What Do You Do When...

From a child's lips to God's ears.

Our trip to North Carolina provided us with 4 new members of our family.  Herman, Hermione, Heron and Hershey.  Lexy's little hermit crab babies.  Only they're not babies.  I think.  I'm not sure, I mean, can you really tell how old a hermit crab is?  I think they're young.  They're small.  And I think hermits get to be big.  Do they get big?  Because if they grow any bigger I can't say that I'll be picking them up on a regular basis.  Cause the bigger they are the harder they pinch.  And they pinch.  A lot.  

The hermits survived 7 hours in the car on the way home.  They survived cool nights before we could buy a heater for them, before we could buy a new terrarium for them to live in with all kinds of sand and climbing toys and coconut fiber for them to eat and climb.  But, one little hermit.  The one with the yellow shell.  The only one that Lexy picked and said that she loved and wanted.  Poor little Hermione has passed away.  And when I told my mother that little Hermione has passed away, she asked how I knew... well, I suppose when the legs fall out from the shell and land on the sand you sort of have your answer.

We had 15 minutes of sadness, no tears mind you, but the questions about why animals die, how animals die, where do they go when they die, how do you get to heaven and what is in heaven.  All perfectly valid questions, of course, but they're hard to discuss with adults, let alone with a 4 year old   How do you explain to a 4 year old that hermit crabs don't live forever, that they're hermit crabs.  They aren't supposed to live forever?

My big parenting lesson of the day?  Pull the little one into your lap (or what's left of your lap when you're 27 weeks pregnant), answer the questions to the best of your ability and with as much honesty as you can muster, and let them be sad.  And the promise them a new hermit crab.

But, Lexy summed it up herself and in the best possible way.


"And dear God, please look after Hermione and take care of her now that she's gone up to be in Heaven.  She's a good Hermit Crab.  Amen."

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And, yes.  There was a funeral, complete with TAPS, for Hermione.

Grace Abounds

Dear Friends -

I was uncertain the other day.  I was uncertain about writing something so personal.  Uncertain about letting such an intimate part of myself go out to everyone who wants to read about it.  Uncertain about how people would respond or even if people would respond.  I wrote about my miscarriage and the incredible sense of loss that I felt for 2 reasons.  1) I haven't recovered, never might, from losing my child.  But, I thought that writing about it might help me move forward in some ways that I haven't.  And 2) I really do think that miscarriage is not something people talk about and that it should be talked about.  It shouldn't be something that people hide or hide from, it shouldn't be something people feel ashamed of it, it shouldn't be something pushed aside.

I heard from some friends publicly in the comments section, and a few other sent me emails.  It was wonderful to receive the support that I did from the people that I did.  I just hope that what I wrote helped others in some way or will help others in the future to know that they're not alone.  I had a reminder of something that a friend told me when we were discussing miscarriage and my current pregnancy and how, while I love this person inside me, I still miss and grieve and want to know the child I won't ever see.


She told me "Carin, you'll always be the mother of 3.  I will always think of you as the mother of 3.  And when you get to heaven, you will get to meet that little baby of yours and know all the answers to your questions".  Tears.  Of course, more tears.


But, what I really want is to let you know about the greatest blessing from writing this blog, writing about my loss, that I have received following the post.  I heard from a friend who has suffered unmentionable loss, three times, in his and his families lives.  He let me know that I wasn't alone in what I had gone through.  Now I know that while I can't come close to imagining the losses that he has personally experienced he has linked my loss to his.  This is one of the most touching and generous gifts that anyone has given me.  To let me know that they feel my loss is nothing short of equal to loss that they have been through, that my emotions are not supposed to be limited.  It was an amazing email and brought me to tears.

What makes this story even more amazing is news that he shared about how things are good for him and his family.  How life has changed, morphed, evolved, and while there is still so much pain there is love and happiness and that his blessings abound.  Thank you, friend.  Your email has made this all worth while.


Love abounds, joy abounds, grace abounds.


Thank you so much, my friend, for touching my life in such an amazing way.  I celebrate your joy with you as I celebrate the joy I have inside me.  It is such a wonderful thing to share.

Accepting Grace

I have decided that I am working on focus this week.  Focusing on what is the "now".  Not the maybe or the past, not the what would have been.  My focus will be "how things are for the day, what's on the schedule, what I'm doing with Lexy, how the baby is feeling for the moment".  If you read my last post, you'll know that I'm obviously still struggling with focusing on the past (but really, who isn't and who doesn't?).  Although grieving over the loss of a child, born or unborn, is not something with a timetable and definitely not something that you get over.  You just get through.  Through each breath.  Through each minute.  Through each day.  In a sense it's almost like an addict working through the steps.  Take everything moment by moment, day by day.  Easier said than done when working through any type of trauma or stress.  And I've been going through working on the miscarriage, being forced to leave my job, and the adjustment of being a full time full day mommy.

But first, an update on Baby 2.  We had a phone call from our doctor (or one of our doctors) this morning. They always like to call you during breakfast when you're trying to get your kid to eat the fruit and not just the toast and jelly.  It's like they know that you won't have time or the brain power to think of the questions you should already know to ask.  That being said, the little one is doing well.  The ultrasound said she's growing right on pace, smack in the middle of the growth chart.  Who knew average could feel so good?  Unfortunately my blood work remains the same.  There are still antigens floating around and that could be a problem.  Everything is could and maybe.  It's frustrating and makes enjoying the moment a little bit harder.  Remembering to focus on the fact that for the day I feel well, healthy, and this little person likes to push one rib in particular out of alignment, is a little hard when you're constantly carrying around the idea that it could all come to a very rapid end.  It tends to add some stress to your everyday living.  But, having a happy and hyper 4 year old will distract you from that without too much trouble.

The adjustment to the reality of SAHMommihood is another beast in and of itself.  The first week was hard because it was not expected to be my first week.  I wasn't expecting my two week notice at my office to be a "Thank you, don't let the door hit you on the way out".  I was thrown back home without a goodbye from my direct boss and spent the next few days trying to process.  There were appointments and things scheduled for that week already and it became a matter of arranging the new schedule to accommodate the things on the old schedule.  The second week was similar.  Again, appointments, anniversaries, extra ultrasounds... it wasn't what I would consider to be an average week.

And now we're moving into week three and to be honest, I've had quite a few moments where I can't remember what day of the week we're on, and this is just week 3.  I think I'm beginning to understand and feel the transition, which is a good thing.  But, I'm also missing the adult interaction that I was so used to and for that reason have been relying on my parents heavily for companionship.  I'm looking into Mommy groups online, checking into things to do at the local library... anything I can think of to organize my days.  Lexy is still adjusting to the sudden change in her routine as well, and to be honest, she misses going to my parent's home in the mornings and playing with all the different toys and books and things that she has there.  My parent's have been great and extremely flexible about the whole situation, but it is weird to not have a schedule and to know which days are for which tasks.  I've actually been considering getting a monthly calendar and planning it down to Monday is wash laundry day.  Tuesday is music class and vacuuming day.  Wednesday is go to the park day.  Something so that there is a set plan.  It feels like we're floating through right now.

Saturday I'm off for a week at the beach with just me, my kid, and my mother.  Neither husband wishes to attend, so it's a ladies only trip.  I'm looking forward to a week of doing nothing.  And a week of many many many visits to the local ice cream shop.  Maybe it will allow me to focus and breathe and accept the transition into a SAHM.  After all, it's the only thing I've ever known I wanted to do or would be doing with my life.  So, I should be able to accept it and move into it with acceptance and GRACE right?

Of course, GRACE is hard for someone who routinely walks into doors.

Tomorrow.  Lessons on GRACE from the person who seems to think washing ball point pens is good for clothes, walls are to bang into on the way out of a room, and shoes are something to trip over and not wear on your feet.

 

Loss

When I updated my blog last week, for the first time in a year, I mentioned that it had been a long and trying year.  It was.  It has been.  It's been like just like I said that elevator ride looks like, up and down and sideways.  There have been so many things going on that it's hard to know where to start and how to discuss them with people.

In truth, I'm a very private person.  Which makes the fact that I enjoy writing a blog an interesting thing.  Although not too many people read it, and even fewer people comment on it, so that gives me a certain level of anonymity.  But I think there are times for privacy and times for commentary and times to just get something down so that it can help you heal.  And I think, for me, today is one of those days.  I don't know if writing this will help me heal, but that's what I'm hoping.

You see, over 2 years ago, Josh and I decided that we would start trying for baby number 2.  We didn't think that it would take that long to accomplish or be too difficult, after all, it wasn't that hard the first time around.  Of course, that first time around was a completely different thing.  We were younger, healthier, more energetic. This time we were older, I was scarred (unbeknownst to me), and definitely more tired.  I don't know if Josh was more tired, but I was more tired.  So, our quick turn around turned into month after month of waiting and watching and hoping and praying.

Every morning before work I would get up early, go out and walk the dog and use it as my prayer time.  I would thank God for the wonderful life that He has given me, be thankful for my blessings because there are many and ask him for what I wanted the most in the world.  Another child.  I would try and be accepting that if it didn't happen it wasn't supposed to happen.  I have a beautiful, healthy, loving, and so smart little girl.  I was trying to remember that just because I wanted another baby that I was blessed with having a child and that's something that not everyone gets.  No matter how long it was taking, I had that consolation.  I was already a mother.

This past summer I had two surgical procedures.  It seems that there may or may not have been scar tissue formed following the complications I had with Lexy's delivery.  Nothing that was done was to help me get pregnant or make me pregnant, it was more to make sure everything was working the way it was supposed to.  As I said, I've gotten older and with all those complications there was a theory that things just might not be working in the right way.

In September I had my prayers answered.  I had a positive (or three positive) pregnancy tests.  It was 3 days before my birthday.  My early birthday gift.  I know.  You're doing the math.  I'm 25 weeks pregnant now and I was pregnant in September.  The math doesn't work.  The math doesn't work because the morning of my 35th birthday I got up a tad early, settled in for a cup of coffee and had my life turn upside down.  I lost my child before I even had a chance to get to know her.  Josh sat with me and held my hand while I cried my heart out in the downstairs bathroom.  When my mother called to wish me a happy birthday and wanted to know why I sounded so down, I told her I was having a miscarriage.  She replied "I didn't even know you were pregnant".  It was so soon.  And so fast.

But it was my person.  My gift from God, my baby, my little life to grow and care for and nourish.  And somewhere in those first few days something went wrong and I lost her.  I don't know why people use that word.  Lost.  I know what happened.  She's not lost.  She went back home to heaven to be where she belongs.  After all, I know that she was just being loaned to me.  But there is that sense of loss.  That you don't know where to go or what to do or where to get support.  I told 3 or 4 of my closest friends.  Some understood, some called to check on me and some just checked out.  I don't blame anyone for not knowing what to say or do.  It wasn't as if I had a child I was able to hold in my hands drift away from me.  I didn't get to see her eye color or know if she was going to be left or right handed.  In some ways I know that it's difficult for people to understand the feelings around a miscarriage because for a lot of people those little bits of cells and DNA are just that.  Those people are not mothers.  They have never had a person grow inside them.  Never felt a baby stretch and kick.  Never had the joy of knowing that you have helped bring a new soul into the world and that God has put this soul into your hands and your hearts and has given you a level of trust that so many of us fight to return. 

It took me 2 weeks to recover physically from losing my little one.  I'm still recovering in my heart.  Some days I feel good and I know that I wouldn't have this little one that I'm working with right now if I hadn't gone through what I did.  But there are many more days that I wonder what she would have looked like.  Would she have loved to read the way her big sister does, or would she have been her daddy's tennis star.  I wonder what happened to cause it?  Was there something I could have done differently, could I have prepared my body in a better way.  I know that they're not logical but it's what I think.

And for this reason I will never as another couple when they are planning on having children.  Or if there are going to be any other children.  You never know if they want a bigger family.  If they're trying to have the first one.  If they've already had and lost someone that is precious to them in ways that it's hard for someone who has never gone through it to understand.  And if you ask them or question them about it, it causes more of a wound.  

I learned so much from my little person.  I just wish that I could know what color her eyes were going to be.  And I wish that I could let her know how much she was wanted and loved and that she will always be my second child.    

Growing My Human

*clarification*  This is not my human.

I am 24 weeks in this journey of growing a person.  I don't think of this as having a baby.  I truly think of it as growing a human.  It may sound strange, but that is after all what we mothers do.  We grow humans.  It sounds a little more complex than "having a baby".  Anyone can "have a baby".  It takes a real woman to "grow a human".  Obviously, I think that growing a human is more than getting pregnant, waiting 9 months (which is really 10, but I'll get into that later) and then heading off to the hospital for drugs and surgery and wham-o, there's a baby.  Growing a human is about taking your vitamins, exercising, getting enough sleep, using lotion to prevent stretch marks (seriously, that's an important one), going to your doctors appointments, getting your testing done... it seems to go on and on.  Therefore, I say, it takes a woman to grow a human.

Yesterday was my 24 week appointment.  I'm still in that stage where you go in for your checkups every 4 weeks.  Although, with this pregnancy there have been so many extra visits and blood tests and phone calls in between these 4 week checkups that I feel like the ob office should have me on speed dial.  You see, I'm old.  I'll admit it.  I am no longer a spring chicken.  (Do people say spring chicken in relation to age because spring chickens lay more eggs and older women have a harder time growing their humans just like older chickens don't lay as many or any eggs?  Hmmm, I never really thought about that before.)  I am 35 (yipes) and have reached that magic number where everything that revolves around age and pregnancy flips me automatically into "high risk pregnancy" category.  Strike 1.  I don't feel old.  In fact, there are quite a few days where I don't feel like I have much more than the mental capacity of a 14 year old.  (I pick 14 because my mother likes to tell me that when I was 14 I was the world's worst person... and she was right.  Hormones, high school, new friends, just having parents.  It was not pretty.  Sorry, Mom).  

While I have the mental capacity of a 14 year old and sometimes feel like the comprehension skills of a 14 year old, it should be known that because Lexy was born prematurely that I am, again, automatically flipped over into that "high risk pregnancy" category again.  Strike 2.  The doctors told me that her delivery and the complications surrounding it were a one in a million type of deal.  But, when I became pregnant this go round, they were nice enough to tell me that what happened before could happen again (in 10% of the cases).  And that because I have had one premature child that there is a good chance that every child I have will be born prematurely.  Gee, thanks for telling me that before people.  I mean, if I hit the 1 in a million lottery, maybe I'll fall neatly into the 10%.

And, the kicker.  There's that whole rH negative fiasco.  I'm not sure as to all the medical interactions and terminology, but basically I have a negative blood type, Josh has a positive blood type and when the two mix, if there is any blood crossing over to the baby my body could possibly reject the baby thinking that it's a foreign entity.  Strike 3.  I have plenty of rH antigens floating around in my blood stream to make more go from high risk to, as my doctor put it, even HIGHER risk.  I had a lot of spotting early on and for about 3 months with this kid.  Blood potentially crossing over to the baby.  And there were other complications.  I mean, geez.  If this kid wasn't trying to break severely of my ribs on the right side of my body on a regular basis, I'm not sure I would be thinking that this was an actual pregnancy and not just some figment of my imagination.

So, fast forward to 24 weeks.  6 months along (which is really 5 months because you don't really count those first 4 weeks or something).  Counting the months is confusing for me.  I'm not sure how they get 9 months from a 40 week pregnancy.  This appointment seems a bit silly.  Listen for the heartbeat, see how much weight mommy has gained, chat with the doctor.  Only this time my doctor measured my growing soccer ball of a stomach.  And I'm small.  Who knew that carrying small could be a problem?  Apparently, my doctor does, which is a good thing.  But, I don't feel small.  I mean, I feel like I'm walking around with that soccer ball with that feisty Barbie stuffed into it.  But, I guess that I am actually small.  And that could mean that on top of everything else that this little person has been through, it could be underweight.  After all my exercise, watching my diet to eat healthy food and fish and not limiting my chocolate intake, resting and all the other things I'm supposed to do, my little person, the one I feel like I'm working very hard at doing a good job to grow, may be a tinier than normal tiny person.  

Tomorrow is my 9 year anniversary.  I'm off to have more tests.  An ultrasound this time, just to make sure the weight is on track and that this little soul is growing in all the right ways.  I suppose that's a good anniversary gift, getting to see your baby.  I think I'll look at it that way.  My anniversary gift is getting to see my growing human.

But, geez, can't a person get a break.   

My Soccer Ball

I mentioned in my last post that Josh, Lexy and I are expecting the next addition to our family come summer.  When I was pregnant with Lexy I found a website that sends a weekly email describing the babies development and growth and how the mother's body has changed in the past week.  I've signed up again for that email with this baby, mainly because I think it's kind of neat to hear that my baby is blinking, or her toenails have grown in, or she has hair all over her body and looks like a Wookie.

This past week I read that at 24 weeks pregnant my uterus is the size of a soccer ball.  A soccer ball.  Now, I played soccer for 10 plus years growing up.  I know the size of a soccer ball.  I also know that the older and larger the person playing, the larger the ball gets... so, what I'm wondering is, which size soccer ball am I supposedly carrying a human being around in?  I actually considered finding an old soccer ball, asking Josh to cut it in half and stuffing a Barbie doll into it, just so I could have a better visual on this whole thing.  In fact, I may just do that... it does sound like an interesting way to spend an hour.  And then there would be photographic evidence of this size to body ratio.  I could talk a neighbor into stuffing it under their shirt and getting even more proof of this soccer ball phenomenon.  What would be even more interesting would be if I could get Josh to model it.

The soccer ball comparison is sort of fitting in my case.  This child likes to punch and kick.  Hard.  In fact it kicked the nurse 3 times on my last appointment while she was trying to find the heartbeat.  If anything, it's cemented the idea that this child is treating my insides as if in preparation for the upcoming summer Olympics. I have no problem with the child being a soccer player.  Josh would prefer volleyball or tennis, but for me there is no way any child of mine will be wearing the uniforms that come with that volleyball thing, and according to Lexy there is no real way to get a tennis racket inside my tummy.  Although, she does seem to think that getting books in there to entertain the kid is doable, even if she can't quite figure out how to make it happen.  Oh, and a blanket.  She thinks the baby needs a blanket just in case it's cold in there.  After all, the baby is naked and there's no way to get pajamas on it right now, either.

The funny thing is that this same email that told me about the soccer ball said that my baby is approximately the size of an ear of corn.  I will never look at corn again in the same way.  In fact, this baby has been compared to an apple, an orange, a grapefruit, and other various fruits and vegetables over the last few months.  I don't know if this is supposed to motivate me to eat healthier or to avoid these vitamin and mineral packed health foods because they remind me of a growing human.  I get that most people won't think, oh that's half a ruler or, okay, that's the size of my shoe... but really?  A grapefruit?  There's no way that a fetus is round and pockmarked.  At least I hope not.  That would be a good deterrent to unwanted pregnancy.  "Miss, did you know that at 15 weeks your child looks like a hopeless pockmarked grapefruit with enough downy hair on it to pass for a baby Wookie?"  On second thought, maybe they should stick to the food references.  

Well, my soccer ball, ear of corn and I are going to head off for some much needed rest.  We have a big day tomorrow of rearranging our attic to try and sort out some things to sell at an upcoming yard sale.  The life of a stay-at-home mom is getting more entertaining by the day.  I'll keep you posted.

My Open Window

It has been a long and trying year. I haven't been writing, and frankly haven't felt like writing. There hasn't been the time, the energy, the ability... Things have been up and down, and then like being on a Willy Wonka elevator, gone sideways and spiraled up through the glass ceiling. There have been quite a few times I feel like I was about to be tossed out and have the thing land on me, but fortunately that hasn't happened. I'll start with now and work my way back, throwing things in here and there over the next few posts or maybe not. I'm choosing to look forward and remember to be positive and to breathe. Because in the end, it's all about the breathing.

My life took a dramatic turn in the last 2 weeks. One I've been watching for about 5 months, but these last two weeks were like jumping on that Willy Wonka elevator again as it plummeting straight to the basement. My job, the one that I've been at for eleven and a half years has come to an end. I'm not sure if I ever thought that I would be in the ranks of the unemployed. I live in an area of the country where things are really really really expensive. My family and I enjoy a good life... on two incomes. And even if my income switched to being only a part-time income after Lexy was born, it was a significant assistance to our daily living. But, as I've said, I've been watching my work change and morph and twist and turn for the last 5 months, and the majority of it (in my opinion) was not for the better. I watched as my employer hired younger, cheaper, unskilled employees. I watched as they cut my hours back, and then I watched as they outsourced the main section of my daily activities. And the worst part of this was the emotional humiliation that I was receiving on a daily basis, and in front of the staff I was supposed to manage. Things came to the end of the elevator ride when I had a phone call from one of my bosses and listened for an hour and a half as she described my poor attitude, my unwillingness to do anything asked of me from scrubbing the toilets to just answering the phones, and on and on. I had already been stressed to the point of not eating, not sleeping, and later that evening had that stress manifest in nosebleeds. It is something that I might have chosen to deal with, if I wasn't 23 weeks pregnant.

This brings us to the good part of the story. I think. I know. The elevator took a turn from careening into the basement and making a major crater in the ground to rising straight up and out into the open air. Josh spent the evening managing our budget and trying to arrange things with our accounts. He took the time and the initiative to see if we could manage with my staying at home, taking care of the family and the house and myself, and managing our lives instead of someone else's business. After much praying, much thinking, much talking, and much reorganizing I gave my two weeks notice at my job last Monday and attempted to transition into a Stay At Home Mom. Something that I have wanted to do for years. Something that we have never been able to swing before. Something that I want to do, but am still a little wary of doing because I don't want to let anyone down, the most of all, my daughter. Something that seems to disappoint everyone in some way because it rearranges everyone's lives in a dramatic fashion.

But it's my OPEN WINDOW. My job door was slammed in my face. And God opened a window for me to jump through into something that I've always known that I want to do. My silver lining is that the timing of this allows for us to try for my to stay home with Lexy and our second little one to come in the summer. It allows time for me to prepare the house, organize rooms and kids, it allows for me to spend more time with my parents and return all the hard work they've done for us since (and before) Lexy was born. There are so many positives to come out of this is seems silly for me to focus on any of the negatives of the situation. But, in actuality I am. I've transferred work stress to budget stress. Can we really make this work on one paycheck. I'm concerned Lexy won't (and hasn't) understood the change in her routine. I'm worried that my parent's are just as upset about this work situation and the way things happened and that isn't fair to them. I'm worried that this will put undue stress on Josh, making him the sole bread winner and I don't want to make him feel responsible for everything that means.

And then I think of being a Stay At Home Mom and how much that will mean to the health of my daughter, myself, and what that will mean to her. I think that it will benefit her in ways that she hasn't had yet. Even with her at my mother's and being at her second home, I always wondered what it would be like if she were here. And that says something for my mother and how I was raised that I want that for my children.

And it begins. My new career, my ultimate career, my most important job that I now get to focus 100% of my time and energy on. Being a mother, a wife, a daughter, a neighbor, a friend. Focusing on the important things.

Now. If only I could stop thinking of ways to reuse the aluminum foil just to save money I think I'd be all good.

Don't Smush the Kids

Today is one of those where I am feeling a little sorry for myself that no one pats me on the back at the end of the day and says:

"Good job, Mommy. You didn't lose, maim, drop, smush, forget to feed, forget to pick up and generally did an okay job of not causing your child any kind of irreparable harm" kind of day. Where is the moment for the Mommy that just does a good job everyday without having to over come anything to do it?

So, in that frame of mind, I say to all of my Mommy Friends - GOOD JOB MOMS! Your kids are lucky and you are AWESOME!!! Thanks for making the world a better place and for raising your kids to be good people.

And not smushing them, cause that would have been bad.

And with much ado...

And. Without much screaming (more like lecturing or stern Mommy voice), very limited whining, very limited crying we have had successful use of the potty this morning. I give credit where credit is due. Thank you to God for answered prayers and a kid who will not have to go to the doctor for a little added help in that department.

Happy Sunday, Friends!

Potty Training is not for the Weak of Heart, Stomach, or the Color Blind

Hello, Friends.

It's been a while. Again. No excuses. Just updates. We'll start with the biggest issue on the planet. Potty Training. I feel as if I've done nothing over the past weeks and months but think about, obsess over, wonder, question and dread potty training. Following my initial posts I gave in to the whole theory of "Just relax. It'll happen when it happens". It so did not happen.

Approximately 2 weeks ago I decided to give in to the Nike catch phrase and "Just Do It". I prepped the kid for a few days, little sayings and things "Friday is Potty Day", "Friday we use the Potty ALL day", "This is it Kid. We are going to DO IT!". Things that just don't work on a 3 year old. But, I gave it the old college try. We got up, put on the training pants, had 3 accidents in the span of 3 hours, had 2 sets of training pants soaking in bleach, and that was just the first morning. Do I need to tell you how exhausted I was by the end of the evening? And by the end of the weekend? A screaming/crying/tantrum throwing kid on top of numerous accidents, never leaving the house, and of course there was the screaming/crying/tantrum throwing Mommy.

Oh, yes. If I'm not honest here, where will I be honest. I told my child I was going to take her into the woods behind our house and leave her for the fairies. I told her I was going to leave her naked until she figured out how to not make any more laundry for me. I told my 3 year old that none of her friends would want to be friends with her anymore because she didn't know how to use the potty. I told her she would never go to school. I think I even threatened to not take her out of the bathroom. Let's just say that none of those ubber-supportive tactics worked.

Now, this isn't as bad as it sounds. Okay. It's as bad as it sounds. But, in my defense it was after days of endless cheering, support, hugs, kisses, rousing songs, special "Potty Play List" on the iPod... you name it, I tried it.

And this went on for days. And my mother, my poor sainted mother, had to do this too. Because I took off for 3 days, 2 weeks in a row and went to work. And I was happy to go. For the first time ever, I was happy to drop her off and go to work.

And then I discovered the magic trick for my daughter. Jellybeans. Colors galore. She could pick her own color. And the size. And the flavor. AMAZING. Play a game of Candyland, march off to the potty and there, once your job is accomplished there are jellybeans and Abby Caddabby stickers. Now, we tried candy previously. Chocolate, cookies, candy corn, many different types of stickers. But, nothing was as wonderful as Jellybeans and Abby Caddabby. Sunday, almost a week ago, there was nothing but laughter and clapping and lots and lots of Jellybeans.

I believe that I have passed along the obsessive compulsive gene to my daughter. She can't control that I am forcing her to the bathroom every hour, or the fact that she has to wear training pants, or that the Potty Fairy only left enough diapers in our house for night time use. But, she can control the color of the Jellybean.

And she's great at it. With the exception that I can't get her to, how do we say this delicately, have a Number 2. She went once in 3 days when she was at my mother's for her Nana day. And now it's been another 3 days. I'm starting to worry that she'll explode. Or that I will because the screaming/crying/tantrum throwing child has returned for the last few days. And I think that the screaming/crying/tantrum throwing mommy maybe not too far behind.

Help.

Potty Talk, Part 2

Hi, Potty Training Fools ~

I had to laugh a few minutes ago. This whole Blogger thing has recently added a section for statistics. How many page views you have, tracking where they come from, what time of day people look at your site. The page that has had the most views? My last post on Potties. I had no idea that Potty Training was such an entertaining and interesting topic. Of course, everything revolving around Poop in this house is interesting and increasingly funny.

Is it not amazing that kids think the terms Poop, Pee Pee, Toilet, Flush, Diaper and Potty are the world's funniest words. And they learn this on their own. Lexy hasn't been to preschool yet, isn't in daycare, and the play dates and music classes that we do don't have ANYTHING to do with potties (unless it's me begging for the advice of others)... and yet, those words, especially Potty are the funniest things. Lexy will say POOP at the top of her lungs and race away squealing with laughter. I don't quite share that humor. Is it because she knows that I don't like it? It's not as if I've sat her down and said that we're not calling it a Potty anymore, that we're calling it the bathroom... although, I would really really like to.

Want to know what I want for Christmas this year? Other than the kid to be out of diapers, that is? 5 minutes alone in the bathroom. 5 minutes to not have her come in and ask me what I'm doing. Because, it is after all the worlds most interesting activity. One trip to the bathroom where I'm not asked "You going poop, Mommy?" And, please, one blessed event where after I (and know that apologize for anything that seems graphic) finish with my necessity for there to be no peering into the toilet. I mean, it's like she's looking for the Holy Grail or lost her favorite toy in the snow and standing there staring at it is going to make it reappear. Please tell me that your kids do this, too? That it's not just my beautiful, intelligent, hilarious daughter that is so obsessed with this?

So. It is nice to know that you all are as Potty Obsessed as the people in this household are. 46 page views. Not many in the grand land of blogging, but the highest number that this lonely little Mommy Blog has achieved and I am still sitting here smiling because it was on the topic furthest from my heart.

Oh, and speaking of Christmas... I had a friend post on her facebook page a question about how many presents Santa brings their kids. I was wondering what you all do for your kids. Last year Lexy got a very special gift of a Cabbage Patch Kid from Santa and one or two other smaller gifts. I'm assuming that this is what he'll do again this year. We haven't talked about it, seeing as he's so busy up North getting the final touches on everything, but I don't know why he would change his routine. But, I am curious what happens in your households. Does Santa only bring one gift, five, twenty? And just how far do your gifts go? Aunts, Uncles, Cousins, Grandparents, Great Grandparents? Your friends kids (absolutely in this house)? The neighbors?

What do you do for your traditions and how the heck do you fit it all in? I'm already running out of time and money and energy...

Merry Christmas Early. I love this season. It's my favorite. Merry Merry Merry.

Love to you all.

Potty Talk

Hey, Peeps.

Oh my gosh. I have something to share that I'm sure will just bowl you over. A confession. It will shock you. I hate the word Potty. I find it dirty, stupid, childish, I could hop over to the online thesaurus and come up with a few more terms but I think you get the general idea. And I use it about 75 times a day. My life is revolving around Potty Talk. No, not the kind that requires washing my daughters mouth out with soap, but the kind that brings to mind diapers, wipes, potty rings, small people potties, big people potties, zero privacy in the bathroom, videos, books, rewards, discussions, need I go on?

Before Lexy was born I remember a conversation with one of my girlfriends where I told her that I was going to teach my children the phrase "Mommy, I need to use the facilities". Okay, so I was semi-kidding, but in my head the house was clean, the children were sitting on the sofas in white clothing, there were no toys on the floor, the kitchen was spotless... I was having a pre-mommy insane moment. I think I had a lot of those.

Lexy will be 3 years old in a matter of weeks. She is no where near potty trained. I have to tell you, I'm starting to take it personally. I mean, really, there is no interest what-so-ever. I ask, she says no. And I'm sure that that last statement is going to be my life's refrain for the next 20 years or so, but that's beside the point.

We own the potty ring (you know, that thing that goes on the toilet so little people don't slip through and land in the water)? We have the little person sized potty. In the same bathroom. Every morning I ask "Do you need to use the potty". One of my first statements everyday begins with the dreaded word. I've tried stickers. I've tried toys. I've tried candy. Now, that was a big one because she doesn't get candy with the exception of one piece after dinner for dessert. Nothing brings about any interest in the actual learning or training. Realistically I know that there aren't many adults in Pampers, so I should be good in a while. But it would be so nice to move beyond this phase and get rid of the changing table.

So. Here I am asking you. Begging really. Please please please. How did you train your kids to use the bathroom? How did you get them interested in learning? And, most importantly, did you have a better term than POTTY???? Ask your parents friends to read this post. Share it and ask them for me "how the heck did you potty-train your uninterested, doesn't want to bother stopping what she's doing, too bored to sit on the toilet child???".

Please. Help Me.

Update

Update.

There was eating in the world of Lexy last night. Actual eating. Chewing, swallowing, forkfuls of eating. Okay, maybe not forkfuls, but actual eating. And I don't know if it was because I smothered everything in tomato sauce, or it was Josh's friend that spent the bulk of the meal talking to her, or the promise of a piece of candy for dessert if she would just swallow that last mouthful of broccoli. But, does it really matter? It was as stress-free as a dinnertime meal in the household can get and for that I am thankful.

Oh, and for those of you who didn't know that my kid is brilliant and is way advanced for her age? I just have to tell YOU. Last night after I put Lexy to bed I went to my parents house to help my mother decorate her Christmas tree. I told Lexy I was going out and she was still awake when I left. At some point in the evening, Josh went upstairs to tell her to go to sleep (this has been another on-going saga). Their conversation went something like this:

"I need to talk to Mommy."

"Mommy is sleeping"

"No, she' not. Mommy went to Nana's house. I heard the garage door go up and down. TWO times."

"You heard the garage door go up and down TWO times?"

"Yes, Daddy."

"Well, I can't fool you, can I?"

"No, Daddy."

Told you so.

Happy St. Nicholas Day, my friends. I hope St. Nick left you something nice in your shoe.

I am now THAT mom.

Oh, Lord, help me. I have just sat my daughter on our stairs with a mouthful of sweet potato fries, peas and carrots in an attempt to get her to swallow what would be her fourth bite of dinner. I mean, I think I have officially obtained the title of "Worst Mother in the World" or at the very least "Strangest Parenting Technique". I didn't mean to make it into a battle, but there you have it. And there is just no way that I can let an almost three year old stubborn me out. I mean, I am the queen of stubborn. I live my life by "I may not always be right, but I'm right 99% of the time and there is just no way that this moment is that other 1% of the time". When I'm right, I'm right. And I'm just usually right.

See what I mean about stubbor? Four bites of dinner. It's not that there were only four bites. It's that the four bites took an hour and required spitting out of a very large mouthful of I have no idea what. And it was just gross. And I am getting so tired of gross. And she's not even three. Remind me again, what did I sign myself up for? Was I thinking a few years ago when Josh and I had that conversation about having kids and was it the right time? I'm thinking no, because I just don't think I have the patience for this.

I mean, the stairs. I stuck her on the stairs. And I made my husband go over to her (he chose to crawl across the floor like the dog) to sit on the floor and tell her that he would only sit next to her if she swallowed her food. Seriously. I am officially insane. Of course, the crawling and sitting on the floor was his idea. I had no part in that. Me? I'm the one that moved the high chair away from the window because her reflection was distracting her from the actual eating process. For Him? She swallowed that mouthful of food in 10 seconds. Just to get him to sit on the stairs next to him.

Now, the kid eats most everything. I can't truly complain about the types of food that she eats. She is not a picky eater. But when she doesn't want to eat (which has been dinner the last 3 nights in a row) she just drags it on and on and on and I turn into some kind of crazed, food obsessed, "eat your dinner there are starving children in China or Rwanda or Chicago" kind of person. I had no idea that I was going to become that kind of mom. Am I by myself in this? Are there things that your kids do that just turn you into some kind of lunatic that you never envisioned was a possibility?

I think I need to go to bed. Now. For about 12 hours. And tomorrows dinner duty is hereby assigned to Josh. Me? I think I may take myself out for a nice quiet dinner at McDonald's. Alone.

While I Wait...

Hello Loved Ones.

Right now I have laundry in the dryer, brownies in the oven, Lexy is napping, Glee is on the TV (love my DVD gift set Josh got me for my birthday), and I have a few things to finish before my parents come over for dinner. So, while I wait for the dryer to buzz and the timer to go off on the oven, what am I doing? Getting a much needed nap? Picking up and organizing toys? No. I am writing to you because I promised myself I was going to get back into the swing of things now that summer has passed.

Summer has passed. Today I bought two pumpkins for carving. And by carving I mean scraping out the insides to make delicious pumpkin seeds. That is my plan for post Lexy bedtime this evening. We'll see if it happens, but I love pumpkin seeds heavily salted, so there's a very good chance... But, back to the summer having passed. I realize that I was very negligent to my blog over the summer months. I didn't even write while I was on vacation in Rodanthe, NC. A whole glorious week of Josh, Lexy, beach, sand, sun, beach pizza, seashells, wind, surfers, and more family.

So, to make up for it I want to show you the beauty of September in the Outer Banks.
















I wish I was still there. Although, my house is just starting to smell like melted chocolate and there are pumpkin seeds waiting to be harvested. Those are good things, too.

Talk to you all soon.

C-

And so it begins...

Hi, everyone.

I know, I know. I've been off again for a while. And by a while I mean something like 6 weeks. So, who knows who will actually read this. But, anyways, here it is.

I don't know about you, but I'm starting to feel the pressure of the holiday season roll around and land with a big thud on my doorstep. For those of you who don't know or don't have in-laws, it is really hard to orchestrate 3 family gatherings and get everyone together and please everyone and not have a mild stroke in the process. Josh and I are already discussing Thanksgiving plans. I mean, really. Thanksgiving already? When did the summer end? I don't seem to remember giving permission to the 80 degree days and humidity to vacate the premises. Nobody listens to me. It's just not right. I'm kinda funny sometimes. The world should really sit up and pay attention. Summer should have stuck around for another month or two at the minimum.

Now. As for the fact that Halloween is a few weeks away, we had a bit of costume drama in our household. You have to understand that I don't typically order things from catalogs or over the Internet, but we still get all those catalogs in the mail. Who doesn't, right? And Lexy loves to help me get the mail and to put things in the recycling bin (after all, Elmo recycles so it must be cool, right?), so when we get the mail together she gets to take all the junk mail and catalogs to look at and dispose of properly.

Number One Mistake. Letting Lexy have the Pottery Barn Kids catalog with the Halloween costumes in it. All I heard from the middle of August for 2 weeks was "I want to be the owl. I love the owl. The owl is my favorite." Seriously, what 2 year old remembers that they want to be an owl for Halloween 3 weeks later? She should have moved on the Fancy Nancy or Angelina Ballerina seeing as those are huge in my house right now. But, no. "I love the owl. Mommy get me the owl". Pitiful. So, I gave in and called to order the owl costume. Mommy of the year award goes to me. Number Two Mistake. I waited a few weeks too long. I should have started planning Halloween in January when all the really excellent moms do their shopping and know exactly what their kids are going to like and want. I'm not sure what I was thinking. They are all sold out. Everywhere. Even in Canada. They don't even have the next size up. Not in the stores, warehouses, outlets. NO WHERE. But, "Mommy, I want the owl. I love the owl. The owl is my favorite."

Again, Mommy of the year. I decide, ebay. Someone must have ordered this for their child and had the "I don't want to be a stupid owl" reaction from their precious and adoring child.

They are selling on Ebay for over $100.00. For a Halloween costume for a 2 year old. They will wear it for an hour max. Will they play with it later? Not so much. It's not going to become their favorite toy that they sleep with every night. It's just not going to happen.

Lexy is going to be a bee.




Love to you all,

C-

p.s. Thank you for your patience with me. Check back here and there and there will be posts. I promise.

And if you're wondering about the Finn-dog. He does have cancer. A stromal sarcoma. Bad news. Good news: He is expected to have ZERO recurrence. The oncologist thinks he'll be fine. We just get to spend a fortune on ultrasounds, x-rays and follow up exams for a year until we hear we're totally out of the woods. Meanwhile, he's back to his happy-go-lucky self. Annoying the heck out of me by sitting on the back of my good formal sofa. Brat.

Finn Part II

Dear Friends.

This has a long and traumatic weekend that I have yet to recover from. I'm not sure if I'll ever recover from it. I have learned that our beloved Finn has cancer. Low-grade stromal sarcoma. The doctors give him a 40% chance of surviving a year if we don't choose to undergo treatment. The odds in the other direction are forthcoming when we see the oncologist on Tuesday.

I have also learned that my dear friend from college has had the news that her newborn and beautiful son has a rare genetic disorder called Alpha-1 antitrypsin deficency. It has life long implications for his care and lifestyle and may require a possible transplant situation. This is not fair for a 2 week old. It is not fair for a family just starting out. It's just not fair. If anyone can rise to the occassion and be the knowledgable and loving mother it will be her.

I know that this is hard to read and for me harder to write. I am hoping to learn from this weekend and the stress that it has brought. I am hoping to grow from these things and learn how to be a better friend and how to parent my child through what is a likely situation of losing her beloved "Finny Finn". This is going to take some adjustment and getting used to.

Love to you all.

Carin

Finn

So, I said that I was coming back. I was going to find the time to write. I was going to update everyone on the trip we took to Josh's parents and the beautiful river that they live and work on. I was going to post the cute picture of Lexy sitting on a horse at our friends farm, the pictures of her chasing the cats, looking at the chickens, running through the fields to find the cows. I was going to write about how I'm getting more and more exhausted because work is getting more and more oppressive (in terms of work load seeing as we have zero staff at the moment) and Lexy doesn't stop talking or asking questions for every second of her waking hours. And sometimes while she's sleeping. I put up one post... and then I got smacked in the head. Okay, not really smacked in the head. 22 staples in the stomach. Not my stomach. Finn's stomach.

Friday morning Finn peed on the floor at 2 am. I know, sorry, it's a tad gross. I had to get up and clean the floor at 2 am. It was gross for me, too. And then, when I woke up at 7, there was vomit and bowel movement on the floor. Now, I have a 2 year old. Accidents and sickness happen. But when you're having breakfast company and 2 year old awake and calling "Mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy" over and over and you still have to shower and make the said company breakfast, finding surprises on the floor is not the greatest way to start your day. And then there were ants in the kitchen.

At this point, following breakfast, I was completely selfish. I had realized something was really really really wrong with the dog when I couldn't get him to eat, he didn't want to see my girlfriend whom he loves, and he didn't want to move from the floor. In fact, he didn't want to lift his head. And then the stomach breathing started. That really deep, sucking, rolling breathing that you know is not a good thing. I called my mother. I believe my exact words were "I need my mommy and I'm not afraid to admit it." Oh, yeah, I was whining. Lexy was crazy from company, the dog was sick, there were ants in the kitchen. I wanted to sit on the floor and cry.

Long story short? Emergency vet appointment led to emergency vet hospital appointment followed by ultrasound followed by exploratory surgery followed by spleen removal and testing for cancer. It was almost like being back in the hospital after Lexy was born and seeing her in the NICU for the first time. The fear and icy feeling in the stomach and your heart beats a little irregular.



Our fur baby. Our first baby. Our permanent 2 year old. My company on quiet nights when Josh is out playing volleyball. My burglar alarm (or fox alarm). My buddy. Lexy's playmate. Lexy's "Finny Finn".



He got to come home Saturday night. He'd lost a lot of weight, couldn't walk very well, was really out of it with medication, had no appetite and had no interest in anything other than the new doggy pillow bed that we bought him to rest his sore belly on.




Our "franken-dog". 22 staples. An incision the entire length of his belly. And no way to explain to him what happened and why. He looks at me with these big eyes that tell me he wants to go for his long walk or to try and go down the stairs and he just doesn't get why it hurts so much for him to do it.

Every day he's getting better. He's eating again. We went for a short walk. He's walking up stairs but not down. He's wagging his tail when he sees new people. He's no where near being himself. But he'll get better from the surgery.

We're just waiting on spleen and liver biopsies to make any decisions about our 5 year old fur baby. The first child of our marriage and the first love of our lives as a family.



That's where I went this weekend. Maybe later this week I can update you on the river and the farm. Sometime after work before the biopsy results and during the "Mommy what's this?", "Mommy read this book", "Mommy I want want to watch Elmo"'s.

I hope your weekends were amazing. There must be some joy out there somewhere. Maybe it will be passed down this way when we get those test results Friday.



Love to you all.

Carin

Summer Wanderings

In the last 2 weeks I have had 4 of my readers ask me where the heck I've been. I didn't know you cared. Okay. Since most of you are my friends or new friends, yes, I knew that you cared. I just haven't been around to sit down and write anything. It's been one of those summers that on the days I'm not working outside the home I've been working inside the home, having guests, traveling to the grandparents respective homes and just cleaning my house and getting the errands done. It seems like there have been more and more things to do, but it probably just seems that way because I haven't been here on many of my days off recently to keep up with everything. But. I think things are settling. We'll see. We have a vacation planned in September and that will probably throw things off again.

So, to update you a little on a few of the things that we've been doing this summer, enjoy the following:





This is our neighbor, Thomas. Lexy is somewhat in like with him. She is always beyond excited to see him, and he always hugs her and gives her the best toys. I'm still more than a little concerned.






I had completely forgotten how much fun puddle walks can be. We've had a few rainy days where if I didn't get the kid outside to burn off some of that energy I may have run out in the middle of a hurricane to escape the amount of toys on the floor. Hence, the puddle walks and the cleaning of mud off of clothes, shoes, legs, and from up the shorts (mine not hers) after particularly well aimed and monster stomped splashes.



This pool is one of the most awesome gifts that we've received. The whale is a sprinkler, which I would think most kids would love but Lexy hates. But, as you can see, she loves the whale. Oh. And the pool is more than big enough for me to get in with her. Which I have. On many occassions.



I'm not sure what to say about this one. Evenings have become creative in our household.







And Lexy's first carousel ride. She held on so tight with both hands I could see white knuckles. She had a stone face the whole way around the entire ride. She was busy watching the other kids to see what they would do. And when it was done? She came racing over to me, slammed into my legs and proceeded to tell me how much she loved it. Who knew white knuckles and no smiles translated into pure enjoyment.

I'll try and update a little more in the next couple of days. But my house is clean. And mostly organized. It still amazes me, too. And I plan on keeping it that way even if it means being more OCD than I thought I could get. So, forgive me if I'm not back to the everyday posting.

Thanks for missing me.

C-

Quotation Marks

Dear Dear-ios,

Last night I stayed up late reading. Again. I know that I should know better by now, but I don't. If I was still 10 or so I would be under the covers with a flashlight. I always have this insane notion when I'm half way through a book that I can somehow finish it before my usual bedtime. The regular time to go to sleep that makes me functionable and sane and pretty the next morning when the alarm goes off at 5:30 or earlier. I am always wrong, yet I never regret it.

Seeing as I've only had 1 large mug of coffee and my brain is functioning on serious LOW at this point in time, enjoy some quotes from some amazing people to jump start your thought process this beautiful Wednesday morning.

Joy is prayer - Joy is strength - Joy is love - Joy is a net of love by which you can catch souls.
-- Mother Teresa

The golden moments in the stream of life rush past us and we see nothing but sand; the angels come to visit us, and we only know them when they're gone.
-- George Eliot

Always be a first-rate version of yourself, instead of a second-rate version of somebody else.
-Judy Garland

People are like stained-glass windows. They sparkle and shine when the sun is out, but when the darkness sets in, their true beauty is revealed only if there is light from within.
-Elisabeth Kübler-Ross

No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.
-Eleanor Roosevelt

Love to you all. Have an amazing Wednesday.

C-