I’m sorry… I didn’t realize Madilyn was so violent.

That baby’s creepy, right?


							

mURPHY’S lAW mONDAY

2 May

Things happen in my life on a near-daily basis that prove Murphy’s Law as truth. Each Monday is now dedicated to showcasing my life’s crazy moments.

If it can happen, it will happen.

My third, wonderful child was born exactly 8 weeks ago today.  That Monday, Murphy’s Law was tested.

I was admitted into the hospital the morning of March 7, 2011 to get 2 bags of Penicillin due to a positive Group B Strep culture administered before my induction would begin.  The induction began at 11:30 after two full rounds of Penicillin and as a third round was administered.  Fast forward to 5:30PM and I still wasn’t in labor, despite the fact that the Pitocin was turned up to a 24 out of 30.  My doctor came in to check me and decided that we should break my water (like I said I’d never have done again) because the baby was still at a -5.  My water was broken at 5:45PM and my wonderful doctor stayed to monitor the baby and me until 6PM.  At 6PM I still had not had a contraction so my doctor decided to leave the hospital to check on another patient of hers that was at the other hospital just down the road.  This particular patient was a first time mom and had been progressing slowly all day so she thought she’d just hop over there, show her face, and come back to deliver my baby since I have a history of rapid labors.  I felt my first contraction around 6:15PM.  As history dictates, my contractions were pretty well one right after another but not super painful.  I had to pee at 6:55PM.  I had one contraction on the way to the restroom and one on the way back from the restroom.  I decided to jump up into the bed and lie on my side.  My next contraction caused a huge, strong reaction in my uterus and the nurse noticed the look on my face.  She checked my cervix and I was 8cm.  But in the next contraction I could feel the baby moving down into the birth canal.  My baby was born at 7:10PM into the hands of two nurses.

If your doctor leaves your hospital to check on a patient at another hospital because you’re not even in labor yet, you WILL have your baby in the one hour that she is gone.

If it can happen, it will happen.

How Does Racial Sensitivity Affect Equality?

1 May

This blog post from The Stir has me REALLY stirred up.  It is entitled “Racial Sensitivity Courses Should be Mandatory for Adoptive Parents”.  Um…WHA?  The article asserts that adoptive parents should have to learn about the culture and community that corresponds with whatever race of child they choose to adopt.  The writer says that by the parents not knowing about the culture from which these adopted children come from, makes them less “who they are” and that they won’t know their “personal history”.   The author also goes on to say that no matter how badly we all want an “ethically ambiguous utopia where we are all raceless faces appreciating one another for the people we are inside”, that it’s not going to happen.

Courtesy Dreamstime.com

This makes me incredibly hot because in this country we are bombarded by people screaming for equality.  I personally don’t see color.  A person’s skin tone means less to me than the color of their hair.  Saying that White America (let’s be honest; that’s who this article was written about), will never not see race is like saying that blondes and brunettes in Germany would never live in harmony after the Holocaust, which certainly isn’t the case.

Furthermore, the children being adopted from other countries by parents of different races are being given a new “personal history”.  When a child moves here with an American family, no matter what their race is, they are now AMERICAN.  Their personal history, despite the color of their skin, involves the landing of The Mayflower, the pillaging of Indians, the purchase of slaves from Africa, the use of indentured servants from Europe, the Civil War, Prohibition, the industrial age, the segregation and then desegregation of schools, the KKK, the landing on the moon, and everything else that involves US History.  These children’s new personal histories include Baseball games, Basketball, American Football, 4th of July Celebrations, Memorial Day, Labor Day and all of the other US holidays in between.  Their personal history means that they are now American, no matter the shape of their eyes, the color of their skin, or the coarseness of their hair.  These children do not have to live in bondage to their original places of birth, their original financial situation, or their original demographic.  These children are given new beginnings to their lives and I don’t see what a racial sensitivity course would do for these children and their parents but help to divide the races even further.

Why can’t we live in a world where skin color is just as insignificant as the color of someone’s eyes or hair?  Why does the fact that my great-great grandparents owned black slaves or the fact that my great-great-great-great grandparents were indentured servants have to mold who I am today?  Why does the fact that my mom went to a segregated school have to have ANYTHING to do with me?

I’m not at all saying that we should ignore history.  Many horrible things have happened in this world that are noteworthy, but we are where we are today because of the strength of a few people including but not limited to: George Washington, Abraham Lincoln, Rosa Parks, Booker T. Nelson, Martin Luther King Jr., Nelson Mandela, Susan B. Anthony, and Elizabeth Cady Stanton.  These people suffered, pressed on, and stood up for their personal beliefs bringing forth the life of a new country, the death of slavery, the beginning of desegregation, the birth of racial equality, and the commencement of women’s rights.  These people endured hateful oppression and stood up to their oppressors so that we wouldn’t have to have ‘Racial Sensitivity Courses’ when we adopted children from different countries or ethnicities.  Correct me if I’m wrong but Martin Luther King Junior’s dream was that his “four children would be able to live in a nation where they would not be judged by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character.”  And that one day “on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners would be able to sit down together at a table of brotherhood.”  How does requiring a white adoptive parent to take “Racial Sensitivity Courses” do anything to further this dream?  Are we supposed to teach Japanese American adoptees that their Grandparents bombed Pearl Harbor in December of 1941 and that they will be looked at differently than white or black people whose grandparents helped to initiate revenge?  Do we need to teach American Indian adoptees to hate white people because they raped their grandparents’ way of life and pillaged their land?

Courtesy of DoSomething.org

It is my experience as a white woman who was raised in southeastern Alaska that my history involves American Indians as much as it involves European settlers as much as it involves African American slaves.  The color of my skin should not dictate the way that I speak, dress, or eat.  It should not affect the way I view my place in society, my education, or the success of my career.  As a northern-raised woman who went to college in the South, I can also attest to my experiences with racism.  I’ve been called horrible names by African-American women because I was hanging out with “their men”.  I’ve heard Caucasian men kick a beautiful half African-American woman out of a party because of the pigment of her skin.  Racism is not unilateral.  Where does it end and how can it end if you, yourself, aren’t willing to part with the past? (And by you, I mean YOU reading this, whatever your heritage may be).

I believe that until we, as individuals view ourselves as equal, our world will continue to be a place filled with bigotry and ignorance.  You are no different than me due to the amount of melanin in your skin, the shape of your eyes, or the language spoken by your birth parents.  We are equal in my eyes and it saddens me to think that you, whomever you may be, may feel differently.

I have a dream that my three little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin or the shape of their eyes, but by the content of character.  And it is my job as their mother, to help mold their characters to be worthy of judgement.

-Written while my eldest “little child” plays outside with two little Asian boys, one African American boy, and one Caucasian boy in complete harmony, no one aware of the fact that they all have very different skin tones.

mURPHY’S lAW mONDAY

7 Feb

Things happen in my life on a near-daily basis that prove Murphy’s Law as truth. Each Monday is now dedicated to showcasing my life’s crazy moments.

If it can happen, it will happen.

I was preparing to jump in the shower when I realized that I needed to switch the laundry over from the washing machine to the dryer. My sweet son Styles was outside playing with his two friends from across the street and Madilyn was busying herself with my hair dryer (unplugged, of course). Being that I am extremely forgetful these days, I decided to go ahead and take care of the laundry before jumping in the shower. Because Styles was outside, I figured it was safe for me to take care of the laundry in the buff. As I was moving clothing from the dryer to the sofa, I laughed to myself about how funny it would be if 3 little boys suddenly burst through the front door to find me doing laundry while nude.

I wish that thought had never entered my mind.

While toting the last armful of laundry through the living room, 3 little boys suddenly burst through the front door to find me doing laundry in the nude. True Story.

if it can happen, it will happen.

Spoken like a True Parent

2 Feb

My son, Styles is from a previous relationship. He’s 9. I won’t tell you how old my husband was when he was born because I’m pretty sure you’d never talk to me again. All you need to know is that my husband is younger than me. As of July, I’ll officially be a “Puma”. Anyways, back to Styles. He’s mine. Kyle has really stepped up to the plate and plays the daddy role well. He disciplines, he loves, he provides, he entertains. And he disciplines. I keep telling him that when he has his own kids, he’ll understand the whole “choose your battles” concept. His response to that is usually, “Styles IS my son, I DO understand!” No. He doesn’t. Or DIDN’T until very recently.

Due to the restrictions I’m experiencing with this pregnancy, Kyle has been giving Madilyn her nightly bath for the past couple of months. Like most kids, Kyle loves routine. (did I just say that out loud?) I meant Madilyn loves routine. So together, they have developed a really good bath time routine. I love to listen to them playing in the bathroom from the living room. Kyle had me absolutely convinced that Madilyn picks up her own toys while in the tub. *hold the phone* WHA?! She doesn’t do anything remotely similar for me, in or out of the bathroom. I’ve given her a few baths in the past couple of months and not once has she picked her toys up for ME! *pout*

We ran a little late on dinner tonight and Kyle offered to do the dishes if I’d give our little princess a bath. I was more than a little happy to trade dishes for my bathing beauty. After a nice, long bath, I told Madilyn that it was time to get out and asked her to pick up her toys. I even sang the jacked-up version of the Barney Clean-Up song that Kyle sings to Madilyn every night. She laughed at me. No lie, she looked at me and laughed. Then farted. I yelled at Kyle to please divulge his toy-picking-princess secrets. He came in the bathroom and said:

“Yeah, she doesn’t do that. I gave up on that a while ago.”

Spoken like a true parent.

A Quickie

18 Jan

I was put on “Pelvic Rest” for this pregnancy about 6 weeks ago. For those of you who don’t know what pelvic rest means, it means no fun after dark. No playing “hide the salami”, no dancing the horizontal mambo, no mid-afternoon “naps”, no more practicing for more babies (so what I’m already pregnant?), you get the point yet? Basically the reason for this is so that no more trauma is being done to my cervix that began dilating and effacing at 27 weeks. BAH HUMBUG! So like this week, we tried busting doc’s orders and it resulted in the tell-tale soreness and pressure in my nether regions. No bueno.

Then today, The Stir posted a titillating post called 5 Ways to Have Sex Without Having Sex. Ok, so these ideas aren’t completely brand new but they definitely revved my engine. My doctor doesn’t really want me to even have any uterine contractions if you know what I mean, but it doesn’t mean I can’t get excited about something, right? Check out the website for some fun ideas on how to keep things fresh in your bedroom, whether you’re on bed rest or not.

Christmas Tree Traditions

13 Dec

I absolutely LOVE Christmas.  I love everything about it: the smell of a freshly cut Christmas tree, the scent of baking that lingers in my kitchen for over a month, the warmth of a fuzzy snowman-adorned blanket, the crisp air that stings your nose when you breathe in, the lights, the decor, AND the music.  Christmas makes me happy. The kind of happy that you felt as a kid as you waited for Santa to arrive on Christmas Eve.  The kind of happy that you feel when you discover something new in a world of familiarity.  I feel just pure bliss when surrounded by snowflakes, snowmen, moose, reindeer, and Santa.

One of my favorite things during Christmas, is getting the Christmas tree put up and decorated.  I also love going to stores and other people’s homes to see how they decorate their trees.  I envy the Martha Stewart-types who put up beautifully trimmed trees with ribbons, sprigs of sea oats, beads, and white lights.  I ogle over the trees that look like they just jumped from the pages of “Southern Living” into someone’s random living room.  I lust after the trimmings and trappings of country-inspired decorum placed thoughtfully here and there.

But my tree is one of memory.  Each and every ornament on our tree is inspired and brings back memories.  We sit around the tree with Christmas music playing, sipping hot cocoa, while we unwrap each ornament individually, then guide the ornament to its temporary home on our tree.  We briefly talk about each ornament every single year, walking down memory lane as we trim.  We remember the person who gave it to us, and almost always the very specifics of the gift.  Our lights are multi-colored because white would not match the vibrant and eclectic personality of our tree.  I look forward to this walk down memory lane every year and it is a tradition I hope never fades.  I would love to have so many ornaments on our tree some day that each branch is weighed down with a memory.

Our favorite this year was an ornament given to my husband by the family dog as a Christmas gift last year.  It is a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel with a halo and angel wings.  “Farley” passed on to greener pastures and softer rugs this year, and the irony of the gift did not escape us as we had a laugh and then a moment of silence when the ornament was unwrapped.

Maybe some day we’ll have a house big enough to have an elegant tree and our tree of memories, but if given the choice I’d always choose our Christmas Memory Tree.  Unfortunately, in the haste of moving a few years ago most of my ornaments were lost.  I now live vicariously through my husband’s ornaments while I slowly rebuild my own collection.  The tradition is no less wonderful now, though.  I love hearing his stories and recollecting my favorite, now lost ornaments and their tales.

What are your Christmas tree traditions?  I’d love to hear about what goes into decorating your trees and maybe even see some pictures.

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