KB Squared

Birds, Bees, and PB&J

2012-02-03T09:29:00.000-08:00

Braedon reads anything he can get his eyes on. Magazine headlines, Facebook updates, over-the-shoulder texts, labels, street signs, storefronts.

Storefronts.

"Mom," he asked me as we drove down the strip we drive down nearly daily, "What kind of store is 'Mr. Peeps'?"

I let out a subtle giggle-sigh before formulating my answer. At least I THOUGHT it was subtle. But Braedon, the boy with the wise mind and old soul, he caught onto my expression of nervousness. I need to be more careful.

"Braedon, that's a good question but it's hard to answer." Stalling. Still thinking. Too much time has passed.

"Don't answer Mom, I'm embarrassed and scared now."

Shit. How can he know to be these things? It was my damn giggle-sigh. I should have known better.

"Yeah, I'm a little embarrassed too, Braedon and that's okay. But I'm not scared. I'll never be scared to talk to you about anything, and I don't ever want you to be scared to talk to me about anything either. Even and ESPECIALLY when it makes us feel embarrassed, okay?"

He agreed.

"There are times that you are going to hear things at school and you aren't going to know what they mean. Your friends may thing it means something it doesn't. And those things will be weird and probably embarrassing but I want you to tell me. So I can tell you what they REALLY mean, okay?"

I remembered back to my own childhood, when in 4th grade my best friend told me that she gave a classmate of ours a boner. I thought it was some kind of haircut.

He answered excitedly, always on the quest for knowledge. "Okay, and I can go back to school and tell my friends that my mom taught me what those things REALLY are."

Er... I just let that one go. We'll cross that road when we get there, I suppose.

Back to the question at hand, Mr. Peeps.

I launched into this horrible food analogy about babies and how they aren't really interested in PB&J's like he is because their body is too little to eat them. Their digestive system can't handle all the fancy stuff PB&J's are made of and they don't have teeth to chew them with anyway. All they need as a baby to nourish their body is milk.

free-falling into big kid-dom

I told him that when you're a baby, you don't even know that one day you will want that PB&J. Your body isn't built for it yet. I told him the same goes for his body. He has a boy body right now, and while it's changing every day, it is very different than the man body he will one day possess. I told him his man body will want different things than his boy body, and that Mr. Peeps has some of the things that his man body will want. Then I told him (this is where it gets really good/awful) that the stuff Mr. Peeps has is like junk food for his grown-up body. And that there are better ways to help his grown-up body out than feeding it junk food. But the junk food, it won't kill him or anything.

"It'll just make me unhealthy."

Astute observation.

We went over again how I want him to come to me with any questions he may have about anything, and sometimes that will be hard. I told him I will check in with him every now and then to see if he has any questions he's been saving for me. He liked that idea.

Then we continued on our merry little way, waving to the giant plastic Harvey the Bunny, staple of my childhood and now my childs', Braedon's mind obviously back on to kid things like video games and lunch.

Of course my mind was still on our most recent conversation. I felt like congratulating myself on a job well done, celebrating with my head in the sand, my fingers in my ears, while singing "la la la la la laaaaaa..."

I felt like having a beer.

Instead, we stopped by Mc Donald's for a quick lunch on a hectic Sunday afternoon.

So much for that metaphor...

Why I Haven't Been Blogging

2012-01-27T18:39:00.000-08:00

Growing pains.

Sometimes they ebb as my world manages to temporarily balance itself. It's easy to blog then. I have enough cute kid anctedotes, domestic comedy, grade school woes and under-the-bus spouse-throwing stories to fluff up the glowing internet pages of this blog for days. It is never long, though, before those life-bits start to pile up on the scales again, first one then another, before the weight of it all sends everything crashing down, life-bits tumbling all over the place.

Namely, under the rug.

I've never been a wave-maker. After struggling to make friends in junior high and high school, once I finally managed to fall into a group I could call my own, I was desperate to keep them. Listen up, kids, here's a little tip for keeping friends: Don't make waves. Controversy, opinions, disagreements, outside-the-box thinking, that stuff will lose you friends right quick. Best to just keep it to yourself. That way no one has to take sides, question your loyalty, or like, totally lose their buzz.

It worked for me for years.

Then I got pregnant and I had to start making tough decisions. The coasting was over. I had to educate myself and pick sides and delve into topics foreign and scary to me. I began to develop resolve. I found myself with all these opinions in my lap, strong opinions that were my own, opinions that I wished weren't a big deal but were, and I had to find something to do with them all. So I applied all of these lovely, liberating opinions to my life and kept mum about it. Best to not make waves.

Then those kids of mine, they began to grow. It became harder to hide those pesky opinions of mine, and I started to get a reputation. Shit, I'd think. Reputations make waves. So I made sure to over-compensate. I had to let everyone know that what I thought really didn't MATTER, 'cause they were just my ideas is all. That is all. No big deal. I am not a big deal, don't mind me. Don't ditch me, don't leave me, don't gossip about me, don't abandon me, stay with me, please, be my friend anyway. This worked for years as well.

Back to the kids again, and all that damn growing they keep doing. All of the sudden I had a girl to throw in the mix. A girl who was born under-privileged (statistical fact) just for being a girl. Then my first born, he started school and that little product of my ideas and opinions joined the outside world. At first, I would think don't blow my cover.

Now, I think baby... make the world your bitch.

Isn't that what we want for our kids? To make a difference? Find their calling? Follow their destiny? Change the world?

I have never heard any famous anyone credit his success to "not making waves."

All of this to say that I am growing, and sometimes it hurts. Just like it did when I was a kid. Just like it SHOULD. Growth is painful, and that is okay. Maybe painful isn't the right word. Productive discomfort fits. I compare it to that tight, debilitating pain after exercise. That pain, it sucks, but even in the midst of pissing myself while jump-roping I know I'm doing myself good. Because the next day, when the ache wears off and my loins are dry, I will be stronger. And, despite what the world may say, strength is good.

I haven't been blogging because it has taken me this long to reconcile who I am and what I believe. Yes, they are different. What I believe, that can change. AND THAT is okay too. It SHOULD change. I hope to change what I believe or how I understand my beliefs until the day I die.

Growth.

I am still the same set of characteristics. I still love the crap out of everyone. I still see past differences. I still love hearts. I still think most of us are doing the best damn job we know how to do. I still think we can't take it ALL on, and I still believe we all need our own causes. That's how we keep the world afloat.

But I can no longer sit with the discomfort of not making waves. Over the last year, I have made waves and it sucked and I recovered and my conviction and resolve has been strengthened. Because even though sharing my identity hasn't always been comfortable, it has been IMPORTANT. I am important. And that is what I will teach my kids.

....

I was thinking about my batch of friends across the board. It's amazing how, while we all overlap, I am not aligned with any one person on every topic. Not one single person. And I love them anyway. And if they love me anyway, well then, that means they love me in spite of my beliefs. Yes, IN SPITE of them. That's what love is. Loving "even though."

It is not okay to spread my ideals to offend or to judge. It is okay to spread them to share.

If I am going to blog again, it's important that I am allowed to talk from my heart, about the things that I have passion for.

So let me share a few things about me. Things I have been afraid to make public because of all of the friends I hold too dear to make waves with. Silly me... It finally dawned on me that if they hold me just as dear, THEY WON'T CARE. And we will both grow, because of each other, in spite of ourselves. And that is good.

Here goes.

I am a Christian. I am a political liberal... most of the time. I am a moral conservative... most of the time. I believe in holistic healing. I also believe in science and technology. I don't like big-business, particularly marketing and advertising. I let my kids play violent video games. I hate Disney Princesses. I love pink and sparkles. I believe that circumcision will soon be a thing of the past. I don't vaccinate my children. I am too cheap to eat the foods I would love to feed my family. I do not judge you on your differences. Upon further inspection, it's not entirely unlikely that I may adapt those differences as my own.

I am thankful to have learned that.

Who knows what else I will learn and SHARE, a midst the ones I love.

I can't wait to find out.

Take Me to Vegas!

2011-06-13T08:48:00.000-07:00

Let me tell you something. I am one lucky mother. I'm not talking about a chance encounter with Luck, either. I'm talking about a full-blown affair with Lucky McLuckerson. In the flesh.

It all started last Friday in this very office chair. I was sipping on my morning cup of coffee, tired, stretched out with Coral on my lap. My pj's were still on and my robe was open, spanning the entire chair, making it more throne-esque, really. Facing me, blue eyes sparkling, Coral and I were having a grand old time as she poked my nose, scrunching her own in anticipation of a return poke. Then my eye, her eye. My ear, her ear. Mother-daughter bonding at its finest. After a few minutes of this, Coral started making some really silly sounds with her mouth and throat that I tried unsuccessfully to copy. She sure is competitive at this follow the leader thing, I was thinking...

...moments before she projectile vomited all over me.

The previous day's dinner of broccoli casserole encased my body in a cocoon like manner, creamy, soupy, green. Broccoli boogers were lodged in Coral's nose as she began the hysterics that accompany child vomit.

I took a minute to collect my thoughts and put together a game plan, all the while smiling at my good fortune. I mean really, I couldn't believe how well that worked out. Because she was facing me, and because my robe was open acting as a catch-all, the only thing I had to do was throw everything in the wash and hop in the shower with my leading lady. No shampooing carpets, No scrubbing furniture. AWESOME!

We took it easy for the rest of the day. All seemed well. That night, I woke up to Coral's hysterical puke cry and made my way into her room expecting the worst. She had puked all right... in a huge, tidy pile contained only to the center of her quilt. Again! The luck! I simply rinsed the chunks of breakfast-for-dinner off of the pink and orange gingham and threw the blanket in the wash. No removing sheets. No shampooing carpets. No scrubbing walls. Sure, I lost out on some sleep, but I was still smiling. This is the BEST puke-fest EVER, I kept thinking.

Saturday we went to a park. The sun was out and I wasn't going to miss it. Puke be damned. All went well.

Sunday we had Church in the morning and errands all afternoon. I was nervous about taking Coral out, but I wasn't about to allow myself to be ruled by the chance that another episode would take place. I fed Coral carefully and hydrated her well. Most of her nutrition came in the form of smoothies, boob milk, and the BRAT diet.

Another successful day.

Jordon got home around 7pm that night. We put the boys to bed and spent some time catching up on each others' day. Holding Coral, I followed Jordon around the house as he changed out of his work clothes, poured himself a beer, picked up the toys in the living room, gave the boys a kiss goodnight, and finally settled in on the couch. Only to realize that he forgot his stein in the kitchen. Since we were in mid conversation, I accompanied him to the kitchen, Coral still in my arms.

It was in the middle of the kitchen that she had her third projectile puke. SUCH LUCK! Of all the rooms of the house that we had visited in the last 30 minutes, she chose to lose her smoothie in the ONE room without carpet! Meaning, AGAIN! No shampooing carpets. No purple berry stains. A quick mop job and yet another shower, and we'd be good as new!

At this point I was downright giddy, laughing merrily. I really wanted to dance at my fortune, but the puke that got on my front side was beginning to drip and cool, and I was afraid the dancing would splatter the Pollock-like painting that my body had canvassed.

After a bit of rehydration, Coral fell asleep peacefully in Jordon's arms and we tucked her in for a full, puke-free, restful night's sleep.

We stayed up for a while marvelling at our great fortune. I have never in my years of a mother experienced such a blissful time with vomit. My heart felt full. My spirits were high. All was well. So well, in fact, Jordon and I decided to "retire to bed" early. I mean what is more romantic than NOT having to scrub puke out of carpets?

Truly, I am one lucky lady. With one awesome (albeit pukey) daughter.

Let's Try This Again, Shall We?

2011-05-24T10:21:00.000-07:00

Curiosity may have killed the cat, but I think complacency kills the human spirit.

After a few months of making excuses for myself, (tired, sick, busy, deserving of down time,) the sneaky little lies that became my mental monologue finally caught up with me one morning while cleaning the house I once again allowed to get thrashed. The self depreciation began, as I accused myself of being lazy, uncaring, a bad parent, a mess in general. As I got the house under control and my mood evened out, I cut myself some slack.

I have tried to make positive life changes before, and although I have managed to tweak things in certain satisfying ways, change on a larger scale is hard for me. I am naturally good at being a mother, spouse, housekeeper. But I mistook those skills as being enough. It isn't. An NBA star still has to work his ass off to succeed. An artist is always refining and redefining her skills. And so it is with me.

Lately certain tools have been placed gently in my lap, just waiting for me to pick them up and use them.

I found a church that doesn't make me want to scoop my eyes out with a serrated spoon and stick them in my ears to drown out the high-pitched, superficial greetings and overuse of the electric keyboard and snare drum. Their philosophy is that if you can't use it on Monday, they won't teach it on Sunday. It is motivating, positive, and inspiring. In fact, I think if someone not comfortable with religion showed up, they would still get plenty out of the sermons. Just what I was looking for.

Don't worry, I'm not going bible thumper on you. I still plan to swear gratuitously after the kids go to bed and drink my hipster mom PBR. I will continue to check out the shirtless six-packs at the skate park (tattoo'd ones only, that way I know they're at least 18.) But I am looking forward to having a bigger basket to put my eggs in, if you will.

I also ran across this on Donald Miller's blog which helped me realize that my previous failed attempts at change weren't entirely my fault. I didn't have a plan. Even a great chef can't say I am going to make a gourmet meal today and have it happen. They must plan. Make a list of ingredients. Determine measurements and cook time. Preparing for a successful life is no different.

So here I am, starting from square one AGAIN, complete with a personal life plan (which I will document here,) hopefully leading to better results.

As my dad always says, how do you like them apples? Let me know!

Foot Shootage

2011-04-21T10:11:00.000-07:00

So... in a fit of frustration and irritation I totally just grounded the boys from TV for a week. And I have to stick to it, because I really laid it on thick.

This should be interesting.

Secrets of My Three Year Old

2011-04-16T10:59:00.000-07:00

Elijah's third birthday came and went with no blog post from me. This has been eating at me since his birthday. Especially because it is Eli. The middle child. I am perhaps overly fearful of the middle child syndrome. I can now see where such a thing is plausible (not inevitable.) I used to think it was an old wive's tale, but now I know better. Don't believe me? Have three kids.

Elijah is a complex being. Yes, my three year old is very complex indeed. Smart. Witty. Eloquent. Mischievous. Daring. Self-aware. He is harder for me to relate to than Braedon. Braedon is very much like me in spirit. Elijah is very much like Jordon. His traits; gifts are powerful ones. I feel a strong sense of the importance in raising him right. Maybe it's too many 80's Saturday morning cartoons, but I very much believe that if his powers fall into the wrong hands... not even the Care Bear Stare could protect the world from what he is capable of.

Okay I exaggerate. I totally just made him sound like as sociopath. Maybe I should stick to examples.

Example 1: The Situation Spinner Eli has a tendency to wait too long before going to the bathroom. Instead of receiving a lecture from me, he often puts new clothes on himself and hides the old ones. When I finally realized what he was doing, we had this long talk about honesty and telling the truth and why it is important. He understood. A few days later, he came up to me, wet clothes in hand, and a hard-to-read sparkle in his eye.

"Mo-om," he said sweetly. TOO sweetly. "I waited too long again. Here are my wet clothes. I told you the truth. Now tell me 'thank you, Eli, good job!'"

Example 2: The Young Leader Eli was told not to have water before bed. I heard him sneak out of his room, snag Coral's filled water cup, and return to the bedroom. I tiptoed down the hall to bust him but stopped short at the door, as I heard whispering coming from inside.

"Braedon. Tell Mom we are just playing hot lava, okay?"

I open the door, hardly noticing Eli stealthily slip the cup behind his back. Had I not known he had it, I may not have noticed.

"Mom, we're playing hot lava," Braedon announces sweetly, as Eli fades into the background. I confiscate the water cup and close the door, again listening to the whispered conversation on the other side.

"Sorry, Eli, I tried."

"That's okay. We'll just get the water again. When Mom comes in, we will play lava a lot so she won't see the water."

"Okay," Braedon agrees.

Example 3: The Sneak Eli was told no more snacks until dinner. I realized it had been quiet for too long, so I went to seek him out. He was under his bed with the light off and the door expertly barricaded by their toy cabinet. Snacking on an orange.

Remember, Eli turned three April 9th. He is just three.

Of course this is just one side of him, albeit a big one. I fail to mention his spontaneous hugs and kisses, his fondness for babies, and his desire to be held like a baby and "petted."

Still, it is a knee-jerk reaction for those around us to say he's going to be trouble... But I don't see it that way.

I think of this inborn nature of his, and I think of all the good it can do in the world. It is up to Jordon and me to provide him with a strong sense of morality, structure, routine, security, and an insane amount of love and affection in order to allow his strengths to flourish into something wonderful and positive. I know we can do it.

I believe we were destined to.

Happy birthday, Elijah. I can't wait to see what your future has in store for you.

Blazing Bromance

2011-04-15T13:54:00.000-07:00

Facial hair is hot. I have been trying to get Jordon to grow a beard for a while now, but he gets to the 5:00 shadow length and gives up. He says it's itchy and too hard to groom.

But... facial hair is so hot!

When we started dating, Jordon couldn't even grow a beard. Not an even one, at least. Now when he gets that grizzly look going, it's thick and manly and rugged and... well, hot. Still, he just can't seem to cross that magical threshold from too lazy to shave today land into yummy beard land. Then a few days ago, he gets a phone call. All I can hear is this.

"Haha, really? Who else is doing it? Word. Yeah man, I'm in. I'll just shave tonight and that's it. No? Okay, whatever. Peace."

I am sure he can feel me staring quizzically at him as he hangs up, but he pretends not to notice. I finally ask.

He tells me that bunch of his work buddies have pledged to grow out their face hair until our local pro basketball team, the Portland Trailblazers, are out of the playoffs.

"Really? Just like that? Onne of you dudes calls and that's all it takes for you to do something I have been eyelash batting at you for weeks about? "

He shrugs. He said he didn't have enough motivation before. Motivation. I should have given him motivation! In the form of deprivation! 28 years and I still haven't learned how to effectively hone the powers of a woman.

Oh well. Oh, and GO BLAZERS!!

THE BEGINNING

(Jordon hates getting his picture taken. I had to literally chase him around the house and hide behind corners to get these. Which was actually pretty fun.)

If It Keeps on Rainin'...

2011-04-06T09:57:00.000-07:00

Last night I settled in for bed. Jordon had a late meeting so I planned accordingly. Made some tea, made the bed, made things cozy. Relaxed, mellow, tired, I crawled into bed. I quickly slipped into that half-asleep state that I usually love so much. This time, though, every time I breached the realm between asleep and awake, I was taunted with a song that sang so loud in my ears I checked the radio twice to see if it had accidentally turned on.

But no. Metaphorically, literally, spiritually, symbolically, situationally, this song embodies my last few months. Okay maybe not literally, literally. But rain literally. It's funny, too. The last time I even remember hearing this song was over six years ago. I remember because I thought to myself I haven't heard this song in a looong time. And it was raining. Go figure.

Over and over, word for word, note for note. Loud. In my ears. In my brain. In my soul. Suffice it to say, I didn't sleep well last night.

My Master Plan

2011-04-04T10:22:00.000-07:00

I was reading an article in my latest Parents magazine about how it's important to be realistic about goals. About how it is not only okay to not be able to do it all, but impossible as well.

This doesn't work for me. I HAVE to do it all or I get depressed. I NEED to live in a clean and organized environment. I MUST have quality chill time with my kids and husband. It's important for me to stay on top of what we eat. On how we spend our money. On my relationships. On the laundry. On my favorite TV.

I WILL do it all.

I will blog, too. Blogging is the only thing I do that really leaves a tangible mark. All of the other things are important too, of course, but in the running-on-a-treadmill kind of way, not in a first-place-in-a-marathon kind of way. So I have devised a plan to be better able to do it all.

First, I will force Braedon to chug a Rockstar. Then I will set him up with an appointment at some kind of clinic where they will take one good look at him and prescribe him Ritalin. Then I will ingest his Ritalin which is known to work like crack in adults. THEN I will do it all.

I considered meth, it's cheaper and easier to obtain, especially in these parts. But I am kind of attached to my teeth. Did you know I don't have any cavities? Fact.

I am a genius. Also fact.

And, just because it's cute... I present to you an awesome example of my awesome parenting.

Texted Epiphany

2011-03-29T18:01:00.000-07:00

Last night I texted this to Jordon. I think it may have been one of the truest statements ever texted IN THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD.

"Ugh! I just want to be able to do it all! And then when I can't, I don't want to do ANY of it."

So that's what I have been up to! Holla!

Vloggin' Vednesday: Guilty Pleasures

2011-03-22T19:26:00.000-07:00

FEATURING THE TELL-ALL TV

This week was fun. I'm rather proud of it, actually.

Please support other Vloggers! Go to Adeline's Daddy to check them out!

"My" Mallards

2011-03-21T14:22:00.000-07:00

These sweet beauties were roaming my back yard this morning. After doing some research (and feeding them a bit of bread) it looks like they might actually be finding a spot to lay their eggs. In the back yard! I have my heart set on this lovely couple making a home of our home.

They have since left. I think I may get some cornmeal from the store and set up a kiddie pool for them to see if they come back.

Witnessing the beauty of the wild in our back yard makes my throat tighten and my stomach churn. It is yet another reminder of how painfully homesick I am for the spring. We are having record rainfall here in Oregon. I miss the sun. I miss dry grass and mowing the lawn. I miss the park, watching my kids on their scooters, and exploring. I miss outside.

The ducks brought me hope. I'm awaiting their return. I'm already attached.

Smarter than the Average Wolfy

2011-03-17T12:49:00.000-07:00

Braedon has an entourage of bed mates that accompany him to dreamland every night. It started out with just Monkey, but when we accidentally left Monkey at a friend's house, he was temporarily replaced with Wolfy and Blueberry. Of course by the time Monkey was returned, the attachment to the other two was already developed. Thus began the Sleepy-time Three.

A few nights ago Braedon came into our room after a nightmare that involved being scratched in the face by his friends from school. They didn't know who he was even though he tried to tell them, and according to Braedon, they scratched all his life away. Kind of freaky, even for me. It was then that he realized he forgot Wolfy that night. I fetched him from the living room, tucked Braedon and The Three back into bed, and ran my fingers through the mop on his head that he has decided he wants to grow out. (Such a big kid decision. Just another reminder of the big kid he's becoming.)

The next evening when it was time to get ready for bed, Braedon started to cry. After some prodding, he told me that he was afraid of going back to bed in case he has the same nightmare. It was then that the little white lie that moms are totally at liberty of telling, popped into my head.

"Oh, I thought you knew," I said casually. "Wolves keep the nightmares away. That's why you had one when Wolfy wasn't in bed with you last night.

He was skeptical.

"I never told you that before?" I continued. "Hmm, that's weird. I thought everyone knew that." I had to play it cool with this one. He wasn't born yesterday after all. Far from it, I reminded myself again.

His head cocked to the side, his nose wrinkled, and his eyebrow raised dramatically. "Really?" He asked, for at least the fifth time.

"Yeah dude, really."

Was he on to me?

"Okay then..." he countered, his mouth morphing into a sneaky little grin. "Let me see you Google it."

Oh yes, he did.

After falling back on the super lame excuse that his screen-time was maxed out for the day, I insisted that he remind me tomorrow and we would Google it then. So far he hasn't remembered. I'm sure he will soon.

Anyone want to make a fake wolves-scare-away-nightmares page for me? Please?

Vloggin' Vednesday: Q & A

2011-03-15T20:52:00.000-07:00

I did this vlog on Monday because it I was a busy lady the last few days! But I was sick and tired, as I make sure to point out in the video. I know you guys can relate with that 'one of those days' feeling I was having. Still, life is not to be taken too serious! Well, I am not to be taken too serious, at least.

I Did it all for the Cookies

2011-03-12T14:41:00.000-08:00

We were out of yogurt. That meant I had two options: go to the store then, right after I had woken up from an evening nap to enjoy a few hours of alone time with Jordon, or go tomorrow. If I went tomorrow that meant the boys would be out of their favorite breakfast which would only go over well if I replaced it with something labor intensive, like pancakes.

Store it was.

I didn't bother to re-apply my makeup, not that it would have mattered. I don't think any amount of foundation could have ridden me of the deep couch indents spread across my cheek.

After arriving at my destination I caught eyes with a stranger across the store. I smiled politely, as I always do when accidentally making eye contact, and continued on my way. I could feel him still looking at me. Maybe he knew me. Maybe we went to school together or he was a customer at the bank I used to work at.

As I wandered the store, I happened upon the bakery, mentally battling with myself on to cookie or not to cookie. They make THE best cookies here. I felt the stranger paralleling my every move 20 feet away. Finally he approached me. He didn't even bother to glance at the cookies before commenting on how good they looked.

Awkward.

I was too nice.

Also awkward.

I actually indulged the stranger, commenting on which ones were my favorite and how to pick the best batch. (Crispy on the outside, doughy on the inside.) He kept inching closer. Finally he made his move.

"They have good croissants too. Wanna try some with me one morning?"

Did he just... hit on me? I don't think I have been hit on once in the last five years. Granted, I have only left my house sans kids a handful of times since Braedon was born.

I made some comment about how I hated pastries and just walked away. I REALLY wanted those cookies, too, but I was too afraid to turn around. I felt like he was following me, waiting for second chance at small talk. When did I become so timid? I am no stranger to the cheesiness that is a desperate man. And he wasn't creepy or ugly. He was just awkward. Who hits on girls at the grocery store? I wouldn't have been surprised if he was part of one of those life coach reality shows where a set of instructions are given on how to come out of your shell, and one of the tasks is to approach a girl at the grocery store.

I scanned the aisles for cameras.

There was something unsettling about the entire encounter. I still can't put my finger on it. Is that I am just out of practice? Have I become old and intolerant? Do I feel unattractive, thus shying away from any type of positive attention?

More likely the pit in my stomach the whole ride home was from the most painful of truths. I never got my cookies.

Moms: When was the last time you got hit on by a stranger? What did you do?

Vloggin' Vednesday: Rooms in Your Home, THE MUSICAL!

2011-03-09T07:35:00.000-08:00

I think my stage presence is improving, w00t! Minus all the singing.
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Won't You Be My Vlogger?

2011-03-07T14:33:00.000-08:00

Why did I decide to vlog? We all have different sides. Coming from a person who barely passed every speech she ever did (and that was credited to content only) I didn't think I would like vlogging. But I do. My writing is much more eloquent than my speaking. But it is only one part of me. I think it is okay to have different sides of ourselves, and I enjoyed showing off my irl (in real life for the non-nerds) side last week.

And let's be honest... humans by nature are very curious (nosy) about other humans' lives. So vlog with me and let me get a glimpse into your world! Join these other bloggers gone vild!

Current Themes and dates:

Vednesday, March 9th

“Rooms in your Home” - Show a room (or rooms) in your house, could be your favorite, could be a room you want to redesign… do what you feel.

Vednesday, March 16th

“Q&A Day” - Vlog questions

•Why did you start blogging?

•If you had to eat one thing for the rest of your life, what would it be?

•What is the biggest personal change you have ever made?

Vednesday, March 23rd

“Guilty Pleasures” - OK, we know you’ve got ‘em, let ‘em all hang out.

Vednesday, March 30th

“How To” - Share a “how to” video. I love learning new things, who doesn’t?

Linky party for Vloggin' Vednesdays will be hosted at Adeline's Daddy.

Happy Birthday Coral

2011-03-05T16:04:00.000-08:00

I clutch onto Jordon's leg as he drags me around the house. His pants are beginning to fall off his waste and his eyes are rolling so hard I am sure they are going to fall out of his head. I don't let go until he shakes me off at the bathroom door. I lay there in a heap, open hand draped across my forehead and cry, only half faking, "I can't believe my baby's ooooneeee...!!!"

A few hours earlier I had texted my mom "F*** balls, my Cocoa is one today." Apparently this term was new to her, because she claimed to have needed to turn off her blow dryer or risk frying herself while laughing.

My overly dramatic displays of devastation over Coral turning one are mostly for entertainment purposes. But not all the way. For a while I assumed that the reason I am getting so worked up about her turning one are obvious. For starters, she is our last child so of course I am going to mourn the passing of the baby stage. I've had a kid in the baby stage for the last five years. Also, she is my girl. I don't care what anyone says, they are different. And the bond I have with her is different as well.

After further introspection, I discovered a third reason I have been boo hoo-ing about the passing of her first year.

She is so perfect right now that the irrational part of me fears she has nowhere to go but down.

When Braedon was a baby he was pretty high maintenance. We had to bounce him a lot, he didn't sleep well, and his meltdowns were epic and unprovoked. The older he got, the more his temperament evened out. He morphed into this amazing man-child, wise in heart and mind. The transformation began right around his first birthday. We embraced this change with open arms.

When Eli was a baby he was stand-offish and aloof. It seems weird to describe an infant this way, but he was. His needs were utilitarian only. Food. Diaper change. Sleep. He is the only child I know that has grown MORE affectionate as he gets older, not less. Now he is a mama's boy, often crawling into my lap requesting that I "pet" him, while giving me spontaneous I love you's. As soon as he could walk, his new found freedom led him into our arms, not away. He started walking right before his first birthday.

Coral, on the other hand... her first year has been nothing but joyous. She IS joy. Invisible beams of joy shoot out of her every pore. Her brilliant eyes are like lighthouses beaconing us into the hold of her spirit. It is so easy to be present and in the moment with her. She is 20 pounds of warm, soft therapy topped with a mass of crazy curly hair. I love to run my fingers through her hair over and over, twirling her ringlets around my fingers.

I know one day soon she won't let me.

She is such a clown. She loves to make us laugh. She needs to make us laugh. She has an arsenal of fail proof laugh-inducing moves that she will go through until she finds the one that tickles our funny bone the best, like her full-bodied high fives or her fake burps. Then she will do it over and over again, laughing with us, until we are all rolling on the ground together cuddling and giggling.

Yes, she is joy.

I confess to holding out on feeding her solids, insisting that she nurse first. Her interest is waning. I know that she is nowhere near weaning, but every time she pushes me away to peer into the kitchen, I get a lump in my throat.

I know her future will be bright, and I look forward to it, but... but I am enjoying this part of her life too much for it to be over already.

Last night after her birthday party I rocked her asleep in my arms. Jordon and I stared at her while reminiscing over her first year. Eventually we ran out of things to say, so we just stared. After a while my shoulders began to ache, my back was screaming from being slumped over for so long, and my hands were asleep. I put her in her crib.

What if she woke up tomorrow different? Changed? What if the passing of her first birthday meant the passing of her babyhood?

Turns out she DID wake up different today. She DID change.

For the first time ever, when I reached down to swing her into my lap, she looked at me with those crystal blue eyes and she finally called me Mama. She's been saying it all day. I think what she means is "I may be 1 but I am still yours, Mama."

And so she is.

Block Head

2011-03-03T08:15:00.000-08:00

I snap at Braedon as he interrupts me from the back seat on the way to school, his sweet, curious voice sending me into silent convulsions of frustration. I am too busy mentally obsessing to be bothered with his observations on the weather.

So awful.

Stress. Stress coming out of my ears. Coral has her birthday party on the fourth. Braedon has T-ball tryouts on the 12th. Yes, tryouts. For T-ball. On the 19th I am co-hosting a baby shower at my house for one of my amazing blossom bellied friends. But these things don't bring me stress.

The stress is from within.

We are given certain traits, personalities. We are born with them and it is up to us to mold them in a way we see fit. I think they call it "free will." It is hard. It's a struggle to always be changing, because personal change means admitting that there was something wrong with us before.

I spend most of the thirty minute drive thinking about this. It was the vlogging that did it. I keep going over and over the things I said or didn't say. I worry about how I looked. I wonder how I was perceived. And the thing that bothers me most is that I am even giving these superficial concerns the time of day. I am who I am, and I am (usually) okay with this.

The root of the problem is that I don't know who I want to BE. Where is vlogging taking me? Or blogging, or motherhood, or womanhood, or life. Where am I headed? And what more should I be doing to get there? Thinking, thinking, thinking myself into circles.

It was the guilt I felt over my outburst that led me to shoot a quick "give me patience" prayer off to God, which He promptly answered for me, old school analogy style.

As I was shoveling my burdens into God's lap, chucking them at him one at a time, I imagined Him picking them all up. I could see him gathering my colorful building blocks of experience, personality, thought, ambition, deeds, fear. All of these things that I have and don't know what to do with. They just clutter the floor of my life, making navigation painful. (Have you ever stepped on a Lego?) So I take them and I try to build something with my blocks, but I am no architect so my tower falls over time after time. I am so preoccupied with trying to make something beautiful out of these blocks that I don't notice anything else. The sweet interaction between brothers, missed. The two independent steps taken by Coral, missed. A few brief moments of precious sun light through the dreadful clouds of winter, missed. And for what? A pile of blocks.

So today I took those blocks, and gave them away. All of them. They are mine, they'll alway be mine but I don't know what to do with them. God does. He will take those blocks for me and he will build the big picture only He can see.

While he is doing that, I will be taking care of the things He wants me to be responsible for. My kids, my family. My Vitamin D intake. Life. The things He has entrusted me with.

When He is ready and my future unfolds, it will be greater than anything I could have accomplished on my own. All because I gave Him my blocks.

Vliggidy Vlog Vednesday

2011-03-02T07:22:00.000-08:00

Why the hell am I vlogging?

Didn't I say I was going to blog to write this year? It was very hard for me to hit publish on this vlog. I think because I actually WATCH vlogs. Mostly makeup vlogs. You know, the beautifulest of the beautiful. But I figured it'd be a good practice in letting go.

I think that's what I like about writing. I can edit and re-edit and think before each word. When I write, I feel like I'm putting myself out there- but not ALL the way out there. Which I like.

So here it is, my first vlog. At least I am not alone!

Generation Social Network

2011-02-22T17:30:00.000-08:00

This video, it frightens me. And not just because of the questionable taste in my boys' new favorite song. (You try to raise them right...)

Watch to the end.

Stroke of Genius

2011-02-19T10:42:00.000-08:00

I'm not sure how many times last night I woke up to wipe the snot and slobber off my chest. At least six. Coral is stuffed up and teething, a very messy combination. She didn't want to sleep in her crib alone but she doesn't like sleeping in our bed. She can't get comfortable.

I felt the weight of her one year old body on my chest all night long. The night was miserable and uncomfortable. I couldn't fall asleep because I feared her slipping off. I dozed a few minutes at a time instead. I know that I won't remember the fatigue of the night a year from now. I know that I will never forget the feeling of my 20 pound baby being an extension of myself once again, if only temporarily, like she was 20 months ago.

That thought comforts me little today. Too tired.

In addition, Eli was also stuffy and woke up twice complaining of "having a big choke" which I can only imagine meant swallowing an obscenely large ball of snot. The second time he woke up, he wandered the house crying, looking for me. With Coral on my chest, I maneuvered myself out of bed and tucked him back into his.

There's more. I am officially an able-bodied breeder again, if you get my drift, and have re-entered womanhood with a vengeance. So on top of getting up to get Eli back to bed and only being allowed cat naps with Coral on my chest, I had to put her down to take several trips to the bathroom which of course left her screaming.

Jordon hasn't been feeling well either. Last night he had a fever. So I laid in bed with a hot baby on my chest and a hot husband at my side, receiving only brief relief from the fan on Jordon's side of the room, mostly blocked by his body.

I was wishing that I had a fan on my side of the room as well.

It was then that my million dollar idea hit. Although drunk from lack of sleep, I created a mental prototype of a fan that... are you ready to this? Mounts to the CEILING. GENIUS. I would call it... hmm... I would call it a ceiling fan!

Edited to add that this is NOT my fan or picture! I know, someone else as inventive as me, just a Google click away!

When the realization of my non-invention finally dawned on me, I pledged to not bother with thought for the rest of the night/day. So far I am succeeding in abundance.

Prophet Jordon

2011-02-17T10:28:00.000-08:00

I am comfortable with my beliefs and enjoy talking about them. I also try never to push them onto anyone, or offer unsolicited advice unless it is truly called for.

Today I think it is truly called for.

My husband, he can be prophetic at times. These moments of transcendence hit him mostly when the conscious, tangible world is at bay, his subconscious allowing him to tap into some deep truths otherwise lost in the chaos of the world. Luckily I am around to document these cases, as he rarely remembers them in the morning.

So friends, family, strangers. If you have recently found yourself at a fork in the road, struggling between option A and option B, recognizing that your decision will affect your life for years to come, you have happened upon this blog not by chance. Stop reading, researching, and soul searching. My husband has gifted you the answer.

At 2:22am, from a deep trance-like slumber, Jordon sat straight up in bed, threw his fists triumphantly in the air, and passionately and loudly exclaimed "2011 IS THE YEAR OF THE ANDROID, BABY!" before passing right back out.

So there you have it.

He Will Make an Awesome Husband

2011-02-15T10:35:00.000-08:00

Kindergarten round-up dates are being displayed on all the grade school reader boards. I get to be the new mom at the new school again very shortly. I worry about how I will handle that, especially now that PTA mom and Stay at Home Mom may as well be tied up into one neat package.

What I don't worry about is Braedon. He doesn't have the new-situation anxiety like I do, and I am so proud of him for that. He can also write all his letters, hang up his own coat, sound out words, recognize tons of site words, and pee standing up. He's all set for kindergarten. Hell, he's pretty much set for dorm life. He can make his own PB&J's. He wakes up in the morning, pulls on his robe, and prepares himself breakfast every day, often eating it over the picture search in his High Five magazine. Maybe he's more set for retirement than anything else.

His independence is jarring and surreal. He takes on responsibility as a quest, not a chore. He has jobs in the house (cleaning the living room and his bedroom) and puts me to shame most days when his areas of the house are immaculate, especially compared to mine.

He also aims to please. I feel like I unintentionally take advantage of him. I pile on the responsibilities and he rarely resists. He fishes paper out of Coral's mouth, fishes Coral out of fishing in the toilet, and reports to me when Eli is acting fishy. He is like my domestic co-worker.

It's so easy to forget that he is only four and a half.

Last night after filling up on dinner, he wrapped his left-overs and put them in the fridge. He informed me that he would be eating them for breakfast. As I mulled over the appeal of reheated mac and cheese first thing in the morning, he cocked his head, raised his right eyebrow condescendingly, and told me "What? If we can eat breakfast for dinner, I can have dinner for breakfast!"

Touche, my son.

The next morning as I lay in bed, half asleep, desperately praying that the forecast of rain, rain, and more rain was completely wrong, I heard Braedon get up. He donned his robe, opened the fridge, and pulled out his left-overs. "Mom?" he shouted, "How long should I put this in the microwave?"

"Twenty seconds" I told him, before I snapped awake enough to remember to add "AND MAKE SURE TO LEAVE THE SPOON OUT OF IT."

"I know, I know, you tell me that every time," he answered. I could see his eye roll in my mind.

About ten seconds later, the microwave starts making strange noises and Braedon is shouting at me to come fix it, panic creeping up in his voice. The spoon, I thought, a bit of smugness mixed with my concern. But it wasn't the spoon. Turns out Braedon's left-overs consisted of about only twenty noodles, if that. They were sizzling, torched. After they cooled, Braedon tried them out.

"They taste like rubber," he said, following it up with "maybe I'm not ready to use the microwave on my own just yet."

I apologized, told him I should have been out here to help him out, gave him a hug and kiss, and told him how proud of him I am.

I am thankful for the reminder that my eldest is still a child. A child that deserves to be a kid.

Another beautiful image brought to you by The Paper Mams

Valentine's Day!!! (???)

2011-02-14T14:58:00.001-08:00

Valentine's Day, oh what a strange day indeed. My Facebook is filled with all kinds of V-Day updates, from the haters who equate it to a Hallmark holiday (no arguing here,) to the sappy, TMI updates about flowers, chocolate, and awesome spouses. (Also no arguing.)

As for us, we used to epically disappoint each other. I always chose to take on the role of the romantic, spending way too much time pouring over greeting cards, stressing out about whether to go mushy or funny, and glaring at those people down the card aisle that somehow manage to block half of it with their bodies.

Pick up, open, read, put back. Pick up, open, read, forget where I got it from, glance around to make sure nobody is watching, put back in the wrong spot. It is not an exaggeration to say that I often spend a minimum of 30 minutes finding "the" card. Once "the" card has been chosen, I spend another embarrassingly long amount of time writing a love letter of sorts that fills the signature space on the card, spews out into the margins, and finishes up on the back. (Which is carefully directed to with one of those little "turn over" arrows. In the shape of a heart, no less.)

Then when the big day would come, I'd present my card to my handsome spouse, anxiously anticipating his response, which without fail has always been "whoa, you wrote a novel in this thing, do I really have to read it all?"

So romantic.

Then he'd ask "So... what did you get me. Jerky? Last year you got me jerky. WHERE'S MY JERKY?"

Jordon, on the other hand, has always been more about buying something cool. Or at least thinking about buying something cool, and promising to buy it later. Sometimes this would come up with a folded, printed up page from the internet, but more often than not he would forget to do even that in time, and would deliver my future gift with nothing more than his pretty voice. No flowers. No card. The gifts have always been pretty awesome, but the lack of effort used to leave me deflated.

By the end of the day both of us would end up feeling disappointed in ourselves and each other.

That is why my advice to couples would be this. Decide ahead of time what is expected from this day, and then deliver. No surprises. Do you want to ignore the day? Sweeet... Dinner and a movie? Awesome! Flowers, chocolate, and a mushy card? Whatever works. Edible underwear? Okay, that's just gross.

These days in the Zander household, our Valentine's Day roles have been honed in. We have learned to look forward to, and appreciate each others' interpretation of the day. I am the mushy card giver. Jordon attempts to respond to my mushy card in an equally mushy way, and that is enough for me. Jordon is the gift giver. He finds something cool for us to do together. This system is perfect for us. Now, we both benefit from all ends of the Valentine's Expectations Spectrum, or VES for short.

I am totally excited about the flyer Jordon unceremoniously gifted me this year. I can't WAIT to do this. He knew I would like it, knew it is exactly my kind of thing.

And that, truly, is the best gift of all.

The website to my gift! Float On

On the Other Side

2011-02-13T15:27:00.000-08:00

I no longer feel like binging on cookies, eating Big Macs every day, drinking in excess, crying, or watching Jersey Shore marathons. The storm has passed. Still, I am left wondering WTF? Where do these moods come from? And why do they, just like that, decide that enough is enough, and vanish? The last time I went through a painfully apathetic phase was the summer of 2009. I remember it because I was worried that I would never care in quite the same way again. This time around I knew the apathy would pass, but I couldn't bring myself to just wait it out.

So I vented to my best friend, got doted on by my candy-enabling mother, and received awesome tips and tricks from the best group of online women, my "Diamonds." I spent a lot of time trying unsuccessfully to blame Jordon, spent more time venting about him, and spent even more time guiltily appreciating him as he took care of me, listened to me, and never lost his patience with me. I let the house go to hell and spent a lot of time laying on the floor, passively engaging with my kids.

The question what is wrong with me never received an answer. I blame hormones, or some kind of vitamin deficiency, moon cycles or something. Then I wonder if these kinds of phases that I know almost everyone goes through aren't some kind of emotional growing pain. That maybe it's our brain's way of saying quit floating by, your complacence is counter-productive to the human plight. Here, allow me to shake things up a bit.

While desperately searching for the cure, I was forced to work through mental processes that would have otherwise been neglected. I had to make decisions and think hard about who I am right now, and what do I want right now. No ten-year plan, or next week plan. I had to fill in the emotional gaps I managed to just skirt around before.

So here I am, on the other side, hormones back in check or whatever, and I am still the same person in the same place. But my thought process has shifted. Simple understandings have relieved me of the guilt or sense of failure I sometimes get caught up in.

I am back in the present with a fresh perspective and a new appreciation for ALL of the amazing people I have lucked out in surrounding myself with.

If nothing else, I have realized how loved I am. A unique feeling for the give-give-giving attitude of a young mother.

Comfortable in my skin, once again.

Beautiful photography courtesy of the amazing Paper Mama, one of my closest friends who got me the hell out of the house when I needed it most.

Suck it, Winter

2011-02-08T11:11:00.000-08:00

The window was open and the subtle cool breeze softly rolled over my cheeks. I was half asleep, tucked to the neck in bed. The crickets serenaded me outside, their chorus a lullaby for my soul. I felt light, relaxed, happy.

Somewhere in the distance I heard a car alarm go off and I snapped back awake. The cool spring breeze was replaced by an artificial wind produced by the bedroom fan. The imaginary cricket noise came from the squeak squeak squeak of the fan's oscillation mode. I felt the dread return to me, winter weighing heavy on my heart.

I have been so hard on myself these last few weeks. I have demoralized myself with lists not done and projects half finished.

Today I'm letting myself off the hook. For the rest of this dreadful season I am going to take it easy. Clean the house, play with the kids, hang out with my friends. I am not taking on any big projects. I am not over-committing myself. I am going to listen to my body and my brain and I am going to allow myself to be mediocre.

I know it is only then that I can feel great; BE great.

One is the Loneliest Number

2011-02-02T13:35:00.000-08:00

In the ebbs and tides of motherhood I have definitely been sucked down by an undertow. I keep trying to pinpoint the source of my current down-and-out view on life. Is it the winter and the cold? Is it Jordon's long hours? Is it all of the things that I have to do? So much in fact, that I can't manage to do any of them well? Maybe that's what is bothering me. My inability to do one thing perfect, let alone several.

Whatever it is, it makes me feel alone. I glue on that perma-happy face, I try to "fake it 'till I make it," I hope that if I act one way, my mind and body will follow. Sometimes this works. Lately it hasn't.

I just brought the boys in from out front where they were playing with the neighbor kids. Their mom was out blowing the leaves in her yard and manicuring her trees. I felt a sense of shame at the shamble that is our front lawn. She asked me how the baby was. Good, of course. Wonderful in fact. She is my joy. She asked about the boys. So fantastic! Growing like weeds, they get along so well. Braedon is starting Kindergarten next year! She asked me how I am doing. I hesitated. Fake it 'till I make it, I reminded myself...

Instead, something overcame me and I blurted out those shameful words not so well. I went on to tell her about the teething and the lack of sleep, the pressure of picking a good school for Braedon and my frustration over our tight wallet. Shut up, I kept telling myself, you sound like a sniveling failure. But I didn't shut up. I kept going. I don't have time for hobbies, I miss my husband, I don't fit in with the pre-school moms. Then I topped it off with a "you know how it goes." Wtf? Where did you pull that one from? What if she DOESN'T know how it goes?

"OH yes," she sprawled theatrically, "I know how it is! Some days I think I just plain suck at this parenting thing."

Huh. Yeah, that about sums it up.

I am still overwhelmed, over-tired, and overworked. But I somehow feel a little lighter... and a lot less alone.

Obligatory Anniversary Post

2011-01-28T13:29:00.000-08:00

I was so thirsty. I wanted a drink of water so bad. Right in front of me sat a deliciously dewy glass of water garnished with a lemon wedge. Just the way I like it. But I couldn't do it. I was just TOO full.

Jordon and I went to The Outback to celebrate our 5th anniversary and we made it a goal to clean our plate. Food, it's always been a thing of ours. Not in the "let's cook a gourmet meal together while playing a game of who-knows-the-most- spices" way, but in a "let's eat until we puke" kind of way. And I was close. We started with the Aussie Cheese Fries which are featured proudly here. We ate them all, of course, and washed them down with a 22oz beer each. For the main course I had a half rack of ribs and a steak. Jordon had a steak with a side of steak. Medium rare for both. We fit in our vegetables though. I had a Cesar salad and Jordon had butter laced broccoli. We chased all of that down with another 22oz beer. Needless to say, our waiter was impressed.

During our meal, we laughed. It was a painful side-splitting laugh. I was sure my side was literally splitting, making way for my full course meal to escape violently to the floor. We sat on the same side of the booth like we always do, being silly and making jokes. It was natural and easy. It always is, we just don't have the opportunity to enjoy that side of our relationship very often. I think we added probably a half dozen inside jokes just from that night. (10+2, haha!)

In love, laughing.

After dinner we made our way to the movie theater which is in an outside mall that has been done up with an elegant, old-world charm complete with cobblestone sidewalks and thousands of twinkling strands of lights above. We held hands while browsing the shops. Between the cold fresh air, the quality time with my husband, and the alcohol, I felt downright giddy. I like to talk when I get giddy. Like with strangers. I love that as reserved and stoic as he is, Jordon never gets embarrassed by my shenanigans. In fact, I think he rather enjoys them. I could sense him holding in his laughter when I asked a police man roaming, er, patrolling the streets where we could go to get a cheap drink. He directed us to the local wine bar which we made our next destination.

Hot toddies warmed our hands and our body as we whispered made-up gossip to one another about the bartender and the waitress who's rear he couldn't leave alone. We marveled over the mass amounts of booze scaling every wall. We laughed some more.

During the movie we expressed our thoughts on the movie through looks and glances that are so easily interpreted between us.

Afterwards, we had a lengthy and embarrassing conversation with the gas station attendant that I choose not to even get into. More laughing. More inside jokes.

The last 5 years of our marriage have passed easily. We are friends, and as friends, we have weathered all extenuating circumstances gracefully as a team. But our connection goes beyond that. Our marriage is more of an unbreakable bond than it is a partnership. It is almost like the devotion between a mother and a child. Um, that sounds creepy, but let me explain.

When I see my kids talking to other moms I never get jealous. They are mine and they will always be mine. It is just a biological fact. Why would I ever doubt this? When they get on my nerves and I on theirs, I never doubt our relationship. It is only normal to have these times of temporary incompatibly. As they grow and change, our relationship will adapt over and over again, sometimes naturally, sometimes with much conscious effort. But our place in each others' lives will never be doubted or questioned because God brought them into my lives in such an obvious and believable way. A way that is pointless to question because it is a tangible fact that we belong together.

And so it is with our marriage.

I am beyond excited for the next 5 years of our life together. For the sum of our marriage this far, I have either been pregnant, raising a newborn, or have been the sole source of nourishment for our kid. Often all of the above, simultaneously. My body has not been mine for that many years. My weight has fluctuated almost as much as my hormones. I have been tethered to a dependent literally 24/7 since before our vows.

Sometimes I so desperately want a fourth child. But it is my selfish joy and devotion for Jordon that keeps this urge in check. I am ready for my time to be his, and his to be mine. Finally, for the first time in our marriage, we will have that opportunity. In so many ways, I feel like our married life together has just begun. And I can't wait.

Still in love...

...still laughing.

Lazy Days Suck

2011-01-27T18:10:00.000-08:00

I decided to shirk my daily duties for a relaxing day of reading and hanging out with the kids. I forgot how bad lazy days suck with kids. They don't such so much as they are just impractical and impossible. I changed a mess of disgusting cloth diapers, wiped more tears than I could count, broke up fights, rocked, petted, bathed, and fed the kids all day long. My insistence that this day would be one of relaxation led me to ignore the sink full of dishes and the pile of laundry in the middle of the hallway.

So not worth it.

Now I am agitated and frustrated with myself. I am losing patience with the kids over silly stuff, and there is a knot in my chest that won't go away. I haven't written a quality blog in days, and that slovenly form of failure that I was so accustomed to in 2010 is sneaking its way back into my life.

This time I am choosing to attack this self-destructive attitude head-on. I may have had a lazy day, but I won't have a lazy night. We have the Modest Mouse Pandora station cranked at an un-neighborly decibel and are power cleaning the house as a team.

I discovered a while back that if I refer to everyone in our house as team-mates, the boys are a lot more willing to help out than if I call them part of the family. Go figure. So here we are, teaming it up.

Funny and semi-related; my girlfriends and I used to use the word "teaming" as code for sneaking away to get totally wasted at house parties. Sounds pretty desirable right about now, actually.

After that I plan on hitting the grocery store for a late-night trip sans kids. It sounds like misery right now, but I will be glad come tomorrow that I will have one less thing to do. And who knows, maybe I'll pick up a case of beer while I'm at it, and "team" it up with Jordon when I get back. Yeah. Gooooo team!

Why I Should be a Movie Critic

2011-01-26T23:30:00.000-08:00

My review of Black Swan:

1/4 aesthetically pleasing (in more ways than one, wink wink...)
1/4 haunting
1/4 thought provoking in an Emo way
1/4 utterly ridiculous

Red Meat, Holla! (And a Random Braedonism)

2011-01-25T21:08:00.000-08:00

I have spent so much time researching and implementing the healthiest, kid friendly, most satisfying, inexpensive and "green" meal plan for my family. I can't remember the last time I have had red meat. Um, Big Mac's don't count. Tomorrow to celebrate our 5th anniversary (2 days early) I am going to be loading up on those high-cal cheese fries at The Outback. I am going to chase them with ribs and steak and beer. Maybe dessert, too.

HAPPY ANNIVERSARY, US!

*******

Conversation with Braedon
Me: Why are you so big and tall???
Braedon: Because I am 4 and a half, Mom...
Me: No, that just can't be.
Braedon: Why?
Me: Because, I am too young and beautiful to have a 4 and a half year old.
Braedon: Well... you are at least beautiful!

Thanks? ...I think?

Water Shots

2011-01-24T10:39:00.000-08:00

Somebody's been watching too much Jersey Shore...

Delusions of a Mother

2011-01-22T12:17:00.000-08:00

Besides the Blazer game in the background, I had Jordon's full attention. The kids were in bed, we'd spent a few minutes picking up the house together, and he had just settled down for a beer and some munchies. Perfect.

"So when I dropped Braedon off at pre-school today, his teacher had the cutest conversation with Eli," I started. He was clearly riveted. On the edge of his seat, in fact, intently staring over my shoulder at the game behind me.

"Yeah, afterwards she told me that she could tell that I worked with the kids a lot. Isn't that cool?"

He feigned interest.

"Yeah... and, um, she also said she'd really like to sit down with me one day for some pointers on how to make such awesome and smart kids. In fact, it got kind of embarrassing, 'cause she got down on her knees and started bowing at my feet. Yeah! She said she wished she had a dozen Braedons in her class, and that I am the most amazing mother she has ever met. And she thinks I'm pretty too. So she said I should really consider working as a professional child-rearer, and that there is an apprenticeship open with Supernanny starting at a million dollars a year, wouldn't that be great? Oh, what else, I know there's more... I mean at this point my memory gets foggy, because you know how I am with public speaking. There were parents all around me, they actually had me stand on a chair so everyone could hear my golden words of wisdom. Well, that's what THEY called them, anyway. OH," I continued, as I kicked a stray McDonalds toy under the sofa, "she also said she can tell by my kids' porcelain skin and luscious locks that I must be a hell of a cook and feed them only the purest varieties of food. She wanted to know how I get them to eat their vegetables."

I seem to have Jordon's attention at this point, so I finish my story.

"Pretty much she told me she worships me and will continue to strive to be as much like me as she possibly can. I mean... it was embarrassing, but what was I supposed to do? Just walk out? So I thanked her, gave her the lock of my hair that she asked for, then we went home. So yeah, it was a pretty interesting day."

Jordon looked at me, sighed a long, exasperated sigh, and finally replied. "So THIS is what you fantasize about now, huh... I wish I didn't know that. Although it does explain a lot."

5 Hour Vacation

2011-01-19T22:25:00.000-08:00

10:14pm! I have come too far! Must... blog... something...

An enthralling book lent by a friend, beer to kick off our weekend, and a surprise load of treats brought home by Jordon. Caramello, Berry Skittles, Ding Dongs. He knows all my favorites. Needless to say, I have been busy enjoying my 5 hour vacation.

Thoughts on Parenthood

2011-01-18T14:13:00.000-08:00

When I was a senior in high school I tagged along on the annual backpacking trip my boyfriend and his best friend took. The best friend was hesitant to allow my attendance. I was a girl after all, and the issue of slowing them down and getting in the way of their male bonding could have posed a problem had I not also been good friends with him as well.

The trail was chosen, the backpacks were loaded, and we made the 5 hour drive to our destination. It wasn't until later that we found out the trail difficulty was mis-numbered in the guide book it was picked from. We ended up on a trek two levels above the assumed one. It was grueling. Painful. Totally worth it.

Carrying a 30 pound pack on my back while walking for a minimum of 5 hours a day left me exhausted and depleted. It did not leave me demoralized. In fact the sense of accomplishment I felt after a day of climbing treturous rocks and slipping down muddy hills was worth the excruciating agony my body was in. Not just my muscles, either. I got utterly violated by the mosquitoes. They bit through my clothes, covering every inch of my body. EVERY inch. No area was off limits. I finally gave up swatting at them. I was too tired to scratch. I fell asleep an itchy mess night after night.

I bathed in a river that was so cold it was impossible to submerge myself in without an involuntary scream escaping my swollen lips.

My muscles became numb over time, pushed past their limits. Eventually my adrenaline kicked in providing a strange new relief necessary to my survival. My mind went blank and I began chanting inside my head "one foot in front of the other" over and over again, hour upon hour until it was time to break for a granola bar, filtered river water, or soup from a packet.

It sucked. I loved it. LOVED it. I was surrounded by an intimate beauty experienced only by those who chose to attempt such a feat. Some nights I went to bed too tired to reflect on the exhilarating feeling of success and the untainted sanctity of the wilderness, but I didn't need to. These things became a part of me that week, so no reflection was necessary. It seeped into my every pore and became the cure to my bug-bitten soul. On the less difficult nights, the self-reflection I could muster up left me with a feeling of exclusive joy and enlightenment.

When I came home I felt like a total badass. I told my stories of woe and success, illustrated acutely by my polluted skin and the picturesque photos of previously inconceivable views. The pain was part of the beauty.

I think of this today because it exemplifies the life of a parent. Painful, torturous, lonely, beautiful, fulfilling, WORTH IT. It has been a difficult week in the Zander household. Braedon is pushing his boundaries, melting down at every opportunity, arguing, manipulating, and defying. The antics of Eli and Coral exacerbate my frustration. I am left feeling like I have nothing left. I go to bed down, but not defeated. Motherhood has seeped into me and the beauty of my role is present even on these difficult days.

The difference then, is that when I spoke of the simultaneous pain and beauty of my epic backpacking trip, I did so with pride. People understood the concept of pain enhancing beauty. They GOT it. It made sense. They were jealous of the ENTIRE experience, the good and the bad.

The pain of parenthood is taboo. It can't be spoken of without sounding ungrateful, unfulfilled, or like a lousy parent. If I were to use the word 'torture' regarding my parenting experience, I can only imagine how that would be interpreted. I didn't feel guilty about my drained muscles after my crazy forest excursion, that would wouldn't have made any sense. Nor will I feel guilty about the drain of parenting. It is that same satisfying torture that I experienced all those years ago, muscles burning, overlooking a vast expanse of sacred beauty.

It is the very same thing, only better.

That's a Long Time!

2011-01-17T21:33:00.000-08:00

Thank you for a life of security, comfort, love, and leading through example.

Happy 30th Anniversary, Mom and Dad!

My Little Gamer

2011-01-16T11:20:00.000-08:00

I fall into a lake of bubbling lava almost instantly. My character poofs into a cloud of smoke leaving my eldest son alone to navigate the treacherous field of spikes and evil robots. I watch Braedon's hands expertly navigate the Playstation controller. He can barely reach the L1 and R1 buttons, his fingers the size of a child's. Because that's what he is, after all. A child. A child that can school me at Little Big Planet, over and over again.

Doubt seeps into my parenting subconscious. I wonder if allowing him and admittedly encouraging him to excel at not-quite age appopriate video games is setting him up for years of obesity and anxiety. We stick to a limit of two hours of screen time a day, including cartoons, but I still worry. The intensity on his face is a look usually reserved for adults who are navigating the rush hour freeways or attempting to bake a pound cake. His brain is still so malleable and fresh and here I am allowing it to be polluted with technology.

Then I wonder, polluted? Or enhanced. Let's face it, times are changing. Our kids are changing. I want to be the type of parent that is ahead of the curve. I don't want to be spouting off condescending tales of "when I was a kid" and "oh the youth of today" because discouraging my children from stepping into the future is the same as holding them back. I think about famous directors and producers and wish I knew if their parents scolded them for watching too many movies as a child.

Braedon shows a keen interest in video games. I have read countless articles about being aware of your children's interests and assisting in refining them. If he was into pottery or drawing, skateboarding even, like his younger brother, working on the advancement of such a skill would be praised. Gaming, though, that is different. I am nervous to openly exchange in dialog regarding Braedon's passion. It wasn't that long ago that I was at a baby shower and happened on a conversation about how an acquaintance's children aren't allowed to play video games of any sort. Her oldest is 10. It made me uneasy.

I try to keep the big picture in mind. The picture that is comprised of school, friends, jobs, careers, and success. Video games can play an integral part in all of the above.

Little Big Planet has a feature where the ambitious, creative type can design levels of their own. I watch Braedon peruse the menu options, searching for just the right mountain or spike strip to add to the blank on-screen canvas. I pay close attention to the way he matches themed designs, scouring his options for just the right color of blue. He is creating in a medium that is still largely taboo and misunderstood.

The nerds of the past are not the nerds of today. The nerds of today play pickup games of basketball, frequent the gym, have hot girlfriends and make loads of cash. And shower.

It is my job, then, to allow Braedon's interest to flourish while stressing balance and boundaries. I am the adult, and as so, it is my civic duty to make my children productive members of society. Not burdens. It is my job to stress the importance of physical fitness and nutrition. To teach my children of charity and compassion. To support them while they delve into their passions. To dream big. I see no reason why all of these important factors of humanity can't be combined with a love of gaming.

Sometimes I feel like I am taking a risk. That my parenting decision regarding this topic is largely unexplored and experimental. Then I catch Braedon reading a book to Eli or gently removing a scrap of paper from Corals mouth, replacing it with a quick kiss and a smile. I watch him wrestle with Jordon, spin on his zebra, and make his own peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. I see him easily and naturally interact with his peers at school. I receive praise about his good behavior, gentle demeanor, and advanced level of compassion, and my mind is put at ease.

The children of today are not the children of yesterday. This is neither good nor bad. It is truth. So for now, I will continue to allow my children to be who they are and love what they love in the hopes that I am giving them a strong foundation to be passionate, successful individuals in the future.

Or should I say, OF the future.

One of Those Days. Only Worse.

2011-01-15T15:37:00.000-08:00

Sometimes being a parent means doing stuff that sounds undesirable in nearly every way. Like bundling up all the kids and bringing them to the park on a clear, beautiful, FREEZING day. After being house-bound for a week straight, Eli kept asking to go the park. No, no, I told him, it's raining, it's too windy, it's 4:00am, it's the Apocalypse. Eventually I ran out of good reasons to say no. And the bad reasons were getting pretty bad. Just because I hate being cold and uncomfortable doesn't mean my kids should have to suffer.

So I sucked it up and bundled us all up, a process of which I dread, what with all those coats and zippers and getting those tiny little fingers into gloves, and away we went. I figured that in the end, I'd be glad we got out for some fresh air. I mean really, enjoying some time outside, playing, laughing, getting some exercise rarely leads to regret, right?

I was cold the whole time but I was surprisingly not miserable because my kids were having fun. I almost even started having fun. Then Eli decided to go check out the swing set and to his amazement his latest obsession was plastered right on the side of it, which, by the way, was occupied by a girl and her under-dogging dad.

"MOM!" Eli shouted across the park, excited. "I want to show you this erection!"

Eli loves directions. He likes video game directions and Lego set directions and warning signs like the ones on the swing set. He just can't pronounce it right. The dad stopped pushing, grabbed his daughter and left. Coincidence, I am sure.

I decided to move us far, far away from the rest of the young kids and their parents. We made our way to the skate park where the boys could spend the rest of the day watching the teens swear, smoke, and grind. Maybe even skate a little too. Eli could talk about erections all he wanted here. He'd even be in good company.

Instead, he announced loudly that the girl with the pretty purple hair was really good at skating, except of course the cute punk teen wasn't of the girl variety at all. And he didn't look amused.

Oh, but that wasn't the end of our fun day out.

Braedon was upset that I wouldn't let him scooter with the big kids. It's a rule of ours that they can only use the skate park when the big kids are in school, which at this time they weren't. So unfair, I know. So Braedon starts arguing with me in the middle of the bleachers, getting louder and louder until he spots a kid about his size riding by us on his skateboard.

"HE'S a little guy!" Braedon shouts loud enough for this "little guy" or, as they are often better known, dwarf, to hear.

We then made our way to the jungle gym, exiled from yet another location.

It was nice watching my kids play together during this break in the rain. Despite all of our mishaps, my cold ears, and my sleeve covered in slick trails of my own snot, I was actually starting to enjoy myself. My kids play so well together. I loved watching Coral go down the slide in Braedon's lap, Eli catching her at the bottom. It was a sweet moment. I was further reminded to live in the moment when Braedon asked me why they made the climbing mountain smaller. He hadn't played on it since last summer. My heart got that mushy mom feeling while explaining to him that the jungle gym hadn't gotten smaller at all. That HE had gotten bigger.

Eventually we made our way back home and I was mostly glad we got outside. The kids had a good time, the sunset was beautiful, and despite all the glares, I didn't get beat up. I was proud of myself. Sometimes it's hard to get past my own wants and needs and put my children first. But instilling happy childhood memories is important to me. I don't want them thinking back on me as the lazy mother who hates being cold.

Once inside, I surprised them with some hot chocolate with three ice cubes, just the way they like it. I am an awesome mom, I was thinking, as they chugged away at their rare treat. They are going to remember the shit outta this day.

Sometime during my fantasy of my adult children knocking on my door to deliver me a bottle of wine and the memoir titled "Why My Mom Saved the World" that they just sold their millionth copy of, I was interrupted by the sound of Braedon throwing up in the bathroom. Turns out he had chugged his drink a little too fast. And oh yeah, I forgot to feed them lunch too, so that probably didn't help.

Oh well, so much for THAT happy day of childhood good-ness.

Maybe he can send me his memoir from jail.

Oh well, so much for THAT happy day of childhood good-ness.

Maybe he can send me his memoir from jail.

Too Tired To Title

2011-01-14T10:32:00.000-08:00

I used to think I knew what it meant to be tired. I used to stay up all night partying. I'd go straight from the party to work the next day. Before I clocked in I would, change, brush my teeth, and do my makeup in the bathroom. I'd have a few energy drinks, doze between customers, and eat a lot to make it through the day. That night I'd start the process all over again.

I remember one time I took the now illegal ephedra to stay up all week so I could finish my Art History final. A replica of Neuschwanstein done in foam core and paper mache. By the end of the week I was feeling depressed and homicidal. I thought it was impossible to feel a fatigue greater than that.

I needed a lot of sleep in those days, too. I don't know if it was malnutrition, depression, or puberty that made the temptation of sleep so easy to give into, but I could sleep any time, anywhere. And I did. I used to fall asleep in front of the fireplace every day after school. I'd wake up with huge strawberry marks all over my legs from the heat. When I moved out, I would come home from work and fall asleep in front of the heater vent. That's where I would stay for the better part of the evening.

I needed sleep, I wanted sleep, I loved sleep.

I didn't know what true sleep deprivation felt like until I had children. It feels awful. Lately I have been so tired that it hurts. When my children ask me a question, the energy that it takes to process their curious comment makes me so agitated and overwhelmed that I just want to tell them to shut the hell up. But I don't. Every time I hear them say "Mom?" I get a knot in my stomach because I know that what is coming up is a request; often a need, like food or a potty break,which means I have to work my tired muscles. I can't think clearly. Jordon found the cheese in the microwave the other night. I am sure I am the one that put it there, but I have no recollection of doing so. Instead of the usual mental rhetoric comprised of lists, conversations, and plans that I am used to, my mind can only think of one thing. When is the next time I get to close my eyes. I look forward to my next blink, which is really a fraction of a second of sleep if I think about it. When I am driving, I repeat the steady chant "keep them open, keep them open..."

I. Am. Tired.

It's a different tired than the up-all-night kind. It's sort of like with a house. My body is a house and when I used to party, the lack of sleep was like a tree crashing through the roof during a wind storm. The next day I'd be totally useless, but all I had to do was call the insurance company who would come out and fix my roof and remove the tree and I'd be good as new. I'd sleep all day. But with this new Mom house my body now is, it's much different. This house loses just a bit at a time. Moss on the roof first, then maybe some erosion and a leak which leads eventually to mold. It happens gradually, almost undetectable until the next thing you know, the damage that is done is nearly irreversible and it's making your family sick. Sure, I can nap here and there, and maybe sleep in a day or two, drink caffeine, but really that's no better than duct taping my ceiling to death.Yeah, it's like that.

Then when it's time to go to sleep, I am too tired. This is another strange sleep deprivation phenomenon. Like a computer, my body needs to properly shut down. If it doesn't get that opportunity, it'll just freeze. It doesn't work, but it can't fix itself because it won't turn off.

Lately I have been going to bed hungry, starving even, because fixing myself a snack requires entirely too much energy. Then I lay in bed, thinking about how hungry I am, hoping I will fall asleep soon so I can wake up recovered enough to eat something.

It's not always like this. It goes through phases. Right now Coral is waking up several times a night to eat, but she doesn't like sleeping in our bed which means that I am getting out of bed, bringing her to our bed, feeding her, and putting her back in her bed over and over again. And Braedon, he has this thing with his blanket. If he wakes up and it isn't "a rectangle" he will cry for me until I fix it for him. Eli, he sleeps pretty well, but he wakes up at 4:00am thinking it's morning time.

I am tired.

My house is a mess, my brain is a mess. But I pull through. I feel accomplished when I make it through the day with three healthy, happy children, all limbs fully in tact. This is what I do with the remaining energy I have. I pretend to enjoy my kids. I fake a smile, force a laugh. I push swings and play games. I fake my ass off until the phase passes, and it always does.

When I get to sleep again I can put the rest of my life back together, with the exception of my kids, which I have managed to keep together the whole time.

Sometimes expecting moms ask me how I do it, the whole sleep thing. The answer is the same as many of the parenting questions that come up. I just do it. The true capacity of the human body and mind is unveiled when kids enter the picture.

I just do it.

Thursday Love/Hate

2011-01-13T19:33:00.000-08:00

I love new stuff

I hate Walmart
I hate Made In China
I hate Allen wrenches
I hate Styrofoam
I hate fishing Styrofoam out of baby mouths
I hate changing Styrofoam poop diapers
I hate screwing (tee hee!)
I hate instructions
I hate cardboard
I hate heavy lifting

These are the reasons why...

I love husbands

Wordless Wednesday: Longing to be Big

2011-01-12T11:12:00.000-08:00

Wordless Wednesday Home

I (Still) Love My Ducks

2011-01-11T10:32:00.000-08:00

I am not usually a huge football fan. It's not that I don't like the sport itself. In fact, I rather enjoy it. It's just that the games are entirely too long. It drives me crazy that a football game can start, then half an hour later a basketball game can start, and by the time all of the NBA is tucked into their cozy California Kings, having relations with women other than their wives, the football game is still going.

To be fair, I don't like long movies either. Or long underwear. Very itchy.

The exception I make is for my University of Oregon Ducks. My home team pride runs deep for the Ducks. I remember leaving school early one day in 6th grade to watch them in the Rose Bowl all those years back. I have friends who have graduated from the University of Oregon. Ducks ornaments hang from our Christmas tree.

The Ducks playing in the BCS game yesterday was kind of a big deal. All of Oregon knew it.

In fact, one of the things I love about sports is how it brings together a community. It makes my heart happy to see a Eugene hippie high-five a guy driving a monster truck littered in NRA stickers. School board meetings scheduled for yesterday were postponed. So were city meetings. At the bank, at Braedon's school, and everywhere in between, people were decked out in green and yellow. Smiles and nods of comradere were exchanged between complete strangers. For one day, at least, Oregon became united.

It also makes me happy that The Ducks put Oregon on the map for something positive. I love it here. From the people to the climate, Oregon is my home. That's why it drives me crazy that we are so misunderstood. On TV shows like Axe Men and that new gold mining show, Oregon is perceived as a bunch of crazy rednecks. On spoofs like this one Oregon is turned into a hipster laughing stock. Tonya Harding is from Oregon, which speaks for itself. While all of these components make up a part of Oregon, it is impossible to love this place for the bigger picture unless it has been explored first-hand.

On game day yesterday, which Jordon took off sighting a "religious holiday," the excitement in our house was brewing. Braedon and Eli kept asking how much longer 'til kickoff. Jordon wouldn't stop pacing.

By the time my parents arrived, pizza and beer in-hand, we were ready. The kids cheered and boo'd at all the right times and my dad and Jordon exchanged high-fives and worried glances. At half time, we put the boys to bed. Then The Ducks lost.

After everyone had gone home and Jordon and I finally drifted off into a disappointed slumber, Braedon woke up crying and came into our room. When I asked him what was wrong, groggy, agitated, I laughed in spite of myself at his response. He was upset that he didn't know who won the game. When I told him, he really lost it.

Tears were streaming down his face and snot was running into his mouth. His sobs resembled those of a panic attack and although he tried to keep up on the wiping of his eyes and nose (with the back of his sleeve of course,) the best he could do was smear it into one slick layer all over his face. He was a walking saltine.

I got him to calm down enough to give him a little pep-talk.

"Look," I told him. "It's okay to be upset. Daddy was upset too. He even said a few bad words, like stupid butthead. Even Grandpa was mad. As soon as the Ducks lost he made Grandma take him home so he could pout. But you have to remember that The Ducks won every game up to this game. They made it to the BCS in your life-time! That is a big deal. And #2 isn't anything to be ashamed of. And we didn't get blown out, so that's good... And our cheerleaders are way hotter..."

Eventually he calmed down, satisfied with my response, and returned to bed. I figured Jordon had been asleep during this little exchange, as he has (allegedly) slept through every nightmare, night feeding, and night puking that has ever taken place in the last 5 years, but this time I was wrong.

"Pretty sure I said f***ing bullsh**," he said before rolling over and passing back out.

Oh yeah. That was it.

STILL SICK

2011-01-10T07:47:00.000-08:00

Usually any kind of cold that travels 'round my way lasts no longer than 24 hours. I credit my superb immune system to all that Vitamin D I take. And when it acts sub-par, I blame the fact that I haven't had a full night's sleep in over four years. I am working on day four of misery this time around. The last time I was really sick felt just like this.

Which began the day that Coral was born.

Just hours after Coral's birth, newborn smell and all. I would assume.

I was so sick for so long that I don't think I moved from the couch the entire two weeks Jordon was home. I was sick for another two weeks after he went back to work. Lounging with a newborn while family and friends bring you food and clean your house sounds kind of wonderful in some regards. Except for one thing. I completely missed out on the New Baby smell.

I still get upset every time I think about it. My very last baby, my first girl, my sweet little Coral. I never got to experience that pure, fresh aroma unique to a newborn's head. It just isn't fair.

In fact, I think the only logical cure to my grief is to have another baby, don't you?

Juuuust kidding....

Really.

How To Fix A Dishwasher

2011-01-09T13:31:00.000-08:00

Okay, I lied. I lied about fixing the dishwasher. The intent was there. I Googled trouble shooting guides, cleaned pipes and blades and disposals. I moved stuff around. I stared at the inner workings of the dishwasher intensely for long periods of time. But I didn't fix it.

Yesterday Jordon and I took apart the apparatus thing on the inside hoping that the solution would make itself clear. Maybe we'd find excess food debris or like a raccoon or something clogging the drain. But we didn't, and like the follow-through artists we are, we left the thing half assembled, all of the parts scattered across the counter. And then Jordon went to work.

Later last night after the boys were in bed, Coral woke up in obvious pain from the tooth I think she is getting in. Of course I blame/credit teething on all of the uncharacteristic moods of my babies. I gave her some Tylenol. In hindsight, it may have been that Tylenol that helped her recover so quickly from the thick crystal bowl that I dropped and broke over her head.

It happened so fast but the memory of it moves in slow motion. I was attempting to prepare the coffee pot for the next morning's fuel, but the kitchen counter was cluttered with dirty dishes and dish washer parts. Maneuvering the coffee pot closer to the sink in my tired, sick state was not easy.

As it turns out, it was impossible.

Somewhere between the time that I started to move the coffee pot and the time that I knocked the crystal candy bowl off the counter, Coral had silently made her way into the kitchen. I looked down just in time to see the bowl land directly on top of her head, break, and rain glass down the rest of her body. Like any good mom I panicked. The coffee pitcher was still in my hand so I hastily put that down, missing the counter completely, sending it to the ground to shatter amongst the carnage of the candy bowl. And maybe my daughter. At this point I wasn't entirely sure.

I immediately picked her up and tried to assess the situation. Lots of blood. That was the situation. Blood on her head, blood on her clothes, blood on the floor. A steady stream of blood coming from her tightly closed eye. Did I just blind my daughter? I was certain that as soon as she opened her eye, the bloody swollen ball covered in shards of glass would fall to the floor. The morbid inappropriate side of me couldn't help but wonder if they would ever be able to match her new glass eye to the clear crystal blue of her iris.

What to do next...

I have been in these crisis situations before. The first was when Braedon was about 6 months old and got scratched in the face by a squirrel. Another time, Eli sliced his finger open and it wouldn't stop bleeding. For the most part I am able to keep a level head. I have discovered that it helps to pace around the house chanting "OmyGodomyGodomyGodomyGod." This phrase serves the dual purpose of crude prayer and panicked swear. The pacing gives the body something to do while the mind clears itself for logical thought.

I grabbed a towel and gently blotted her face. She still hadn't opened her eyes.

I took a deep breath to calm myself, impressed that I succeeded, and called my parents. My dad picked up and I calmly told him what had happened and asked him to come over to watch the boys while I took her to the emergency room. His equally calm response made me lose it. I am pretty sure I told him her eye was bleeding and she was going to be blind and have brain damage and never have a chance at prom queen and die a lonely Old Maid like Eleanor Rigby. I think I may have dropped lots of F bombs too, I'm not sure.

Somewhere deep inside my brain, I was laughing at myself.

Coral was pretty calm at this point but I still hadn't had the chance to take a good look at her. I sat on the couch and began to nurse her. She was immediately comforted by the security of eating. Her face relaxed and she looked up at me sweetly. Her eye was fine. The blood was coming from a cut just below her eye. In fact, the bleeding from her head and her eye had stopped completely.

Now all I was worried about was a concussion. She broke a crystal bowl with her head, after all. Ouch.

By the time my parents came over and my mom and I made our way to the ER, Coral was all smiles. Bloody, wet smiles. In fact, she seemed to have thoroughly enjoyed her hospital visit. She played contently with my phone in the waiting room, her blood crusted hands expertly pushing the buttons. She batted at the name badge and the stethoscope of the initially questioning, then sweet nurse, and was fascinated by the pulse taker and thermometer. She was having bloody fun. Literally.

After Coral received a clean bill of health, we made our way back home. My mom insisted on stopping by Fred Meyer to pick me up a new coffee pitcher and some therapeutic candy. She is so smart.

By the time we came through the front door, my dad had cleaned all of the glass and water off the floor. (Score!) Jordon was home now and the two main men in my life were side by side working on the dishwasher. In fact, it just now completed its first successful load. Coral is happy today, completely unfazed by the previous night's adventure. The only evidence left behind is a small cut under her eye, a small cut on her head where the bowl hit, (amazingly no bump!!), and a kitchen full of clean dishes.

Thus concludes my tutorial on how to fix a dish washer.

The Damage

Clearly Traumatized

How I Plan to Take Her Out in Public

No 'Poo For You

2011-01-08T13:41:00.000-08:00

Back when we were going through our big family crisis, when Jordon's risky venture didn't work out and we were broke, I felt like I had lost all sense of control over my life. All of the little things that comprised my self confidence and self worth became moot, and I was sure that the stress of it was leaving me old and ugly.

I used to feel this way occasionally in high school. Restless and lacking control. My usual prescription was to pierce something, but I felt too mature for such reckless spontaneity this time around.

Instead, all by myself, I cut my hair. The total amount of time between making the decision, Googling the best method, and chopping away was about 20 minutes. It turned out pretty decent! Still reeling from the adrenaline and power of successfully pulling off something so rash, I decided to buy a box of die and go red as well. Of course this had to be done behind Jordon's back because he already told me he didn't think that was such a good idea, but... I felt like I NEEDED this change to get me through the stagnant state of crisis we were currently in.

DIY hair cut

DIY dye job

What do you know, I liked the red. Did Jordon like it? Now, that doesn't matter much, does it.

I liked it so much in fact, that I was paranoid it was going to fade. I knew that the longer I waited to wash it the better it would hold, so I was planning on going a day or two before lathering up. That is when I coincidentally ran into this video (A MUST SEE.) Right after that I found an article on Water Only Washing, or No 'Poo washing. I was sure this was a sign.

The process involved a complicated ex-foliating method and a hot/cold rinsing method in the shower, followed with a dry cleaning method performed with a Boar bristle brush. I figured I'd give it a shot. I needed a new happy-hour conversation starter, anyway.

First I switched the kids to a castille soap washing method, wanting them to get the same chemical-free benefits as going No Poo without the please-don't-call-CPS-on-me-because-I-neglect-my-children grease look. Since making the switch, their cradle cap has improved and I don't have to worry about their sperm, aka my grand chidren dying. (Really!)

Then I got to work on myself. The first few days went okay since my hair was still pretty dry from dying it. The following few days my hair started to feel a little gross. Or a lot. I had previously told Jordon about my plan, and on the fifth day I told him I didn't think I could make it any longer. He expressed his glee at my decision and told me that he knew well enough to keep his mouth shut, but he was really hoping I would get to this decision on my own.

Naturally this gave me the motivation I needed to keep the No 'Poo going. (Such is the life of a long-term relationship!)

It wasn't too bad the first few weeks. I got used to wearing my hair up in a bun with my headband, the grease less noticeable in this ballerina 'do. The bore bristle brushing was pretty fascinating. Hair gets dusty just like anything else in the atmosphere. This particular type of brush works to pull out and contain the dust. Mixed with the sebum (or scalp oil), what was left on the brush were tiny satisfying balls of slimy dust. This is very exciting for people like me, who enjoy cleaning their ears (far into the ear canal) and picking their childrens' nose.

My beautiful friends and the only existing documentation of the ballerina 'do

On about week 3 I confessed to my best friend about my greasy little secret.

"No way!" she said, "I went No Poo about 6 weeks ago!" Best friends are awesome, and her hair looked great too.

From the research I have done it should take no longer than 6 weeks for the scalp to adjust the oil levels correctly to its natural state, leaving the hair run-your-fingers-through-it healthy, soft, and beautiful. I was so close.

As time went on, however, the insecurities of my No Poo experiment started seeping in. Every time we drove by the cow farm or sewage plant I was sure I was smelling my hair. I started spraying body spray on my head just in case, completely defeating my chemical-free purpose. I tried to avoid spooning with Jordon in bed and didn't allow his hands to come anywhere near my face. It was getting bad. Our romantic life was suffering.

On December 8th we had our annual Cocktail Party (dressing up required) and I just couldn't take it anymore. I gave up and washed my hair, shampoo and conditioner included. It was nice wearing my hair down and showing off the amazing success of my D.I.Y. cut and color job.

Do I regret it? A little bit. I have been washing my hair with Pantene since then and every time I do it, I feel like I am betraying my very being. When these bottles run out I plan to at least switch to a natural shampoo and conditioner alternative. It is a price I will be happy to pay.

I may one day try to go Water Only again, but I will ease into it using a baking soda wash and apple cider vinegar rinse. I don't do it now because this method needs to be prepared fresh before the shower. Currently don't have that kind of time and energy.

Also, I rather enjoy having "relations" with my very tolerant husband.

Siiiick

2011-01-07T17:28:00.000-08:00

I really want to blog today. I have a couple of stories itching to get out, but I am sick. Thanks Braedon. But to keep with a blog a day, I'll go for the copout method. Lists. Without further adieu, here has been my day.

How I Feel

Sore back
Sore legs
Sore arse (that's what she said?)
Sore neck
Feverish
Hungry but lazy
Hot
Cold
Sore teeth
Sore throat
Headache

What I Have Done Today

Made beds
Folded laundry
Washed laundry
Cleaned rooms
Fixed a dishwasher
Chauffeured to and from school
Heated leftovers
Let my kids watch tons of TV
Let my kids play tons of video games
Encouraged my kids to get some exercise by playing several violent games of Ring Around The Roses
Allowed my kids to play Ring Around The Roses on top of the coffee table
Whined

What I Have Been Fantasizing About All Day

A hot bath
An electric blanket (not with the hot bath, I don't feel THAT crappy)
Tea
Full body massage
Quiet
Quiet
Peace
Jersey Shore Marathon
Cookies
Sleep

The End

Sick Kids Rock

2011-01-06T07:00:00.000-08:00

The number on my Caller ID looked familiar but I couldn't quite place it. I answered nervously expecting a bill collector or distant relative, either leading to an awkward conversation.

It was Braedon's pre-school teacher. Braedon was complaining of a sore throat after snack time and wanted to come home.

This is the third day he has had this issue, but only after he eats and only for a little while. A couple of those times he told me he had to throw up so I figured that all the holiday eating was upsetting his system. After all, he is used to me feeding him an array of healthy fruits, vegetables, and whole grains every day. (More accurately jelly for fruit and peanut butter and bread to accompany it. And a carrot! That I washed first! On my shirt!)

Turns out Jordon and I woke up with a similar infliction this morning and it sucks. It started as an annoyance but eating even the friendliest of sore throat foods painfully accentuated the feeling of having a rod of thorns plunged through the esophagus. Being the awesome parents that we are, we took him to school anyway.

Only turn right around to pick him up.

It was actually a pretty adorable experience. I got to see his peers wish him well, tell him they would miss him and to get better soon. So many of them just HAD to stop what they were doing to see him off with waves and smiles. Although poofy-eyed and tired, I could see the appreciation of such adoration all over his face.

Once home I tucked him in with his blanket and Pillow Pet and made him a fruit smoothie to sip on. Then I got to work preparing chicken soup in the slow cooker for dinner.

It's funny how domestic sick kids can make me. In fact, sick kids bring out the best mom in me.

We hung out all day. We cuddled, chatted, empathized with each other. We looked through some of his kid level anatomy books and talked about what our body is doing when it is sick. We watched cartoons together, a surprisingly enjoyable luxury I rarely take part in. (Too much to do!) The computer sat untouched, phone calls were ignored, and Coral's nap time meant some one on one time I can't remember having with Braedon since her birth.

I thought we were having a pretty okay time until Braedon became very upset. It had dawned on him that he didn't get to do their snowflake craft at school and that he would be the only kid without an adorned paper cutout ~~cluttering~~ decorating the classroom walls.

"Stay here, I'll be right back" I told him.

I slipped away, leaving him wondering. When I returned, my arms were stuffed with glue, scissors, paper, and glitter. We quickly got to work. Mostly he was okay with our product being way awesomer (not a word) than the more simple ones I saw them creating in the classroom, but he was especially upset about not having any colored glitter like the kind at school. He insisted that white just wouldn't do. Then on his own he came up with the brilliant idea to mix our white glitter with some cake sprinkles I completely forgot we had, and viola! Color glitter snowflake complete!

All through the day I kept thinking about what a great time I was having, wishing only that Braedon felt well enough to enjoy it more. Silly, really... we could have a day of home-cooked meals, crafts, and cuddling any time. But the superficially important duties of the life of a grown-up somehow trump the little things.

Except on sick days.

I think I will start scheduling Well Days. All the fun of a sick day without the sick.

Braedon isn't the only one with the awesome ideas.

A Sorrowful Prayer

2011-01-05T14:27:00.001-08:00

It is difficult to explain the bond that can be created over the internet. It's a true one; real. Although I have never met the women on the two message boards I belong to, they are my friends. I love them. They have taught me so much. Because our lives aren't physically tangible to one another, I got to know their hearts and their personalities before their mothering styles and beliefs. This helped me drop the tendency to judge that I once couldn't avoid.

Their happiness is mine, their fears and sorrows as well. We share our love, we share our grief.

And so I am broken hearted this day. I weep for my friend. For now, Hawaii; Earth is short a beloved 8 year old boy.

Pua, your beauty, strength, joy, and unshakable faith has inspired me since the day I 'met' you. I pray for you and your family during this time. I know women around the world are doing the same.

Do Not Stand And Weep

Do not stand at my grave and weep.
I am not there.
I do not sleep

I am a thousand winds that swiftly blow.
I am the diamond glint
on newly fallen snow.
I am the sunlight
on ripened grain.
I am the soft and gentle autumn rain

When you wake from sleep in the early morning hush,
I am the swift, uplifting rush
of quiet birds in circling flight.
I am the soft, starlight at night.

Do not stand at my grave and weep.
I am not there.
I do not sleep.
Anonymous

Mario is a Mortal

2011-01-04T07:35:00.000-08:00

One of my favorite parenting challenges is being open and age-appropriately honest with any questions or concerns my children have. If I ever feel stumped, I excuse myself for a minute and Google the crap out of whatever their current mental crisis may be.

Just last week Braedon asked me why people are different colors. After struggling to explain the sun's UV rays in relation to the equator and the intelligent defense mechanisms of the human body, I gave up and went to the internet. It was hard not to giggle while starting over with my new fluffy response; that God made us different colors for the same reason he made the flowers, trees, and rocks different colors. Beauty and variety.

Besides race, I have answered their questions about child birth, anatomy, and religion in the most complete way possible, attempting to balance the growth of their critical thinking skills with an optimistic world view. Hard. Fun.

Last night was the exception. Eli came into our room at 2:00am. I woke to his sleepy, broken voice laced with panic and fear. "Mom?" A nightmare, I figured. "I don't want us to die."

Die? Why is my not yet 3 year old pondering death? How does he even know of the concept? I mentally tucked away a pledge to redefine Mario and Luigi's fate to something a little more child friendly. Maybe even nix the video games all together. ...Nah...

I invited him into bed while I formulated a response. He looked terrified, small. He was shaking. I decided to abandon all resolutions of honesty and opted a more humane tactic.

"Elijah," I started slowly, attempting to buy time while I stroked his slick straight hair, "I don't want you to worry. We are not going to die. Not for a long, long time." Then for good measure, why the hell not, I added confidently "Maybe never."

He grabbed my nose, rolling the squishy nub around awkwardly between his fingers. A strange practice of comfort for him. He spoke again.

"So Daddy's not going to die?"

"No, Daddy's not going to die," I lied.

"And you are not going to die?"

"No, I am not going to die."

Still not satisfied, he continued. "And Braedon's not going to die?"

"No, Braedon's not going to die, Eli." Just two more, I hoped.

"And I'm not going to die?"

I found it interesting that he was listing our family off in chronological order. "No, you are not going to die."

"And baby Coral's not going to die?"

"Nope, not baby Coral, either."

Satisfied, he closed his eyes, rested his head in the crook of my neck, wrapped his skinny arms as far around my neck as they could reach, and eased peacefully back into sleep.

Awake, alarmed, anxious, I spent the rest of the night obsessing over the rhythm of his steady breathing cool against my skin. My eyes burned from fatigue but I held them open, afraid to sleep. I was convinced that if I could just spend the rest of the night conscious, eyes fixated on the ceiling while praying feverishly, my reassurances to him wouldn't be in vain.

Except I wouldn't really call it praying. I'd say it was the very picture of desperate pleading.

The Fate of Hairy Arms

2011-01-03T08:11:00.000-08:00

Before geek was chic, I loved all things nerdy. I lived for Friday night episodes of the X-Files and had a crush on Sailor Moon's boyfriend. I loved literature, often reading books hidden under my desk during school lessons. As hard as I tried to shake the reputation, I was a natural Teacher's Pet. I was awkward and shy.

As if I didn't have enough things to be teased about, I possessed, although blonde and fine, abnormally hairy arms. Naturally this was a source for additional teasing.

In middle school I used to try to mat them down with lotion. I even tried hair gel, to a very crusty conclusion. In high school I would shave them or NAIR them which was difficult to keep up on and led to even more ridicule when they began to grow back. As an adult, I have learned that of all things to be insecure about, arm hair rates pretty low on the list. After all, I have never once heard Jordon say "not tonight, baby, your arms are just TOO hairy."

So while I now leave them alone, Coral doesn't.

Her favorite nursing past-time is to gently pull at my luscious arm hair. She is so gentle, her fingers so delicate and soft that I am lulled into a state of relaxation every time she performs this meal time ritual. It is now a habit to push up my sleeves immediately after we assume the position before she gets restless.

I love this time together.

I was thinking yesterday that all of the teasing and malicious pulling was well worth having this special interaction with my special daughter. It is a silly yet sacred memory I will always have of her babyhood. One that far out-weighs the memories of being picked on by my peers. I feel like my hairy arms finally have a purpose. That their destiny has always been written in the stars, just waiting for their day of glory and recognition.

It makes me wonder what other lessons are created for us well before they become a revelation. It also makes me wonder if we are missing out on the secrets of our original form when we spend so much time (and money) plucking, dying, cutting, covering, lifting, and primping ourselves.

It makes me wonder...

But not enough to quit shaving my legs.

Cookies and Loopholes

2011-01-02T11:02:00.000-08:00

His eyes, serious, pleading, look up at me from a thick mass of lashes.

"Mom?" I can hear the desperation in his voice. "Could I have a cookie please?"

I no longer keep sweets in the house. Eli's obsession with cookies and candy and gummy vitamins is exaggerated by his wiry frame and tiny appetite. The peace in our house is disrupted with Eli's insufferable (in this order) asking, begging, pleading, shouting, body flopping, and yelling when an impromptu trip to the store yields treats for special occasions.

"Elijah," I say using his full first name, "If you ask for a cookie one more time before dinner, you are getting no cookie at all."

I know he takes me seriously. I see his brow crease with the painful memory of yesterday's deprivation following a similar threat carried to fruition. He walks away, slowly, head down, in control. I am proud of him.

It isn't but a few minutes later when he comes back up to me in much the same way. This time he doesn't call me by the most over used and often abused word in the average American home, "mom," choosing to stare sweetly at the wall beside me instead. His eyes are huge. Brown or green, I'm not sure. I love what a mystery this is, so much of his future uncertain, all the way down to the color of his eyes. His lashes seem to take on a life of their own like hundreds of fragile spider legs, simultaneously beautiful and suspicious, awaiting their prey.

His voice is but a whisper. "Can I have a cookie?"

I feign disbelief. "ELI?!"

I barely speak his name before the panic spreads over his face as he desperately attempts to cut me off from his foreseen and frightening fate. "MOMMOMMOMMOM!" I stop and listen. "I WAS TALKING TO MYSELF!"

I am caught off guard. What do I say to this? Do I call him out on his little white lie? On what grounds? He didn't technically speak to me, as he hardly made eye contact and didn't use my name. He is clever. Too clever for a boy just barely over two and a half.

My face relaxes, his follows.

"Okay, Eli. But if I hear ANY mention of cookies before dinner, no cookie. Deal?"

"Deal," he replies, reaching his hand out to shake my own. No further mention of cookies lead eventually to the ultimate goal, after dinner as promised.

Elijah, my middle child, my mastermind. At the very least, an expert loophole artist.

The Present, My Present

2011-01-01T10:49:00.001-08:00

How often I find myself staring at my children and mourning ages past. I wonder what happened to the blonde curly mop atop Braedon's toddler sized head. I hear Eli spout off sentences much too advanced for his age and miss his nonsensical babble. Every time I change Coral's diaper I miss that buttery popcorn smell of baby poop and find it nearly impossible to believe that she is a solid eating, crawling, waving, clapping, almost one year old.

Where has the time gone. I think I know. The time, The Present at least; it doesn't slip away. It isn't tiptoeing out the back, ducking into shadows and hiding in garbage cans. No, The Present is loud and in your face and begging to be seen. Here I am! When your buttery pooped baby fit in the crook of your arm, I was there too. When your toe-head toddler was calling milk "gulk" and yogurt "yoyuk" I was by your side. But you did not see me. You were too involved with my brothers, Past and Future.

Last night I rung in another fresh start fully in The Present. I played board games with my family. I danced with them and wrestled with them. I enjoyed my young boys as friends and companions. I didn't use any of our time together as a learning opportunity or a chance for appropriate discipline. Not once did I utter those awful words, "not right now," "hold on," or "in a sec," often hurtful phrases that I am ashamed of over-using.

I was thrilled when Eli almost made it to midnight before he begged me to tuck him with his Pillow Pet and soft red blanket. I was overjoyed when I clinked my champagne glass at midnight with a cup of chocolate milk that belonged to my proud, excited eldest. I felt like a superstar when Jordon jokingly pushed Braedon aside and insisted that he be my first kiss of 2011. I laughed so hard I cried more than once, and not just when Jordon and Braedon were LARPing out back after midnight with sparklers. So many memories all from one night, now in the past but created fully in the present.

I can say honestly and joyfully that I have never started a year off better than 2011. I know my family; my friends feel the same.

Good Freaking Riddance, 2010

2010-12-31T13:56:00.000-08:00

2010 can be summed up so beautifully by the last major event of its existence. An overflowing toilet.

As I threw a few dozen towels on the bathroom floor to soak up the majority of the mess, I tried to maintain the same optimism that got this family through such a difficult 365 days. At least I have a bathroom to flood! At least the floor is getting a thorough mopping (with fecal water)! At least, at least...!

Oh screw it. It's time to throw in the literal and metaphorical towel.

Although utterly shitty in so many ways, again, literal and metaphorical, 2010 was a year of growth. Isn't that how it works? What doesn't kill us makes us stronger? I will remember this year as the year that Jordon and I bound together, uniting during a time that many couples divide. This was the year that both Jordon and I accepted our weaknesses, embraced them and thanked them for allowing us to discover our strengths.

I will remember this year as a time of personal growth as well. This is the first time since having children that I can envision my future in a fairly specific way. Although I know that anything can happen, I look to 2011 as a year of stability and goal achievement. I am excited to begin implementing plans and to have something tangible to show at the end of the next 12 months.

So as I say syonara to the Year of Shit, I'd like to take a moment for a few quick shout-outs. One to God, who knew this year would be unbearable and so gifted us with Coral, the most amazing girl in the world to help soften the blow, and also to my family and friends who manage to put into perspective the things that matter the most, over and over again.

This slideshow was made with one of my goals of 2011 in mind; imperfection. The pictures aren't edited, a few of them are out of order, and some of my favorite photos didn't make the cut for technical reasons, but it's finished. I completed a project and didn't allow my high standards to get in the way.

2010: Brought to you by Modest Mouse and Windows Live Movie Maker

Wordless Wednesday: Oregon Boys & Their Pink Umbrella

2010-09-22T09:04:00.000-07:00

Say hi to other Wordless Wednesday participants here!

Growing

2010-09-09T15:52:00.000-07:00

Things have more meaning when we have a hand in their making.

Jordon, Braedon, and Eli planted these herbs from seeds. I made dinner while I listened to the process. Each was armed with a packet of tiny brown ovals of potential, a small clay pot, and a pile of dirt. One at a time they observed each other place their seeds, cover them with dirt, and water them just-so. Jordon went first. Braedon went last. He likes to observe, then watch again so he can be sure to get things right.

We babied these seeds. We covered the pots with plastic bags to create the 'greenhouse effect'. We watered them every day. When it was time to remove the bags, we slowly introduced them to their new atmosphere an hour at a time. The boys never forgot to include their plants in their night time prayer. With care, patience, and diligence, all three of our herbs began to sprout. Flourish, even. I had given up on the empty pot that contained the chives, but I figured there was no harm in letting Eli water them anyway since that was his favorite job. Sure enough, weeks after its counterparts, two shoots began to emerge.

As they started to take off, it it was clear that their old home would no longer enable them to live up to their potential. We decided it was time to transplant. Braedon and Eli painted our herbs' new homes with paint I had sneakily mixed to match my decor.

Now that the transplant is complete, our herbs don't seem that big after all. They are dwarfed by their new environment. They look tiny and weak. Yet I know that such a change is necessary to facilitate their growth, even if the transplanting temporarily sets them back. I don't think it will, though. We put in the hard work and love early and often to ensure their future success, and we will continue to do so.

Really, though, I'm not sure this post has much to do with plants.

Braedon started pre-school on Wednesday.

Flashback Friday! Also, Pre-School Orientation

2010-08-27T15:19:00.000-07:00

I am participating in my first Flashback Friday today and I found it only appropriate to make it all about my little school boy. I said recently that each age is better than the last, and I mostly mean that. But my favorite memories of Braedon are right around the time in these pictures, between the age of 12 and 18 months. I think it is because he was still an only child at that age. It was just him and me. My little man-child...

Yesterday we had Braedon's pre-school orientation and I am proud to say I in no way made an ass of myself. I am not good at being thrown into social situations with strangers. It's not something I am okay with and it's something I'm always working on, but for now it is what it is.

I was afraid of Braedon being labeled in school, even before his first day had begun. I feared he would be 'the kid with the weird mom' for the remainder of his school days. Luckily there was a mom there who fit that title much better than I. Sure, I couldn't resist sticking my nose in the middle of his Scholastic Book order form and taking a long, intense whiff for old time's sake, (it smells just the same!) but at least I didn't keep interrupting the presentation requesting clarification on things like snacks, color days, and homemade Play Doh. I was so thankful for that mom. I wanted to hug her and tell her that I appreciate her idiosyncrasies because they outweigh my own. But that would have just been weird.

I keep having to remind myself that Braedon starting school isn't about me, my issues, or my insecurities. It is about Braedon. My first born with the old soul. He will be labeled as 'wise beyond his years' just as I was. Whatever that means...

That boy has my heart. No, he IS my heart.

As his first day approaches I keep repeating the same important message to myself over and over again. "He is who he is." It is my job to LET him be that child. That PERSON. Already I feel the urge to control. To encourage him to do the things I liked or to excel at the things I excelled at. It almost makes me understand that awful 'Toddlers and Tiaras' pageant mom mentality. ALMOST. But I refuse to let my perfectionism and obsessiveness get in the way of the way he chooses to learn. If he wants to stress over the shape of his letters and the layout of his pencil box, that is fine. But it will be because that is how HE is, not because I allowed myself to not-so-subconsciously rub off on him.

His first assignment is to cut out an apple shape and put his picture on it. My gut instinct was to photocopy the apple and have him do several practice sheets until I felt confident that his final product wouldn't resemble a green bean or a pineapple, but I am resisting. His life is about him. He is who he is. And he is just the way I love him.

Sibling Love

2010-08-24T13:27:00.000-07:00

Coral has had a total of three laughing fits so far. The first time was when Eli was dancing, the second and third time was when Braedon was making her laugh. I guess us old folks just aren't funny. Certainly not for lack of trying...

I have always felt that one of the biggest gifts I could give to my children is each other. Moments like this reinforce that belief.

Oh, and THAT HAIR!!!!! I don't know what to do with it. :p

Know Your Role

2010-08-24T08:57:00.000-07:00

It's a weird thing standing up what you believe in. I don't think I like it very much. I also don't think I'm very good at it. I guess we all have our calling, and making waves is NOT mine.

I'm just gunna go ahead and stick to my good ol' "actions speak louder than words" philosophy... which is ironic. Since I blog.

Things Are About To Get Uncomfortable...

2010-08-21T11:29:00.000-07:00

According to my Facebook profile, I am a Christian. I am a Christian and I am angry, appalled, and ashamed. But these are all just overlaying emotions to my deep, painful sadness. A sadness so great it makes me want to cry out take me, Lord. Take me away from this place and put me on the first flight to Canada.

I am plagued with the knowledge that Christians are turning their backs so defiantly away from the One they wish to know most. Faith is replaced with fear, love is replaced with hate. This alleged Ground Zero mosque fiasco is just a big-picture example of the ugly side of the Christian faith that runs rampant in American society. I imagine Satan is hanging out in hell right now, sipping on a frothy margarita, patting his back with his pitchfork, laughing his ass off.

Is it not a Christian's deepest desire to truly know Christ? To have a personal and devoted relationship with God? Isn't it our duty and obligation to spread His Word through His love? I just can't wrap my head around how such a relationship is even possible when two of the main ingredients are missing from the diet of so many 'believers'.

Is it fear of the wrath of the Muslims that leads to the shunning of a whole slew of people that God himself created? As he created us? Is our FAITH in God so meager that we feel that we must protect ourselves because God won't do it for us? What a wall that builds between ourselves and our Lord.

Please explain to me why it is okay to HATE a whole slew of people created in the image of God. Christians are missing such a divine opportunity to share the love of Jesus. We should be saying COME. You are WELCOME in the heart of our city, as God welcomes us into His heart. It is only through sharing our own love with others that they may begin to understand Jesus' love for them.

THIS IS WHAT CHRISTIANITY MEANS.

And yet...

I am instead bombarded with Christian petitions against (fill in the blank) exacerbating the well-earned negative stereotype of the hate-breeding religion. I have read a slew of articles pertaining to why the mosque should not be built, and all I can see is rationalization after excuse after truth-bending after bold faced lie.

I am not ashamed to be a Christian because that would mean being ashamed of my God. I am just sad. Very, very sad.

Please read these other non-Religious articles on this topic:

http://www.mom-101.com/2010/08/in-defense-of-park-place-community.html

http://daryllang.com/blog/4421

http://opinionator.blogs.nytimes.com/2010/08/20/real-americans-please-stand-up/

Is Nothing Sacred?

2010-08-19T15:20:00.000-07:00

Remember how before you had kids all of your stuff was kept nice? Yeah. Me neither.

Wordless Wednesday

2010-08-18T08:24:00.000-07:00

They see the same stylist. Commonly known as The Sandman.
To see others' Wordless Wednesdays, visit Wordless Wednesday Home.

Dropping Like Flies

2010-08-13T12:57:00.000-07:00

Since my last blog post I have lost two followers. I hate knowing my number of followers. I don't blog for followers, yet that stupid little number eats at me. Especially when I see it shrink. It makes me want to stop blogging. Clearly I don't have a thick enough skin for it.

I can't help but to wonder why I got un-followed. Am I boring? Did I offend someone? If so, I'd rather live my blog-life in an ignorance is bliss kind of way.

I have taken away my "Followers" tab on the sidebar, but I can still see my "Followers" on my Blogger Dashboard. Anyone know how to hide that as well?

Time is an Illusion

2010-08-12T13:20:00.000-07:00

It's nap time. I place Coral gently in her crib, stomach down. No longer do I have to worry about her sleeping on her back. Should I have the audacity to lay her down that way anyway, she will expertly navigate her chubby little body into a quick flip to her tummy. Her eyes shoot around until they settle on her Glowworm. She anticipates so well now, just one of the many signs that she is no longer an infant. I push the button on Glowworm's shirt as Coral reaches out for its hand, hat, or tail. I watch her close her eyes even before Glowworm's short melody is complete. She doesn't stir at all as I tuck her curly locks behind her delicate little ears. She doesn't make a peep when I trip over a pile of stuffed animals left as an offering by her ever-devoted brothers. I am fairly certain she is already asleep by the time I make my way into my bedroom, heart aching as I stare at the co-sleeper she no longer needs.

With a deep breath and a sigh, I swallow the lump in my throat and begin to break down the co-sleeper. I need to Google the directions, as this is the first time in 4 years I have taken it down all the way. This time I know I won't need it again. I fold the bottom rails first, then search for the hidden buttons covered in padding on the sides. It snaps closed with ease and I marvel at how expertly it was constructed. This tall, sturdy bed that has been the sleeping place of all three of my babies is now reduced to a compact state no larger than a one year old.

Seven more months until Coral is one. Seven more months until I will no longer be the mother of a baby, ever again.

Coral is such an easy baby. Sometimes I wish she wasn't. I remember stages with the boys. I remember difficult transitions, sleepless nights, endless fussing and comforting and rocking and soothing. I remember how Braedon needed to be bounced to sleep, and how awkward I felt when he'd constantly reach down my shirt in public. I remember Eli's 'pterodactyl' screech. A sound so grating and agitating it sent me guiltily slinking out of the room. I remember how he went through a baby phase where he would violently arch his back as he cried, nearly throwing himself out of our arms on more than one occasion.

These difficult times help to create little hash marks on the timeline of their infancy. I am thankful for the hard times as they help distinguish one phase from another. With each trying phase I have a detailed mental picture of my tiny and not-so-tiny little babies etched in my mind forever.

Coral has expertly transitioned from sleeping in our arms to sleeping in our bed to sleeping in her crib. The transition was initiated by her and was so smooth and easy that I hardly remember them taking place. She is only 5 months old and I am already forgetting. I don't remember when she started rolling over or nibbling on her fingers or sleeping through the night because she has just kind of silently ninja'd herself through all of her milestones.

She is so social. She loves her brothers and prefers to watch them over any other goings-on that may also be in her presence. She lights up when we talk to her or jiggle her little legs or nibble on her neck. She is happy to be passed from lap to lap; But make no mistake. She is my most independent baby. If she can take care of herself, she will. She can find her own comfort and her own entertainment. After all 3 kids are tucked into bed, I often find myself reflecting on the day and realize that I miss sweet Coral so intensely that it leaves a hollow, empty butterfly feeling in my stomach. Because she rarely NEEDS me,it is too easy to let her drift through the day as I tend to the house, meals, laundry, the boys.

I am forever grateful for our nursing relationship. I have made a habit out of nursing her on my bed with the door closed. Because she enjoys the company of her brothers so much, she will only effectively nurse when they are not in eye or ear shot. After she eats we lay on the bed together and I force myself to take it all in. I try to create my own milestones. I study her face, locking in the shade of strawberry blonde her hair is currently at. I tie it in with her hair's length and the width of the blue ring around her iris and the outfit she is in and the weather outside. I am saving moments. Proactively creating memories. Photographs are great for capturing visuals, but only memories can immortalize emotions.

These times are so special to me, because I know it won't be long. It won't be long until those timeline hash marks I was talking about will create themselves in the form of tween romances, bff quarrels, wardrobe arguments, and... oh God. Her first period.

I have never been a big fan of the baby stage. I don't mourn the boys' babyhood and find each age they grow into more enjoyable than the last.

With Coral, it's not that I don't want her to grow up... it's just that I wish time would SLOW the EFF down. Srsly.

Monday's Mane

2010-08-02T20:35:00.000-07:00

So I am thinking about making this a new feature. Coral's hair is just TOO CRAZY to keep to myself.

See?

Coral's Middle Name is Andaliese

2010-07-28T08:54:00.001-07:00

It is difficult for me to openly talk about my childbirth experiences. I am afraid my audience will hear me in a condescending or arrogant way. I fear that some of the magic will be lost if I attempt to explain the magnificent effect birthing my babies naturally had on me. I worry that I will cause hurt feelings or misunderstandings.

And yet... birthing my babies with the Andaluz midwives at my side in a pool of warm water has been the single most defining moment of my life. Times three. How can I NOT talk about it?

Perhaps if I attempt to compare my experience with my lack of experience, it will help explain my internal struggle.

We all have life-changing experiences. We all walk different paths, grow through different avenues. I have never traveled the world. I don't have a college education. When I hear my peers speak of these things, my awe, inspiration, and curiosity are admittedly tinged with jealousy. I don't let that stop me from relishing in their success. I also don't believe they judge me or think any less of me for quitting college or experiencing only my part of the world.

I don't judge a women's choice in childbirth. I don't preach about natural childbirth. I am an advocate for all women to be able to make an informed birth choice. That is their right.

The whole reason that I bring this up today because that right is attempted to be stolen from them, from us, in a vulgar fashion. Right here in the U.S. Right here in Oregon. Right here in Portland. Right here at Andaluz, the birth home of my three perfect children.

Please read more here.

I feel so intertwined with Andaluz's struggle. I feel like a part of me is being attacked with them. I suppose in some form it is. It has been consuming my thoughts as of late. It makes me think back to my own experiences often and intensely. I am sure I will be addressing these issues more in the coming weeks.

I am not much of an activist, but I would like to do my part, however small, by supporting Andaluz and womankind everywhere through my blog.

Picture #1 is me in ACTIVE labor with Coral.

Picture #2 is seconds after Coral was peacefully brought into this world.

Original photos credit of Joy Jech, photographer extraordinaire and midwife present during all three births of my children. (Edits done by me)

Six Word Saturday

2010-07-24T21:06:00.000-07:00

High school friends breeding a legacy. :)

Aw, $h!t

2010-07-21T21:43:00.000-07:00

Dear Diary,

Today I got a new toilet bowl cleaner and was very excited. It is from Method and smells good. I got a new brush to clean my toilet with, too. I paid too much for it. Then while I was cleaning my toilet with my shiny new supplies, the toilet water splashed me in my eye. But it felt more like a solid than a liquid. And now all I can think about is losing my eye to some kind of infectious poop-to-eye disease. Please don't tell anybody. They might look at me weird. Not that I'd know, since I will be blind.

Love always,

Kelsey

Wordless Wednesday: Before and After

2010-07-21T11:42:00.001-07:00

I wanted to get them buzzed, but their barber had other ideas and who am I to argue with a pro?

These are their default smiles for the phrase "Say cheese!" My sweet boys...

To check out others' Wordless Wednesday's, click here!

Hide-Mode

2010-07-19T14:21:00.001-07:00

Beams of light stream into our back yard from sun-up to sun down, shade lazily stretching from behind the trees as evening approaches. The five of us have spent the majority of the past week or so alternating our time between basking in rays of warmth and seeking solace in the bits of dark that our crab apple tree generously offers. Our tiny children’s pool once littered with decals of bright orange octopi, a multitude of colorful fish, white decorative bubbles and a bright display of pirate treasure proves its constant use with its new faded design. Dozens of balls have been lost then found, only to be lost again in the bushes of miniature pink roses or under the umbrella shaped hibiscus leaves. The hose alternates between three different sprinkles each with its unique spray depending on what fits best with the kids’ latest made up game.

It sounds like we have been on vacation. We have not. We've been hiding. Avoiding. Processing.

I am comfortable with failure. The negative connotations of this word don't take hold on me. I appreciate the positive things failure has to offer. A fresh perspective. A renewal in faith. The power to be pushed outside of what is comfortable. Struggle. Growth. I embrace each failure as I embrace each success. I am proud of failure, even, because to have failed means to have tried. To have taken a risk. These are all good things. Failure does not always coincide with the end.

I know better than to think that this mentality is right. I don't know if it is or not. I DO know that the actions that brought about this failure would be looked down upon and questioned by those that love and care for us the most. I am comfortable with failure. The world is not. So for the last week I have been in hide-mode from my friends, family and the internet. I have not been taking calls and have only left the house once for a "Forced Family Fun" night that was tainted with our secret stresses. The strain of putting on an A-okay face to curb any family suspicions left Jordon and I exhausted and irritated. We took it out on each other through sneakily undermining each other at every opportunity, eventually leading to a fight and a short-lived silent treatment.

I have been struggling with how to go into details of life's latest events on this blog. I WANT to tell all. I want to be raw and honest and truthful but I am not sure if the repercussions of doing so would be worth it, mainly the misguided worry of friends and family. A lot is to be said for anonymity. I kind of miss it.

What I CAN say is that we are rounding the bend of our latest (mis)adventure and we are working hard to get back what was lost, and then some. I am thankful that our latest life test has been a relatively short one as being so damn optimistic yet isolated is growing tiresome.

I can also say that it's okay. I am forever grateful that through the good times and the bad, we are one of the lucky families that have always been able to truthfully say "It's okay. We're okay."

Six Word Saturday

2010-07-17T12:58:00.000-07:00

Another stall post before I confess. :p

Wordless Wednesday: Brothers

2010-07-14T09:34:00.000-07:00

More Wordless Wednesday entries Here.

(P.S. Until I can find the words, it's short but sweet for K.B.)

Six Word Saturday... on Sunday

2010-07-11T17:02:00.000-07:00

So much to say; stay tuned.

Six Word Saturday

2010-07-03T16:43:00.000-07:00

Kept up late; woken up early.

The Paper Mama Photo Challenge: Yellow

2010-06-30T20:40:00.000-07:00

Got these uber lame party favors hours before Braedon's birthday party when I finally gave up on the Party Express shipping me the intended favors on time... grr... BUT- sometimes lame is fun! And look! Yellow ball!

Awards and Updates and Polls Oh My!

2010-06-29T19:40:00.001-07:00

Braedon is suffering from a party hangover. We all are.

Photographs brought to you by the multi-talented Roxana at mil cositas bellas.

It's been a busy week with more craziness ahead. I never thought I would be more social as an adult mother than I was as a carefree youth. (Except maybe my 8 month party phase, but I don't think flirty counts as social.) Braedon's fourth birthday party was this weekend. The turnout was HUGE. I keep thinking I need to scale down the kids' parties but when I look at the guest list I couldn't imagine not inviting anyone on it. I am reminded how lucky I am to have so many awesome people in my life every time my house is filled to the brim with celebration.

We also went to a street fair, a new playgroup and I got a ton of housework done. Soon I will be going to Medford with my mom and three kids for my grandpa's memorial service. Should be interesting... the shacking up with my mom for 3 days after a 5 hour drive, that is... (It's okay Mom, I mean that in a good way! Really!(?))

I have been staying up way too late for the past week just to get some alone time and I have regretted it every time. I am sure I will do the same tonight. So before I settle in for some wine and True Blood followed with some more wine and Entourage, I'd like to thank a few wonderful bloggers for a couple of blog awards that were sent my way a while ago. I am a baaaad blog-friend.

Melissa over at a family in love honored me with this award:

the rules of the first award are as follows:

-thank the blogger who awarded it to you.

-sum up your blogging philosophy, motivation, and experience using five (5) words

-Pass it on to 10 other blogs which you feel have real substance.

My five words are: honesty, time-capsule, inspiration,

companionship and writing

Melissa also passed on a beautiful blogger award which I forgot about (oops) until I got it again from Chelsey at the paper mama! w00t!

The rules for this one are to let you in on ten randoms about me

1. My favorite swear word is douche bag. I have tried, but I just can't give it up.

2. I had my 3 kids naturally in a tub. Coral's middle name is Andaliese in honor of the center where the kids were born; Andaluz

3. I love watching Jordon play video games, especially RPG's with a good story.

4. We go to my parents' house regularly to stay up late, drink, and play board games with my brothers. My mom calls them "FFF's" or "Forced Family Fun" but they aren't forced at all.

5. I have had the same group of best friends since high school. I feel so lucky.

Best friends having babies! Roxana's daughter Kamilah,Chelsey's daughter Ruari, my daughter Coral

6. I had NO friends in junior high. I came home crying often.

7. I never thought I'd enjoy/be good at being domestic, but I do and I am.

8. I am a proud Oregonian. I have been here all my life. Sometimes I feel like I should leave, just because I haven't, but... if it's not broken, right?

9. I still spoon with Jordon every night. (AWWWW...)

10. I like myself. No easy task!

Thanks everybody, this has really been a nice little stroke to my ego. Especially since I have lost two 'followers' in the last week. I try SO hard not to care about that freakin' number, but alas, I can't help myself...

I am supposed to tag 10 more bloggers for these awards but I don't think I follow that many who haven't already been tagged.

1. Unfamiliar Ceiling

2. Smile, Play, Dream

3. Wonder Mom (welcome back!)

4. Memories from Mine to Thine

5. From Ashes to Beauty

Take one, take both, you decide. Thank you all for inspiring me.

Okay, on to my next piece of business. I have been thinking a lot lately about renaming my blog. I picked this name years ago without much thought. I went with K.B. for the sake of anonymity which I have since abandoned. Now I feel stuck with it. I don't know what to do. So I am bringing it to a vote. What say ye?

What should my blog name be?online survey

I love SAHM I Am, I think it's clever but I might grow out of it one day. w00t m0m is just so awesomely geeky how can I not love that? Any other ideas?

I am pooped, that post took foreverrr... ZzZzZZZZzzzz....

Wordless Wednesday

2010-06-22T22:58:00.001-07:00

The aforementioned doe eyes.

Wordless Wednesday

30 Day Journal Challenge: Day 7

2010-06-22T21:00:00.001-07:00

Journal Prompt 7: Today is an easy one... How are you feeling today? Sometimes it's really good to reflect on your feelings and try to figure out why you are feeling a certain way.

No thanks, I'm allergic to dairy.

...so I don't want cheese...

...for my wine...

...whine...

30 Day Journal Challenge: Day 10

2010-06-22T20:10:00.000-07:00

Journal Prompt 10: This prompt is all about collections. What do you collect? If anything. Do you collect buttons, clothes, shoes, friends, parking tickets, whatever!! Illustrate your collections. This will be fun to look back on someday and see how your collections have grown or have moved on :)

I don't like having 'stuff', but I have always been jealous of people who do. I have tried to be a collector since childhood. I've tried collecting Pez dispensers, beads, books, yarn, Pogs, pencils, empty alcohol bottles, seashells, journals, gadgets and gizmos of plenty, who'sits and what'sits galore, Facebook friends, you name it. Without fail, in the end I find myself itching to purge. And I give in. I often throw away things I know I may need later, but I don't care. I don't want it just there.

Maybe I am paranoid because hoarding is in my genes. (Oh, jeans, add that to my list of collection fails.) Maybe I get jealous of other peoples' collections and figure that if I don't have any of ANYTHING, I can't lose the "who has the coolest collection" war. Maybe I have commitment problems. Maybe I lack the ability to form attachments to inanimate objects. I dunno.

I could never be a true crafter because I don't like seeing junk as anything besides junk. I know, some see this as a crime against all that is art, but whatev. Live Simple. That's my motto.

You could imagine my disdain at Jordon's unbelievable level of irrationality when it comes to getting rid of cables. Any cable. All cables. Phone cables, TV cables, computer cables, radio cables, speaker cables, printer cables, OMG I could go on and on. I'm sure some of the cables we have in one of our MANY cable boxes are obsolete by now. Sometimes I think he holds on to this 'collection' of his to spite me. Or maybe to maintain a bit of his bachelorhood. Maybe he has a sentimental attachment to each cable and can name where he was in life when he obtained every one. He once tried to convince me that one day the world will run out of USB cables and we can charge a grand a pop for one. Uh huh...

Whatever it is, I am not going to 'make' him throw them away. I'm just not like that.

Maybe he keeps them around to remind himself of how awesome his wife is. Yeah. That must be it.

For Your Monday

2010-06-21T09:57:00.001-07:00

You're welcome.

Take-It-From-Me-I-Learned-The-Hard-Way Lesson # 657

2010-06-19T16:55:00.000-07:00

I don't care how much cheaper it is, NEVER buy generic lube. Ever.

30 Day Journal Challenge: Day 5

2010-06-18T12:02:00.001-07:00

Journal Prompt Number 5:
We are all obviously bloggers right, or else you wouldn't be here :) Even if you don't have a blog, I know that you read them. This page is dedicated to your favorite blogs!! What are they? Are there any blogs that you can't go a day without checking?

I am using this day's challenge to pay homage to a few awesome blogs that are no more. :(

When I became a mom I felt lost. Confused about my role. Lonely. I didn't have any young mothers to model myself after. I didn't know what kind of mother I wanted to be.

Then I discovered the world of mommy blogs, and they changed my life. I followed only a handful in the beginning and fell in love with each of them. Their families, their goals, their attitude. They helped guide me.

They taught me that showing cleavage was still okay (even better with those lush, engorged boobies) and even good moms enjoy a drink now and again. They seemed so... hip. I had no IDEA how hip motherhood could be.

This was during a time (5 years ago) that blogging was much different. There was no "follow" button. Each blog stood alone. Blogging was less of a community and much more private. Since then a few of the women I used to read all about stopped blogging. In a few cases it was without warning. I remember two specifically. I remember waking up one morning, pouring my cup of coffee, settling into my chair and logging on to my computer. I remember the goodbye letter. The vague explanation. I remember the pain of my sinking heart.

Sometimes I miss the feeling of intimacy that blogs had back then. It took me a while to embrace the new wave of mommy bloggers specifically, what with their welcoming intros and swapping of buttons. I am now a happy participator of this movement and have found it endlessly gratifying.

However, I still think about the lost ranks often. I wish I could thank them for the impact they had on my life.

Bye Bye, Crib.

2010-06-17T17:46:00.001-07:00

It's so easy to let them grow. And miss it. The door frame between the kitchen is littered with dated hashes and I gasp when they walk by it. That last mark was from a month ago. An INCH ago. Their bodies stretch at warp speed. Their brains fill even faster. Those hash marks, a few photos and memories are all I have to remind me of what they once were. Yet I am ashamed to admit that I am too often waiting for what they will be. A little more independent. A little less noisy. Potty trained. In school.

And then one of those milestones comes to pass and I find myself asking one of those age revealing cliches. Where has the time gone.

Eli sleeps with two pillows, two blankets and a dozen or so stuffed animals. They barely fit into his crib but he insists on it. He knows when something is missing. For the past few nights he has decided to play a little game in spite of his fatigue. He throws all of his bedding and animals out of his crib and screams until I finally give up and stack them all back where they belong. Super Nanny would be shaking her head disapprovingly but Eli has this way about him. I'd like to see anyone resist his innocent plea, "please, mommy. Can't sleep with no TWO pillows. And TWO blankies. And monkey. And bear. Other bear."

Last night I had finally had enough. I was ready for my alone time. I was tired, frustrated, overwhelmed and stressed. Most important, I had the season premiere of True Blood waiting for me On Demand. After going into his room twice to retrieve his entourage, I decided it was time for a new tactic. I took him out of the crib, put him on Braedon's bed, plucked his mattress out of the crib, and maybe a bit too violently chucked it on the floor. Then I picked him up, planted a hasty kiss on his cheek, plopped him onto the mattress resting parallel to his big brother's bed and told him to stay put. To go to sleep.

I had to turn away before his doe eye'd look of disbelief made me giggle.

I sure showed him...

About ten minutes later he came out of his room with his Bakugon case and asked me to open it. Discretion isn't his strong suit. You know, him being two and all...

Again, I placed him on his mattress on the floor, gave him another gentler kiss and told him to go to sleep.

When I went to check on him a few hours later he was sleeping soundly with his two pillows, two blankets, entourage of stuffed animals, and one last thing. Braedon's arm was draped over his own bed to rest on the mattress of his little brother. He had to move his body sideways on his bed to make this possible and was curled up tightly to keep from kicking the wall.

I took a minute to slow down. To take in the wonder of brotherhood. The wonder of childhood. The wonder of motherhood.

The next day I disassembled Eli's crib and put a twin mattress in its place. He napped there just fine.

Milestones are important. They make us slow down. Reflect. Appreciate. The next time he will have to adjust to a new bed may be when he goes to college. Then again when he gets married. I won't be there for those transitions but I am forever grateful to be there for this one.

I hope to be singing the same tune tonight.

*I took this picture just last week. I had no idea it'd be one of the last times he would ever sleep in his crib again. WAA!

30 Day Journal Challenge: Day 4

2010-06-17T14:20:00.000-07:00

Every morning when I wake up, I look out the window. And my heart aches.

My whole world is brought down a few notches by the gloom that surrounds me outside. I am an Oregonian through and through.I love the rain in the fall, winter, and spring. I don't own an umbrella and I don't cancel my errands because of a downpour.

But.

This is JUNE. The rainiest one on recorded history, to be exact... and there's still two weeks left.

So I tweaked my challenge a bit today. Instead of answering what is IN my heart, I am answering what is ON my heart.

The rain.

The clouds.

The gloom.

Weigh heavy

on my heart.

30 Day Journal Challenge: Day 3

2010-06-16T20:34:00.000-07:00

Today's prompt was:

Journal Prompt Number Three: It's always nice to share with someone why you love them. Today, I want you to draw a picture, doodle, sketch, of a person who you love, or admire. Then, write that person a letter telling them why they mean so much to you!

I couldn't help myself. I had to pick the ol' ball and chain. (Dudes can be that too, right?) We may not be the mushiest of couples which is why I think I felt so compelled to make today's entry all about Jordon.

I wanted it to be short and sweet 'cause TOO much mush makes me uncomfortable. Also, I love his profile. His pointy nose and chin... those lush lashes... swoon!

After mulling these two things over for a while I finally came up with today's entry. I am mostly happy with it. The white space drives me NUTS though but I couldn't find anything I wanted to put in it, so white it is.

Yay! I stuck to something for two whole days! Go me!

30 Day Journal Challenge: What is the best part of your day?

2010-06-15T19:54:00.000-07:00

Today's prompt for the 30 Day Journal Challenge is "What is the BEST part of your day."

Wanna hear a secret? It doesn't involve my children. Or my husband. While I wouldn't say this part of my day is always my favorite, it is ALWAYS the time I look forward to the most. Now that Jordon works until midnight and the boys' bed time is 8:00, my honest answer would have to be the hours between 8:00 and 11:00. When I am all. Alone.

I settle down on the couch and dredge up the most gratuitous TV I can find, both in violence and sexuality, (swear words a bonus,) pop open a beer (if available) and veg the eff out. I used to throw in a ridiculous amount of sweets into the mix, but since I have been trying to work off the baby weight I have found that a large juicy grapefruit satisfies my sweet tooth quite nicely.

And while I'm confessing all, I have to say that True Blood and grapefruits go together marvelously.

This is where things get weird. Consider yourself warned.

True Blood is SO messy. The tearing of flesh, sound effects included, the mess of blood and carnage everywhere. It's not a tidy thing, being a vampire. I realized one night while munching on my grapefruit that my nightly ritual is eerily similar. In order to reap the greatest harvest a grapefruit has to offer, much time must be invested. Jordon doesn't know why I bother, but it is therapeutic for me. First I peel it. Then I strip as much of the white stuff off as I can. Next I remove the membrane so that all is left is the juicy, meaty center. 100% fruit. I rip that part away from the remaining layer of white using nothing but my teeth and chow down. You can imagine how messy that gets. It's rather disgusting in a strangely indulgent way. I would NEVER eat a grapefruit in front of anyone besides Jordon. He already knows what a slob I am.

What I am left with after the violent consumption of my grapefruit is a pile of skin and membrane. And sticky hands. So we have a sticky mess. And carnage. Sound familiar? Weird, right? I can't help but to feel a little vampire-esque when I chow down on my forbidden fruit, especially while watching True Blood.

See? Cukoo. I try to keep this all on the D.L. 'cause I feel guilty that I don't automatically turn to my family as the best part of the day, because they ARE the best part of my LIFE.... but in case you don't know first-hand, days with 3 under 4 are long. Very long.

There it is, folks, my favorite time of day. In fact that's where I'm headed right now. Hope I can still look you in the eye come morning.

Finally a Not-So-Challenging Challenge!

2010-06-15T12:31:00.000-07:00

I love to create. I am kind of good at it, too. What I suck at is deciding what to create, and how. I have lost the wonder of imagination. That's why I have been keeping my eye out for an appropriate challenge for some time now. Tell me what to do and I will do it! ...If I have time. And the resources. Like money.

I thought about taking on the Creativity Boot Camp like my bff (what? Really? Did I just say that?) Roxana, but my right brain is rusty. The challenge seemed too... challenging.

Then I found THIS and I knew I struck gold. I am a day late but I am excited to get started tonight. The prompts are specific, the materials are simple, and the time required is minimal. I already have my entry mapped out in my head. Let's see how well I can translate it to paper.

Wish me luck, w00t!

Baby Blues

2010-06-14T09:55:00.000-07:00

A couple of weeks ago my mom suggested that I might have a case of the notorious baby blues. My initial reaction was one of pure offense. (It's a daughter's prerogative, after all.) I couldn't understand how anyone would think that I had anything negative going on. After all, my house is almost always tidy, the kids are usually clean and happy, and I shower nearly every day. Sometimes I even put on make-up!

After my initial reaction wore off and I thought about it some more, I decided that what I have been suffering from is not so much a case of PPD, but more of a case of a bad attitude. Maybe not bad, just... wrong.

Coral is a sweet, happy, easy baby. She sleeps well and wakes up smiling. Still, she takes time. Time to eat, time to change, time to play with. And while I do all of these things with a smile on my face, the back of my mind is constantly reeling with all of the OTHER things I need to get done. I feel out of control when I don't have the time I need to finish a project. I also feel like a failure.

The pressure we put on ourselves as parents is unreal. The expectation of perfection is unrealistic.

And yet... I know I am not alone in trying to achieve it.

I try to tell myself often. "It's good enough. The house is clean enough. My mothering is good enough." It's an ugly phrase. It wreaks of failure and settling. Of laziness. It's an unhealthy mantra.

I decided to turn to my two best friends for advice. I am so thankful to have them both in my life, they are there whenever I need them. They are accessible 24/7, they never turn me away, and they know EVERYTHING. Google and Amazon, I love you so...

I found a book on Amazon for stay at home moms about how to be happy. $19.99 plus shipping and I, too, could be happy. As I was scanning the description page I read a passage that has completely turned my thought process around.

"You may not be a perfect parent, but you are a perfectly GOOD parent."

THIS is my new mantra. And it is so easily adjustable! My house may not be perfect, but it is perfectly good. My relationship with Jordon may not be perfect, but it is perfectly good. My cooking may not be perfect, but... okay, my cooking still sucks, but I'm working on it.

I feel completely liberated. It basically says the same thing as "it's good enough" but in a completely different way. In a way I can be proud of.

It has also freed me from judging. You see, when we seek perfection (which of course is impossible to achieve) we base how close we are on those around us. We pick apart our peers, put them on some kind of caste system, rate their success against ours. Don't tell me you've never visited a friend and found yourself mentally 'tsk'ing at their dust bunnies or toilet ring... It is the only way we know how to measure how successful we are ourselves. This is unhealthy. (Duh.) But when I look at everything as being 'perfectly good' the rating system is irrelevant. It eliminates the need to measure up to anything. This is actually an exciting revelation for me! When I extend that thinking to others, that they are ALL doing a perfectly good job at whatever they do, well hell, it's all butterflies and rainbows from there, right?

When I feel the anxiety of life creeping back in, I repeat to myself my new mantra and I feel better. I hope that my mini reality check will soon be second nature. I am also happy to have saved myself 20 bucks, w00t! Now I can go back to blogging about fun things again. Like potty training. And poop. Lots and lots of poop.

What's your mantra? How does it work for you?

And Mom, you can rest easy now. I'm fine. Really. Your sons, on the other hand... go worry about them for a while.

Speaking of baby blues, check out these beauties. Obviously the photo has been retouched, but I left the eyes 100% untouched. They are stunning.

Recognition

2010-06-12T12:05:00.001-07:00

This morning I was out front pulling weeds. There was a softball game going on in view of our house so before I tended to the wreck of a yard we bought into two years ago, I made sure to do my makeup, throw on matching clothes, and mentally prepare to keep my temper in check. You never know if one of those over-zealous softball moms works for CPS. Or Ford Models.

I felt silly making such a to-do about pulling weeds, but I couldn't help it. Sometimes all I long for is a little bit of recognition. And if that has to come in the form of a passer-by telling me I look good (for having 3 kids, why does that always have to be tacked on?) or that I have such well behaved children, or that they noticed the yard slowly coming along, then so be it.

Because, the fact of the matter is, moms don't get enough recognition. The whole time I was outside, I could not stop dwelling on this.

The things I accomplish on a daily basis truly astound me. Tending to children while cooking balanced meals. Keeping up on the laundry, the grocery shopping, the monthly itinerary, the bills, friendships. Picking up messes, picking out clothes, picking crusty noses. Showing appreciation to my hard working spouse. Sex. All of this stuff I just DO. Some of it is enjoyable, (the latter) and some of it downright sucks. (Not the nose picking though... I love picking me a good nose.)

We do it all, and yet; it's as if nobody notices. I have long since grown accustomed to finding recognition for all I do in the little things. It's nice to see Jordon be able to relax with a hot cup of coffee before a stressful day of work. I am glad I can provide that for him. I feel satisfied when my kids behave well at the grocery store, because I know that often recognition comes in the form of not receiving the evil death stare from strangers. When one of the boys comes up and spontaneously hugs me, I imagine that they are so in awe of my awesomeness, simple words could never express their sheer amazement at how wonderful I am. So the hug will have to do.

I tell myself nearly all day every day that I don't do the things I do for a pat on the back, or the much more modern high-five. I do it because I enjoy it. Or because it needs to be done. I remind myself often that God has entrusted me with all this stuff to take care of, and that is an honor in itself.

And yet...

Sometimes all I want is to be NOTICED. By anyone. For anything.

Eventually it's time to come inside because Coral is crying and Eli got a sliver. Nobody noticed me, but I am sure they notice the weeds that are left in a hap-hazard pile out front and the rake in the middle of the yard. That is another thing about being a mom. Nothing ever gets DONE. EVER. Seriously. Ever. Like that old hamster in a wheel metaphor. But they dig that wheel, crazy rodents, so it's not even like that. Nothing compares.

After the baby is fed and the boys eat lunch and Eli is in bed for his nap, sliver and all, because apparently hanging out with a sliver in your foot is less excruciating than allowing your mom to even look at it, I decide to reward myself with a break at the computer.

I log on, check my mail, and... what is this?

I won?

That's right, folks, I am this week's winner of the Paper Mama's photo challenge themed "in the sun." And you know what? It feels good. And it struck me; this little bit of recognition that I find myself disproportionately proud of came from a pure selfish act of enjoying a hobby. One of the few things I do for myself, by myself.

I think there's a moral here somewhere. Feel free to e-mail it to me.

Thanks, Chels, for hosting such an awesome challenge. I RECOGNIZE and APPRECIATE what a dedicated blogger you are, while simultaneously being a dedicated wife, mother, and friend.

I'm gunna rock this button with pride.

Oh, and FYI I edited my PRIZE WINNING photo in Gimp. Here's my before and after. Subtle, yet powerful. Just like me! w00t!

Photo Challenge: In The Sun

2010-06-11T16:56:00.000-07:00

Sun? What's that? Oh, Oregon, you disappoint.

This picture was taken on one of our few sunny days this year. I love how literal it fits with the challenge. I also LOVE the glowing ear.

Mother's Day on a Budget

2010-05-09T09:06:00.001-07:00

Our finances are tight right now. Very tight. Oh, and I am Danish. Well, a little bit at least.

NOT RANDOM!

I'd like to share with you one of my favorite Danish Proverbs for this Mother's Day.

"A rich child often sits in a poor mother's lap."

I've always loved this...

So what did I get from my beloved on our Mother's Day on a Budget? See for yourself.

It's perfect.

Photo Challenge: Curiosity

2010-05-08T14:08:00.000-07:00

I had initially taken about a bazillion or so pictures of the boys curiously staring at random flowers in the back yard for this challenge, but... once I loaded them onto the computer they looked a bit- contrived. Nothing kills a kid's curiosity more their overbearing mother yell at them "LOOK MORE CURIOUS!"

I forgot I had even taken this picture. It was candid and more of an afterthought than an attempt at creativity. Those always end up being my favorite.

Braedon actually asks to do these workbooks almost every day. Even when he gets frustrated he doesn't want to stop. Because he's curious. He's curious to see if he can do it, curious to see my reaction, and often finishes a page just because he's curious to see what's on the next one.

Oh, to be a kid. Everything is exciting and new. Their brains never tire. I often forget what it felt like to have that insatiable need to learn more, more, MORE. At that age, everything sparks curiosity. Even ::shudder:: math.

I miss that feeling.

Um... Make That 3 Months...

2010-05-06T13:25:00.000-07:00

Seriously. I hope to never have to make eye contact with my neighbors again. Ever. Also, I am considering painting all of our windows black. Or maybe installing two-way mirrors instead. Ooohh, yeah, that'd be awesome!

I have been doing some OnDemand workouts to try to get my pre-baby body back (say that 3 times fast) for a couple of weeks now. One thing that really irks the pee out of me (mental note: more kegels) while doing these videos is how graceful and happy the instructors look. They say things like "whew, I'm tired" or "I can really feel it burning now!" but I call total bull shit on that 'cause I can barely eek out an "Elidon'tpullyoursister'shair" let alone cheerily describe my every move.

Anyway, today the neighbor saw me working out (and I use that term loosely-like my belly) as he was getting his garbage can off the curb.

So I get busted lunging my floppy body all around. Embarrassing. But not the end of the world, right? Except that my cheap ass doesn't want to go out and buy weights, so instead I use empty plastic whiskey jugs filled with water. I can only imagine what he must think. Although, doesn't everyone drink their whiskey out of plastic? By the half-gallon?

Or are we just classy like that.

Midnight Adventure

2010-05-04T09:41:00.000-07:00

There was once a time that such a title may lead to a number of exciting blog posts. It could have represented, oh, say, a romantic liaison in the back yard, perhaps. Or maybe an exciting night of gaming. Eventually leading to a romantic liaison on the couch, of course. If it was a weekend, it may have even meant a bonfire at the beach. (Complete with romantic sandy liaison.)

But last night's event was nothing of this sort. No, of course not. As can be expected by now, one of the kids was involved in my latest adventure. This time it was Eli. The kid is the best sleeper ever. He still takes 3 hour naps and begs to go to bed if we dare keep him up any later than 9:00pm. So when he has trouble sleeping, it is safe to assume he is either teething or sick, both of which take nothing more than the rare dose of Tylenol to get him back to sleep.

It was right around midnight when I awoke to his shrill, desperate cry of pain. I tried to ignore it hoping he'd magically fall back to sleep, but I knew that if he was awake he had a reason. I stumbled out of bed disoriented and frantic, slowly making my way to the kitchen.

Destination: Medicine Cabinet.

It's times like this that I curse myself for not shutting all of our blinds at night. Our kitchen window looks right into the neighbors' back yard. As sweet as they are, they're also little party animals, and it isn't uncommon to hear the sounds of their mariachi band 'til the wee hours of the night. Of course tonight had to be one of those nights. So here I am, half naked, half asleep, stumbling through the kitchen and I have an audience. I can't tell you how much they could see because I don't know, but what I DO know is that whatever they COULD see resembled a freak show more than a peep show.

My left boob was engorged and my right was not, so as I'm moving around, hoisting myself onto the counter and searching the shelves, one of my baby-feeders stayed frozen in place while the other is flopping all over, desperate to keep up.

The cabinet is thrashed. Stuff is piled on top of more stuff and somewhere under all that is the bin we keep medicine in. Eli's crying is getting louder and I am desperate to get the hell out of the spotlight. Literally. What kind of weirdos put a flood light up smack dab on the side of their house, anyway?

Finally I decide screw it, grab the bin and pull. Chicken Little would have freaked the eff out at the paper cups, band-aids, cough drops, and who knows what else that were falling from the sky. After digging for what felt like forever, all I could find was an expired bottle of children's Advil. At least I don't have to worry about this stuff being on that current recall list, I thought, as I weighed the worst case scenario of feeding Eli expired medicine.

Whatever. He's getting it.

I finally make it back to Eli's room, feed him the medicine, and as expected, he quickly falls back asleep. Shortly after, so do I.

The next morning I had completely forgotten what had happened until I came out to the mess I had made in the kitchen.

"Mommy, big messy," Eli says.

No shit, and it's all your fault, kiddo.

"That's right, Eli, mommy should have picked up after herself, huh."

Naked. In front of the neighbors.

I will not be checking my mail for at LEAST a month. Maybe two.

Header Madness

2010-05-03T09:41:00.001-07:00

When I stop to think of the things I could have accomplished this weekend, the list is endless.

I could have pulled weeds. Caught up on laundry. Housebroken Eli. Pruned 'The Amazon'. I could have called a friend, knit a scarf, baked bread, (haha!) or cleaned the garage.

Instead, Eli conveniently stayed up 'til 1am on Saturday during our FFF (forced family fun) night at my parents' house. This lead to a 5 hour nap on Sunday during which I plunked Braedon down in front of the Xbox and spent the entire time making myself a shiny new header.

It took me 5 uninterrupted hours to make a header that SCREAMS amateur and whispers tacky. I took an occasional Boss Guy break, as Braedon panics at the end of every Kung Fu Panda level, and every time I went back to my work I thought to myself this header sucks. But I love it. I loved that I had to find my own fonts, figure out how to load them into Gimp, edit my own picture, learn how to cut and paste and layer and select and unselect. I spent time researching and puzzle solving. I didn't quit until I got the answer and effect I was looking for. I learned about pixels and gradients. I was learning something NEW.

I take solace in thinking about how every great jeweler started out making macaroni necklaces and every great artist used to draw those awesome triangle dresses on their stick figures. Hopefully, this header is just the beginning of my re-budding creativity.

I can't help it. I'm proud of it. I'm proud of myself for teaching myself something new, for pushing myself when I wanted to give up, and for having something tangible to show for it. I felt the dormant parts of my brain awake with delight. It had been a long time since challenged myself mentally and I was starting to feel stupid. I had been forgetting words like 'socks' and couldn't zero in on simple trivia answers during FFF. The dreaded Mom Brain had taken over. The one that has nothing more important to think about than grocery lists and housework.

While being a mother is my most important job and the thing I am most proud of, I REFUSE to let it be my identity. When I started blogging again I was tempted to create a whole new blog, complete with a cute mother related title, but I resisted. Even if 90% of my posts are about my children, I am STILL KB. Kelsey Brae.

And I have the header to prove it.

More Kids' Music that Doesn't Suck

2010-05-02T10:32:00.000-07:00

Remember not long ago I was talking about 90's alternative bands making kids' music? We also have the fantastic Snacktime album by the Bare Naked Ladies, which poses potential for some pretty awkward moments.

How do I explain to Braedon's Sunday school teacher that his request for bare naked ladies during their child-led rendition of "Jesus Loves Me" isn't as inappropriate as it sounds?*

*Okay, that never happened, but oh how I wish it had...

Paper Mama's Photo Challenge #1

2010-05-01T12:59:00.000-07:00

w00t! A photo challenge!

My camera is out of commission so I cheated and used a picture that my midwife took of Coral's birth. The theme of this photo challenge is "JOY." Joy is the name of my midwife that took this picture, and joy is what I felt when Coral was finally in my arms. You can't really GET any more joy-ier than this picture.

While I give her full photo credit, I'd like to pat myself on the back for the 'vintage effect' of the picture. Thanks to Gimp and some awesome YouTube tutorials, that is.

Okay, I totally cheated. Ah well. I'll do better next time.