Category: Uncategorized (Page 121 of 188)

Warning: once you turn thirty, it is advisable to refrain from blinking. When you do so, a whole month disappears. Those months, they can be difficult to find. They like to hide under the bills on your desk, or with the  missing socks in the laundry room. Next thing you know, you have a 2 year old. So, before November completely slips by me, it’s time for another chronicling of the household.

H-Boy

• He turned 2 (2!!) this weekend and the event was strongly celebrated. His cousins stayed the night on Saturday and then the whole fam damily came to church at 8am (yes, they do love us dearly) to see them (M as well) be dedicated. We then had a brunch birthday party with cinnamon rolls and presents. 
• He’s a talking machine now… favorite phrases: “there you go” “oh, no!” (said with proper inflection) “bye bye bye bye bye” and “papa!” oh, how the boy loves his papas. 
• Lately we’ve been spending our time cutting fake vegetables (thanks to aunt gigi’s present), helping cook in the kitchen (I’ve learned that if you use a bowl twice the size of what you think you need, flour doesn’t go spraying about everywhere), and jumping off the bottom step – “ready, ready, jump!” he says as he prepares. 
• Oh! I nearly forgot. We’ve graduated to the big boy bed. He likes it a lot. He’s done a fantastic job of not getting out of bed until it’s an appropriate end to sleeping time. He falls out every once in a while, and sometimes I think he gets out of bed and lays on the floor for fun because all of his bedding, 14 blankies and the buckeye are down there with him. But he still sleeps, so it’s cool with us. 
• We’ve introduced some big boy undies and have went a few days with them on. He pee-peed in the potty once for daddy. It’s a work in progress and we’re not really expecting overnight success. 
• He still loves, loves, loves his sister. His excitement when she’s awake is uncontainable. When she cries and he hears through the monitor he has started a habit of trying to go into her room (even if her nap time isn’t over….). But it’s sweet he enjoys her so much, so we’ll revel in it while we can. 
• He mastered the harmonica and has recently been paying more attention to musical fun, which is nice. 
• We’ve worked on counting (2 is by far his favorite number; sometimes he’ll “count” things as “2… 2…. 2…”) and our ABC’s. I’ve been signing his ABCs so sometimes he just waggles his arms about as we’re singing, which I take as a term of endearment. 

Miss M

• She’s 7 months already! I can’t hardly believe it. She started real foods – currently banana, applesauce and sweet potato. She’s not a huge fan of the applesauce, but loves the other 2. We’ll be adding in a new one this week (avocado perhaps?). 
• The super sitter now even sits in the tub for bathtime with her brother and rarely falls over. Generally when we see her lying on the floor she was chasing down a straying toy or her brother is at fault. 
• She’s showing some interest in climbing – I mean crawling. She’s been pulling herself around on me quite a bit and look for her to start getting a bit more mobile any time. 
• With the expert sitting and toy chasing, she has become a very content little lady. I can put her on the floor with a basket of toys and she’ll entertain herself for a long, long time. But she’s happy to be held, too. I never thought in her first 3 weeks of her life that she would be such a happy, contented baby, but she really is. 
• Naps are finally REAL naps! Praise my Jesus. We can, on a regular (though not every day) basis get 2 solid 2 hour naps from the girl. Everyone is grateful. However, these tend to be staggered from H’s singular nap, so I have a child napping from 10am to 4pm and thus am stranded in the house. This too shall pass, I suppose. It is a great season to get out the crochet hooks. And I’m determined to learn the knitting (I even bought needles as inspiration). 

The Parentals
JJ has received his official RIF paperwork and will be done at the academy on 1/1/11. This has added stress because we still will require some income and, once again, will be without health insurance (I’ve been calling every doctor we could need to get in by the end of the year). However, the relief mentally and emotionally from being released from his current assignment far outweighs the stresses. Besides, we’re quite the pros at managing with a fluctuating income. Practice makes perfect! He’s got his application to a part-time position at BG, he anticipates subbing and we both still have our part time roles where I work. We’re really in an okay place. I have to remind myself of that from time to time.
I have really enjoyed the freedom of staying home with the kiddos as much as I have, and though by 4pm I’m on the verge of loony, I recognize that comes with the territory. Husband has done a superior job at helping me find other ways to connect to people – the woman’s retreat, helping with youth group (and thus leading a girls retreat), and in general getting me out of the house. Which just shows how brilliant he is, because when I’m sane, the whole house seems a bit less, um, volatile.
Well, I hear the pitter patters going, which means the little man has decided that he’s had enough sleep for the night. Another day begins.

One flipping duct. It’s what, the size of a pinhole? Yes, I am referring to a milk duct. I’ll just warn all of you males (especially who may fall into my familial lines), this post will likely involve the word lactating. Just sayin’.

Because I’ve nursed MAM over 6 months now (after a solid 9 months with HTM), I assumed that all feeding fears and issues could be put aside. But one evening away at a ladies retreat where I didn’t want to be all Pumpy McPumperson and 3 days later I couldn’t move off the couch without wincing and perhaps a bit of whining/groaning/threatening to cut off the big toe of every male I know because they’ll never have to endure such torture.

For those of you unfamiliar with mastitis, allow me to clarify. One teeeny-tiny, eesey-weensey milk duct in your left breasticle gets a bit full and never empties out. The milk apparently goes a bit sour (my word, not that of my medical professional), and, like a loaf of sourdough, a bacteria is formed (and grows). But does it remain an isolated incident? Um, no. You end up with a fever that would make you change your clothes 3 times that night, (even while under a down comforter) and body aches that rival the effects of the first practice of football twoadays. All so your child can have a “breast start” in life.

However, the Saints Be that Invented Penicillin have knocked that little bugger of a bug right out of my system. My self-dosing probably had nothing to do with it. (Really, the difference between every 6 hours and every 3? It worked for my sinus infection, so I figured, why not?). I was up and at ’em this morning, even making a mexican lasagna for a friend with a new baby at home (however I refused to let our boobies converse for fear that it could go airborn).

So next time I sneak away for 24 hours or less, I shall set a timer to visit a quiet place and allow Medala to sing to me (does yours sing using the same words every time? Mine definately changes it up. Same tune, different chorus). Because a little bit of diligence goes a long way to preventing diseases. Wow, this could be a safe-sex ad on soooo many levels.

I read that South America used to produce hundreds and thousands of varieties of potatoes. Different sizes, colors (even purple!) and each had its own use. Apparently each was so distinct in flavor that you didn’t just toss the cheapest 10 lb bag in your cart when you knew you’d be making french fries, potato salad and veggie soup that week. Each potato had purpose.

The author of the book expressed sadness for the extinct potato flavors, and actually an entire movement (Slow Food) shares concern for indigenous foods of a region that have been lost to mass production of staple crops (ie, the evil corn and soy). It seems like a bit of an extravagant cause when we consider the people who die each year for lack of clean water… I mean, do we need more than 5 potato flavors? But I suppose for those who truly appreciate food in all its forms, rather than just covered with butter or sour cream, it could be a party stopper to have flavorless spuds.

However, a few nights after reading this, I was still hung up on the issue. I even asked husband, “why is it a good thing to have diversity and variety?” I’m not just talking about in the workforce and equality issues, but rather the overarching idea – to what benefit does the world from diversity?

Tonight at youth group we touched on it a bit, the topic of doing what we should vs. what people want us to. I got caught up in the subtopic of it all (well, for my group, that is. Other groups may not have ventured into this water):  do people respect someone who stands up for what they believe is right? Why is it that we don’t want to be noticed as different?

My senior year in college I took 7 of my closest friends (in a van, 18 hours, to Miami, to leave) on a cruise. By “took” I mean that I drove 87.6% of the way. I could offer up no less than 8 hilarious stories from the week, but instead I share a memory stuck in my head and could never figure out why. In our group there were 2 redheads, 2 black girls and one that looked european, like a Mediterranean sweetheart (fitting, since she married one and lives there now). I only mention our different looks because one afternoon several of us strategized how to bake in the sun as much as humanly possible. As we mentioned this to the group, the 2 black girls mentioned that they did not want to sun the afternoon away. (JP actually made a statement about it that was hilariously funny but that when read out of context, could be taken in a wrong way… so, I’m employing some of those so-called “editing skills.”)

I was struck by how the white girls wanted to get darker and the dark girls wanted to get whiter. Pretty much, we all wanted to look like Cara. (Ha, I kid. Though she is gorgeous). But seriously. Does a magic ideal of middle ground exist just beyond our conscience? Do we conform to something that we can’t even name, only for the sake of not being different?

Why do we mourn the lost differences in potato flavors but aim our life toward a basic brown Idaho?

Something much deeper lies below our potato desires. No singular perfect potato exists and by pretending that one will fulfill all our needs just invalidates our hunger. Even more, it’s like telling God that his time and effort into creating more beauty in the world was a waste.

The question runs deeper and this post does not provide a satisfactory answer. I know, you ask, why did I read this far and you STILL not provide a hypothesis? But I turn it back to you: Why is diversity good? What does the world benefit from differences – between potatoes and people?
Talk amongst yourself.