Momopoly

Daddy's Little Girls

2010-02-09T04:53:00.004-05:00

Welcome to the February Carnival of Natural Parenting: Love and partners!

This post was written for inclusion in the monthly Carnival of Natural Parenting hosted by Hobo Mama and Code Name: Mama. This month we're writing about how a co-parent has or has not supported us in our dedication to natural parenting. Please read to the end to find a list of links to the other carnival participants.

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Sometimes I feel like a movie star (minus the designer clothes, personal chef, and big paycheck). After all, I have an entourage that follows me everywhere - even into the bedroom.

Ah, the family bed. I wish I could say I love every moment of cuddling up next to my peaceful cherubs, but then I’d be lying and might end up in the gossip column. Snuggly babies are one thing, but lanky 5-year-olds and toddlers who think Mom is a mattress and cuddle right on top of her leave me feeling more claustrophobic than lovey-dovey at times.

But I remain committed to my fan club.

My husband, on the other hand, loves his nighttime cuddling with his girls. In some ways, I think it’s a way for him to make up for lost time with his daughters since he works long and unpredictable hours. He’s also sensitive to the fact that I’m a light sleeper and that sometimes after a long day of being emotionally and physically present for our little ones, I need some space.

So my husband often volunteers to sleep with the older girls in order to give Star Mommy some time away from the limelight. We’ll have couple time together while all the girls are asleep, and sometimes he stays in bed with me until I fade away into that blissful thing moms spend more time dreaming about than actually doing called sleep.

In the middle of the night, I’ll stir and find an empty space beside me. Sometimes, after I’ve nursed the baby, I’ll peek into the girls’ room where I’ll find three of the people I love the most piled together like puppies. The girls’ legs and arms are jumbled together like challah bread and there’s my six-foot-plus husband wedged in that heap of all things girl. Whenever I see them like that, the same thoughts run through my head.

First, it’s so nice to have a co-star to occasionally take the spotlight off me.

Second, I know my husband isn’t only snuggling with our girls as a favor for me. The same as I know that when he “watches” the girls for an hour, so I can write or exercise, or pray, he’s not thinking of it as a babysitting gig but rather a chance to soak up some one-on-one time with his girls. He is a real partner in this parenting journey. He works long hours to support us and to allow me to be an at-home mom, but when he comes home, he doesn’t just want to be a father figure; he wants to be a hands-on dad. As soon as he walks in the door, he gives each of us a kiss and then he scoops the girls into his arms, tickles them, and asks about our day. He wants to hear all that he’s missed - the funny things they said, the genius I discovered in their crayon scribbles, the baby’s milestones, and how in the world did that orange-hued stain the shape of a Rorschach inkblot end up on our carpet?

He also recognizes that my being a mom is my primary job. In fact, he’s the one who is constantly reminding me to be less. “All you have to do is be a good mom,” he reminds me when I’m stressed about some other “obligation” I’ve forced on myself. “That’s all that really matters.”

He’s been a hands-on father from the moment I was pregnant - quite literally during labor with my first. I was experiencing deep, burning pain in my back, and he remembered what he’d learned in our Bradley classes and bore his fist down onto me to help relieve my labor pains for hours at end. And he never complained until many days after when we were home ooooing and ahhhhing over our baby girl. (He knew better than to mention that he was tired or sore to a laboring mom!)

When he was changing a diaper of our first newborn, I remember how big and capable his hands looked holding her tiny, bright pink feet in the air with one hand and grasping a wipe with the other. My reverie was interrupted when meconium started bubbling out like lava from a volcano.

“Whoa!” he exclaimed. But he didn’t panic. He took care of the mess and actually seemed proud to have witnessed this milestone. “Look at that,” he said, proudly as if to say, "She works! Our daughter works!"

I knew then that the husband I loved and admired had transformed into a father who would always take care of his girls. Even when life got messy, he’d keep his cool and would be here for us.

Once I was in the waiting room of a doctor’s office when a woman commented on the fact that I had three girls. “Well, I hope your husband at least has a boy dog or something.” I smiled politely, but comments about our surplus of X chromosomes annoy me, especially when people assume we want more babies simply because my husband is pining for a boy.

“I wonder if we’ll have a boy next,” I mused recently.

“I wouldn’t know what to do with a boy,” my husband said.

I’m sure we’d do just fine if God sees it fit to give us a boy someday, but it’s true that we have this whole girl thing down quite well. When I see my husband sleeping in a tangle of pink and purple blankets, blond hair and dolls and stuffed animals, I can’t help but think that he sure knows what to do with his girls: He takes care of them. Nothing less, but a whole lot more.

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Visit Hobo Mama and Code Name: Mama to find out how you can participate in the next Carnival of Natural Parenting!

Please take time to read the submissions by the other carnival participants:

(This list will be updated Feb. 9 with all the carnival links, and all links should be active by noon EST. Go to Hobo Mama and Code Name: Mama for the most recently updated list.)

A Thank You to my Husband — Lactating Girl at The Adventures of Lactating Girl thanks her husband for keeping her grounded and giving her unwavering support in the face of discouragement from within and without. (@lactatinggirl)

My Reverse Traditional Husband In the Wild — Paige at Baby Dust Diaries gives us a lesson on how dads in the wild parent their young. Can you guess which male animal actually nurses its young? (@babydust)

February Carnival of Natural Parenting — TopHat at The Bee in Your Bonnet tells us how the patience of a partner can make a difficult breastfeeding relationship succeed. (@TopHat8855)

Parenting Together — For Alison at BluebirdMama and her husband, parenting is simply an extension of the way they live. (@childbearing)

If We Had A MIllion Dollars — Melodie at Breastfeeding Moms Unite! and her husband would both agree to be crunchier parents if they had a million dollars to ease the way. (@bfmom)

February Carnival of Natural Parenting: Co-Parents — Dionna at Code Name: Mama has written a letter to her husband, thanking him for his incredible support in every aspect of their natural parenting journey. (@CodeNameMama)

Natural Parenting Fathers — Sarah at Natural Parenting is balancing being all there for her son with being present for her husband. (@considereden)

Just Wonderful: Love and Partners and Natural Parenting — Zoey at Good Goog let her husband lead her to babywearing and cosleeping. (@zoeyspeak)

All that stuff I don't get comes so easy to him — The Grumbles is taking this opportunity to say thank you to her husband for his mad parenting skills. (@thegrumbles)

The Power of Having a Supportive Co-Parent — Chrystal at Happy Mothering and her husband started with vaccinations and moved on from there. (@HappyMothering)

February Carnival of Natural Parenting: Love and partners — Lauren at Hobo Mama makes do with babbling incoherently about how her husband practices natural parenting in such an effortless fashion, with bonus video. (@Hobo_Mama)

Love and Partners — Mrs Green at Little Green Blog shares her husband's moving account of her birth story, and his testament to the power of a woman. (@myzerowaste)

labor support... — Mandy at Living Peacefully with Children is thankful that her partner has provided her immeasurable labor support through each of their last three unassisted homebirths (and will again for their upcoming fourth!).

What co-parent? On prams, routines, ideals, sickness, and finding my way alone. — Ruth at Look Left of the Pleiades describes life without a present co-parent: making new choices and taking care of things herself. (@brightravenmum)

Parenting With Support — How many people can say that their husband talked them into cloth diapering? Darcel at The Mahogany Way can! (@MahoganyWayMama)

Co-Parenting Support — Summer at Mama2Mama Tips knows the importance of being supported in the face of criticism. (@mama2mamatips)

Natural Parenting Carnival: Love and Partners — pchanner at A Mom's Fresh Start has been blessed with an incredibly involved partner. Her husband loves to take part in every aspect of parenting! (@pchanner)

Daddy's Little Girls — Kate Wicker at Momopoly finds her husband right at home in a tangle of girls. (@Momopoly)

How do I love my parenting partner? Let me count the ways. — Sybil at Musings of a Milk Maker is thankful that she and her partner co-parent fluidly and gracefully. (@mamamilkers)

Interview with a Daddy — NavelgazingBajan brings us a highly amusing peek into her husband's perspective.

Being Supported in Natural Parenting — Sarah at OneStarryNight has witnessed both ends of the parenting spectrum, and is grateful she found a father who is comfortable with natural parenting. (@starrymom)

Moments in time: a love letter — Arwyn at Raising My Boychick will make you cry with the beautiful way she describes the complete relationship between father and child. (@RaisingBoychick)

Natural parenting converts — Jen at Recovering Procrastinator brought her reluctant husband around to cloth diapers, bed sharing, and time-ins as a discipline method. (@jenwestpfahl)

Breastfeeding Father — Amber Strocel at Strocel.com describes how her husband helped her overcome the breastfeeding challenges she encountered with her premature daughter. (@AmberStrocel)

A Natural Parenting Village — Acacia from Art, Body & Soul, in a guest post for Jamie at Suddenly Stay at Home, broadens the term "coparents" to embrace supportive extended family on both sides. (@SuddnlyStyAtHme)

A Natural Dad — Shana at Tales of Minor Interest doesn't have a husband who merely supports her — she has a husband just as dedicated to natural parenting as she is.

Love and Support From My (sometimes pantsless) Man — Joni Rae at Tales of a Kitchen Witch Momma describes life with the sometimes bumbling but always lovable Pantsless Man. (@kitchenwitch)

G-O-T-E-A-M! — Jessica at This Is Worthwhile made sure her future husband agreed with her parenting choices early in their dating. (@tisworthwhile)

how we come to parenthood — Michelle at womanseekingmother dances with her husband around the subject of cosleeping. (@seekingmother)

Unconditional Love

2010-02-08T05:41:00.000-05:00

I'm the nursing the baby in the soft light of morning while my 5-year-old stands close by, watching the two of us.

She reaches over and gently touches the sucking cheeks of her little sister. "She's the most 'beautifulest,' cutest, most wonderful baby there ever was, isn't she?"

After a brief pause, my older daughter crinkles her nose and says, "Except when she poops. Then she's gross."

I'm pretty sure she's thinking of a recent diaper calamity that involved Mom busily writing Christmas thank you notes and being completely oblivious to a crawling, pooping baby, a leaky diaper, and stinky stains all over our living room carpet. It was the 5-year-old who discovered the crime scene and the guilty party happily clapping her poop-clad hands. And it was very gross.

"But," my daughter adds, touching her sister again, "We love her anyway."

Plan B*

2010-02-06T11:16:00.014-05:00

As my readers know, I was really looking forward to making it to confession today. I arrived early, so I'd be one of the first folks in line. Then I waited. And waited.

Just a few months earlier I'd driven one hour to my parents' house, so they could watch my girls while I went to confession. The priest never showed up. As I waited this morning, I kept telling myself that surely that wouldn't happen again. As the clock ticked and the line grew, I started getting annoyed. "God," I found myself saying. "It's not easy for me to make it to confession. Here I am. Help me out here."

After nearly 30 minutes of stewing in line, one of the Adoration guardians slipped out and came to inform all of us that the priests had all traveled downtown to the cathedral for a special ordination, and there would unfortunately be no confession today.

She smiled and then said, "But God knows your heart."

Then I saw her ask someone in line that she knew if he could go to the Adoration Chapel to wait for the next guardian to arrive. He gladly agreed. I followed him.

An ongoing struggle for me is to deal with thwarted plans. "Going with the flow" is not my strong suit. On Friday we were getting ready to leave for First Friday Mass and our homeschooling co-op when my 5-year-old spilled her entire bowl of Raisin Bran on our dining room carpet. (Parents: Whatever you do, do not buy a home with a carpeted dining area. Think of the children. And your lovely beige carpets. And your sanity.) I was on the verge of tears because I'd worked so hard to plan ahead so that we'd have plenty of time to spare and wouldn't be racing out the door, and now there was this big mess of mushy bran flakes to contend with along with a contrite, little girl and a fussy baby. We raced to Mass. I complained about the rain, and I was a general grouch, all because of a stupid spill on the carpet.

Later that same day while I nursed the baby to sleep, my 2-year-old took it upon herself to add some colorful chalk graffiti to our carpet. I came downstairs and saw her charming artwork and fumed. So much for a quiet, peaceful afternoon. Now I'd be scrubbing our carpets - again.

This morning, as I waited in line for confession, I felt myself becoming more and more anxious and frustrated. I kept hearing a hushed whisper suggesting I just use this time to pray in the Adoration Chapel, but I didn't listen until I saw someone else smile and accept that he wouldn't be making it to confession and would be spending time in Adoration instead.

Once I gave in and retreated to the quiet, all my frustrations faded away as I realized that this was exactly where I was supposed to be. God not only knows my heart; he knows what's best for it. Perhaps what I needed more than confession was the silence so that I could just have a chat with God.

When I returned home, I immediately wanted to share how God gave me a teaching moment by not allowing me to receive a sacrament I thought I so desperately needed in order to put some peace in my heart. As soon as I started writing, however, a toddler found me and asked if I'd read her a book. I hesitated. I so badly wanted to say, "In just a minute," but I heard that whisper again. "Spend time with your child. You can write later."

This time I didn't ignore it. So often I recognize God's will for me from moment to moment, but it takes a lot of discipline to bend to it, especially when I want so badly for my daily routine to be just so.

During Adoration I'd thought of my attitude toward all the unexpected twists and turns my life as a mom brings and how it's too often one of exasperation or despair. My days are unpredictable and often messy, too. Try as I might to map things out on my iCal, the reality of my life is usually very, very different from what I had in mind. It's easy for me to feel secure when things are going as planned, but when life throws me a curve ball (or a big stain on the carpet)? Not so much.

Yet, God has no obligation to make things turn out the way we want them to, but what he does promise to do is to bless me when I embrace every opportunity as a chance to hold onto him rather than becoming frustrated or angry. This morning he blessed me with time in Adoration. Later after some extra snuggling with my toddler, he blessed me with an unexpected chunk of writing time, thanks to an extra long nap from the baby.

While I'm not suggesting my day was full of divine prompts or that I should take a priest not showing up this morning as a sign that I don't need the graces of Reconciliation, what became clear to me with the multiple detours I've faced lately is that giving up my own plans in favor of God's Plan B is often exactly just what I need to grow in holiness.

So today I am blessed. I just didn't arrive there using my own map.

*UPDATE: It just occurred to me that "Plan B" probably isn't the best title for a post about following God's plans. Then again, maybe someone will Google "Plan B" and end up here.

Blessed

2010-02-05T21:03:00.001-05:00

I'm realizing that having blessings doesn't always mean you're living a blessed life or vice versa.

Allow me to explain. Frequently, we see blessings as gifts, good fortune, or perhaps the fruit of hard work. By this definition, I am richly blessed. However, God's definition of blessed is a little different, I think. A blessed person in His eyes is someone who allows Him to bless her with peace and contentment no matter what gifts she may have been given or have earned. This explains why there are people who have been given everything in life who end up trying to drink away their despair or work harder and longer thinking that greater wealth will lead to greater happiness. They have blessings, but they are not blessed.

Then there are those who have very little or who have lost much and yet, they have peace in their hearts. This isn't to say they don't hurt, but they're able to find consolation in the mercy and love of God. They may sometimes complain about the mountains they must climb, but they recognize that their mountains are God's mountains, too, and that they are never alone. Those who allow God to bless them are able to look beyond themselves and make the best of the cards they've been dealt. They handle sorrow with grace, and they don't take even the smallest glimpses of joy for granted.

I'm grateful for all of my blessings; yet, lately I've been struggling with finding peace. I haven't been allowing God to bless me with His graces, His goodness, His mercy. God is knocking on my heart, but I'm afraid to let Him in and to surrender myself to Him. It's not even as if I'm seeking and not finding (something I have struggled with in the past); I'm just plain not seeking.

In the car this morning, I heard an old Indigo Girls' song I used to love way back when, and these lyrics screamed out at me: "Darkness has a hunger that's insatiable, but lightness has a call that's hard to hear."

Isn't that the truth?

Sometimes, despite all the goodness in my life, the darkness swallows me up whole. Then I project. I blame the rain. I blame the lousy traffic, the Raisin Bran spilled all over my carpet, a communication mix-up among homeschooling friends, or missing my husband. I blame things that really aren't at the core of my longing or anxiety. Sure, these sliver-like crosses might add to my internal struggles, but often I refuse to consider the possibility that I'm huddled in the darkness because I've been too stubborn to let any light in. Then, when the slightest rays begin to shine through, I turn away thinking I don't deserve the goodness because of the way I've behaved. I want to be loved; yet, I can act so unlovable.

And so I stumble in the darkness. I grope around trying to find something to hold onto to steady me. In the past, it was often my weight. I could always find temporary relief and an escape when my clothes started to feel loose. The thinner I forced myself to become, the more powerful I felt. Even now I frequently seek false confidence and affirmation in all the wrong places.

Yet, when I put God first and when I love and my family and serve them well, I feel affirmed. I feel happy and satisfied. So why do I keep looking outside my heart where God's love dwells and outside of my home where my family's love is to feel good and worthy?

Tomorrow I'm going to confession. I haven't been since Advent, and I'm hungry for God's mercy and forgiveness. I want my penance to be more than a rote rosary. I want it to be a new start. So tomorrow I will kneel and humble myself. I won't let the darkness consume me. Instead, I'll search for the light. I'll reacquaint myself with God's blessing. And I will be blessed.

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Please pray for Colleen Mitchell and her family. May they flee to God in their heartache and sorrow and find healing and peace.

Girls & Curls

2010-02-03T06:05:00.000-05:00

We had our first experience with foam curlers. I'd recently told Madeline how I used to occasionally sleep in curlers, and she immediately wanted me to try it with her tresses. And of course, Baby Rae didn't want to be left out.

The before photos...

The after photos (which include curls and a bonus raspberry manicure)...

A Choice Worth Making

2010-02-01T08:45:00.005-05:00

Today I'm over at Faith & Family LIVE! explaining why my belief in God remains in me even during the most difficult times. Please read A Choice Worth Making. Comments are open over there, and I'd love to hear what helps keep you faithful in the wake of disaster, suffering, or heartache as well as during spiritual dry spells. Have a great week.

Thanks, Moms!

2010-01-30T13:15:00.012-05:00

It's foggy and rainy. The girls enjoyed their Saturday morning movie privilege while my husband studied for his upcoming boards, and I wrote some and pondered mentor moms. I thought about how blessed I am to have my own mom as a mentor. My mother-in-law, too, has been a gift in my mothering life.

Then there are some of my childhood friends. We have grown up together, and now we're growing into the kinds of moms we feel called to become.

There are my church friends and the moms in my homeschool co-op who inspire me nearly every day to keep in better touch with my faith and with God. They answer my homeschooling questions and give me pep talks when I feel like I'm the only one swimming against a strong current.

There's my 88-year-old nana who imparts bits and pieces of wisdom every time she speaks.

There are the mom friends I met during the different phases of my husband's medical training (med school wife friends, friends I met during his transitional year, resident wife friends). Although I haven't known some of these friends for long, the Internet makes it so much easier to keep in touch with people you meet during quick pit stops in life.

Speaking of which, there's my online community - all of you who inspire and encourage me daily with your comments, your own blogs, your prayers, and with the grace-filled lives you lead.

Then there's the Mother of All Mothers. What a gift that I have Mary to turn to when I'm in need of a good dose of maternal empathy or when I just need to quiet my heart. Last night I prayed a rosary while I nursed Mary Elizabeth in the darkness of night. As I was nourishing my baby, I thought of the times when I've been pierced by hunger or fear and a real life mom mentor hasn't been on call to comfort me; yet, Mary was waiting, waiting to help me see that she was there, longing to remind me that when I cry out in my emptiness, she will not forsake me.

I'm tired of the rain and the fact that the call for a wintry mix in Georgia thwarted our plans to go house hunting (we're taking a rain check, and we hope we'll be headed out tomorrow). Yet, I'm thankful I had the moment to consider all the moms who have supported me in my mothering journey. Thank you. You are in my prayers.

Lessons from a Third Child

2010-01-29T06:25:00.001-05:00

I remember how much I looked forward to my firstborn's well-child visits at the pediatrician. I could easily recount every milestone. Her entire first year of life was documented in a scrapbook with artsy layouts as well as in a journal that read like Proust.

Fast forward five years and three babies later, and this is what happens at your youngest child's appointment:

Nurse: Is she crawling?

Me: Yes.

Nurse: Is she pulling up?

Me: Yes.

Nurse: How often is she nursing and for how long on each side?

Me: Ummmm... I'm not sure, but enough.

Nurse: Is she babbling?

Me: Yes.

Nurse: Does she play Peek-A-Boo?

Me: Ummmm... Peek-A-Boo? I don't think I've ever played Peek-A-Boo with her. I mean, I read to her and count her toes and...

Nurse: It's okay. You've got your hands full.

While I did feel a tad guilty my third baby has been deprived of engrossing games of Peek-A-Boo (and you better believe I went home and played some Peek-A-Boo with her), I'm growing into my mothering shoes and realizing that you can’t do it all or be everything to every child, and that’s okay. I may not gaze for hours at end into the sleepy eyes of my nursing cherub, and my 2-year-old doesn’t have a built-in playmate (AKA Mommy) at hand all daylong like her big sister did, but here’s a little secret to all the newbie moms out there: Children - especially older children like my 5-year-old whose needs and wants are no longer one in the same - don't need instant gratification or never-ending ministration to be happy. (Don’t worry. I played Peek-A-Boo all the time with my first, too.) I'd actually argue that never teaching your child to wait or to share Mom's TLC is going to lead to disappointment later in life when the cruel, hard world doesn't hand you your dreams on a plate and your boss says you have to more than just show up at work to be considered special.

Still, when I was pregnant with my second child, I kept wondering how I could possibly love her as much as her big sister. My worrying was wasteful because as soon as I held my Baby Rae in my arms, I knew that there was and always will be plenty of love to go around. Whoever says you can’t love a second or fifth or ninth child as much as your first never had a second or fifth or ninth child.

Off the top of my head, here are just a few other lessons I've learned since welcoming our third child into our family:

Your life will revolve around bowel movements, nursing, and naps (or pining for them) if it doesn't already, but you won't be so anal about keeping track of everything. (I look at my first baby's nursing logs and the scraps of paper where I counted and described the characteristics of her poop and chuckle.) You see your baby's eyes flutter and her body and babbling quiets down, and you know it's time for a nap. You don't have to look at the clock. Your body responds when she cries or squirms; you give what she needs because you pick up on her cues, and you no longer second guess yourself (much).

A mobile 9-month-old is a worthy opponent even for a 5-year-old and will try to get that miniature teacup in her mouth or spur what could be viewed as a sibling brawl (baby squeals and flaps her arms in frustration, inadvertently slapping big sister on the face), so don't always blame the older children when tears are shed.

Second children grow up even more quickly than first children, and third children grow up the most quickly of all.

Even though you no longer play Peek-A-Boo much, your third baby is the best entertained little one yet because the beauty of a bigger family is that Mom no longer has to be a solo act. My baby would much rather watch her silly sisters run around and sing and dance anyway.

Going from two to three kids, at least for me, was the toughest transition so far. I am completely outnumbered. Someone always needs me for something and yet, somehow I keep on giving and giving even when I'm tempted to bail. (I do sometimes sneak into the bathroom for a Mom time-out as a matter of survival.)

Finally, as evidenced by the growing stash of happy baby pictures, my Peek-A-Boo-deprived third child seems to be coping just fine.

What lessons in motherhood has your third or fourth or ???th child taught you?

Moms: Read This Now

2010-01-26T15:05:00.006-05:00

Moms, I know you're busy and crazy-tired, but please make time to read this.

Then go and be a wife to your husband and a mother to your children. Feel good about your industriousness in your home. Love God and your family first, and know you're being a good steward of your time. You are doing enough. (Note to self: So are you, Katie! )

Let us all learn to say, "I'm sorry, but I can't do that," and to be content in being "just" a mom.

I'd like to write more, but you guessed it: "I'm sorry; I can't do that." Not now when a child is cuddled close to me and deserves her mom's full attention. A child whom I should always see, not as a disruption, but as a reminder that I have been called to dedicate my life and my love to God and the family He has given me.

When Necessary Use Words

2010-01-25T08:08:00.009-05:00

"Preach the Gospel at all times and when necessary use words."

-St. Francis of Assisi

This morning I woke up with one thought: "Lord, give me the wisdom and words to defend my beliefs."

Last night I was engaged in a spiritual debate with a friend of mine who is an atheist. We were discussing the doctrine of original sin. My friend remained calm and rational while I felt my blood pressure rising. As I defended God and my beliefs, I remember thinking, "Why are you putting on me on my trial?"

This morning I realized I was putting myself on trial.

I picked up my Living Faith and turned to the page with today's meditation, and I read: "God does not need to be defended, he needs to be embraced."

It's essential for me to understand theology and to back it up with reasoning - but only to a point. Even as a mom, I sometimes find myself teaching my children about God with words instead of showing them about him. Do they see me on my knees praying enough? Do they see me make him a priority, not just on Sundays during Mass but all day, every day? Do they see me doing little things, making small sacrifices all with great love? Do they see me embracing God by living a life of goodness?

Does everyone see me doing that?

A tired toddler saw quite the opposite this morning, I'm afraid. I was still considering my argument from last night and was trying to frame my logic and to tap into the limited store of wisdom I have these days operating on little sleep when she came to me. She was fussing about her lost lovey. I asked her to just wait a minute. She threw a fit. She cried. I put her in another room, shut her out, and closed myself away. (There's my first stumble with my "use love" parenting resolution. Thank goodness for second and fourth and 392nd chances.) My husband knocked. Exasperated, I said, "I just want a moment to myself."

Ironic, isn't it?

What will mean more to my children: the fact that I was able to defend the faith with my written words or the fact that wherever they needed me, whenever they needed me, I was there?

God was never won over with an argument. Dying on the cross - the ultimate sign of sacrificial love - was much more powerful than any parable or impassioned oratory. We don't bring others to God with our long-winded speeches, our flushed faces, pumping fists, and certainly not with our raised voices. A dying to self, loving beyond what is considered fair or logical, and embracing God in all that we do and say - these are the marks of the most persuasive evangelists.

The Black Hole of Cyberspace

2010-01-23T20:16:00.001-05:00

I'm thinking really deep thoughts today.

For instance, where do all the lost emails go? Are they hanging out with all my baby's missing socks? Is there a cyber purgatory where herds of emails are cleansed of any potential SPAM-ish language before ending up in my inbox (probably not, considering how full my SPAM folder is these days)? Who knows? What I do know is it is absolutely maddening when my own mom's emails don't always come through to me. They haven't even been ending up in SPAM. They are nowhere to be found, and they don't bounce back to her. This leads obsessive me to start wondering what other emails are floating out there - lost and abandoned - in the black hole of Cyberspace? (Can you tell my husband is working this weekend? I'm obviously trying to make the time pass by more quickly with ridiculous ruminating.)

Well, if I owe you an email from more than two weeks ago (the time by which I generally *try* to respond to *most* emails), you may want to shoot me another line (there seems to be no rhyme or reason to why I sometimes receive my mom's emails and why I sometimes don't). Or you can always connect with me on Twitter or Facebook.

As an aside, anyone else experiencing troubles with their Gmail account, or is it just my past coming back to haunt me? Once upon a time in an old place of employment tech support actually informed me there was something wrong with me (instead of with my blasted computer that was constantly freezing up on me). I laughed when they said this; they didn't. They were tired of having to come fix my computer. They complained that I was a jinx. This time I laughed a bit nervously. Then some super serious tech guy went on to tell me this was not a laughing matter and that there are actually people who give off a powerful electromagnetic force that may scramble computer data. Huh? Apparently I'm not the only one with this condition. Perhaps I should audition for Heroes.

Yesterday my land line went out, too, for no apparent reason. I was waiting for a call from someone who didn't have my cell number. It was rather annoying, but I took a deep breath and somehow made it through the day. I refuse to let temperamental technology - or the fact that I have a terrible track record with computers going haywire in my presence - to rob me (completely) of my joy. (I do confess that technology - or its pathetic collapse - did get the best of me once. In college, a big chunk of my honors thesis vanished after my hard drive flipped out on me. I was not the picture of calm. I think I screamed. I know I cried. Then a patient techie friend retrieved it. So much wasted angst.)

After rambling on about my technology woes while trying to not let them get me down, I'm thinking my word for 2010 might need to be detachment. :)

Turtles v. Babies

2010-01-22T12:50:00.005-05:00

Like most five-year-olds, my oldest daughter never stops asking questions. She's very interested in the ocean, and her old obsession with barracudas was recently replaced with a curiosity about sea turtle babies. "Tell me more about sea turtles," she asks. So I turned to Google, and this is what I learned with just a few clicks:

During the hatching season from May through August, the female loggerhead sea turtle emerges from the sea and crawls ashore to dig a nest for her eggs.

It’s a cumbersome process, dragging her massive body along the beach and then investing hours in digging a large pit that will soon cradle new life.

When she’s satisfied with her maternal excavation, the female lays roughly 100 eggs, buries her young beneath a layer of sand, and then retreats to the waves leaving her offspring to fend for themselves. She will not clamber onto land again until a new nesting season when she returns to the same shoreline to lay more eggs.

After an average incubation period of two months, the baby sea turtles begin to emerge from their shells.

Once hatched, it’s a cruel number’s game; the baby sea turtles have to beat the odds to make it safely to the ocean depths.

Not only do the baby turtles scrambling for the sea make an easy target for predators like scuttling crabs and hovering seabirds, but the bright lights from property development along the the beach can disorient the hatchlings and cause them to lose their way. More dangers lurk beneath the waves for the baby turtles that are lucky enough to make it to the water. Natural predators, human litter, and shrimp nets all pose a threat to the tiny turtles.

A very small percentage of the hatchlings will ever grow up.

Thankfully, the United States government is not blind to their plight. During nesting season, laws require beach residents to keep lights shielded at night to prevent the hatchlings from becoming confused. Tampering with turtle eggs or nests is also punishable by law. Worldwide, there are more than 70 conservation laws and regulations that apply to sea turtles, according to the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service.

Obviously, the life of the sea turtle is sacred enough to warrant legislation to defend it. But babies? Nah. Sadly, our government does not offer the same protection to unborn babies as it does to baby sea turtles and even sea turtle eggs harboring only the potential for new life.

It’s a big no-no to harm a turtle nest and please, please be sure to dim your beach house lights during hatching season lest you want to confuse a wayward baby sea turtle as well as pay a hefty fine, but, people, let’s not hinder science by restricting the use of human embryos in research. And, certainly, let’s not forbid women from exercising their free will to destroy a human life.

I’m not coldhearted. I don’t think it’s right for beach combers to disrupt turtle nests. Nor am I opposed of executing reasonable laws to protect endangered species (providing they don’t elevate an animal’s needs and rights above that of a human’s). What’s more, I think baby sea turtles are rather cute, and who wouldn’t like to see those little guys transform into giant, graceful, and magnificent mariners one day?

Yet, our own infants can grow up to be so much more. Human babies deserve the right and the chance at life far more than any animal. And women who find themselves in crisis pregnancies deserve to know the truth: That a baby - new life - is sacred and worth keeping and fighting for even when it seems there’s an easier way.

As U.S. Representative John Linder pointed out three years ago in his statement against the Stem Cell Research Enhancement Act of 2007: “If these [embryonic stem cell] researchers were taking this embryonic tissue from the just-laid eggs of loggerhead turtles or bald eagles, they would be fined and jailed. Surely we can do as much for humans.”

Surely.

But we’re not. We’re doing far less.

Turtles versus babies. There should be no match-up. But as it stands, sea turtle eggs glean more government protection than unborn humans. Roe v. Wade was just the start of it. Last spring President Obama signed an executive order lifting the ban on the federal funding of embryonic stem cell research (research that is delivering nothing promising as compared to adult stem cell research). Now we’re faced with the possibility of diverting tax dollars to pay for abortions all under the guise of health care.

What does it say about a society where its most endangered specie is quickly becoming a human baby? What does it say when we acknowledge the viability of a sea turtle egg but not a human embryo or a fetus with a strong, beating heart? In the U.S. alone, nearly 4,000 babies lose their lives to abortion every single day. It says we’re as lost as those hapless, disoriented sea turtles aimlessly searching for the sea.

Oh, I know the pro-choice arguments well. I actually have several pro-choice friends, and we've always been able to discuss the topic charitably (all of these friends belong to the I-would-never-have-an-abortion-but-I-don't-believe-we-may-take-that-right-away-from-someone-else-camp). It's a woman's choice. It is her body. We cannot force her to have a baby that is not planned or wanted. But why is it that the bigger person wins? If a parent struck his child in anger delivering a fatal blow because he was stressed, we wouldn't say, "Well, clearly that child was a handful. It is sad, but the grownup knows what he's doing."

Some of my most compassionate, caring friends argue that it is not right to bring an unwanted child into a world that is sure to be full of suffering. But even the most wanted babies may face tragedy and heartbreak. Isn't even a tough life worth it?

Others argue a fetus is not really life because it's not viable. Yet, when some of these same people become expectant parents and see their baby's first closeup, they find themselves basking with the glow of new life. They don't have fetus showers; they have baby showers. Why are babies alive only when they're planned and wanted?

I have other friends who are amazing advocates for children; yet, they're pro-choice. I've discussed about how this logic confounds me before. Once a child is lucky enough to make it to the shore of life, then she deserves the absolute best mothering. Breastfeeding is a baby's best start! But, really, isn't life a baby's best start? Natural mothering is a beautiful, fruitful way to parent, but isn't it the most natural thing of all for a woman to embrace her fertility and to give birth to a baby?

I fault pro-lifers, too, for sometimes shunning unmarried women or teenagers who are pregnant. "What went wrong?" they say, sadly shaking their heads. Nothing went wrong! Something went right! A miracle happened. I've heard of Catholic schools that force a pregnant girl to drop out of school or to be homeschooled (the same policy doesn't apply to the young man who helped get her pregnant). That's sending the wrong message. Let's hide this sinful woman away. But all this is doing is suggesting that the baby is the sin. But a baby is never, ever a sin; a baby is a blessing even when it is conceived in pain or unexpectedly or without love. Saying "yes" to life brings new love, new potential, a new human being who can beat the odds to make his mark on the world.

Turtle hatchlings begin their march for life as soon as they chip their way through their eggshells. Our babies shouldn’t need a March for Life. Their life should be a given.

Until human life is seen more valuable to the world than reptile hatchlings, let us march. Let us rally together to give the unborn a voice until our babies are no longer endangered cloistered in their mother’s womb. Let us tirelessly defend inviolability of human life. Let us minister to women and recognize that they, too, are victims of pro-choice rhetoric and bear more than physical scars when a baby is scraped from their womb. Let us write our Congressman and let them know we will not stand for health care reform or any legislation that supports the expansion of federal funding for abortion. Let us fight to overturn Roe v. Wade. Because, really, isn’t it time we give human babies their own Endangered Species Act?

Small Successes Vol. 21

2010-01-21T06:33:00.001-05:00

Since I'm in a blogging rut and have been a complete small success slacker lately, I thought it was as good a time as any to jump back in and give myself a quick pat on the back. Here are three "Woo-hoo! " moments for this week:

1. A few nights ago I made a turkey gumbo* from this cookbook, and everyone - my five-year-old, my-I-used-to-eat-everything-but-am-now-suspicious-that-you-might-be-poisoning-me-and-am-exerting-my-independence-at-meal-times-toddler, my slow-to-solids-baby, my carnivorous husband and my former-vegetarian-self - gave it two thumbs up. Who says there's no such thing as modern day miracles?

2. I met one of my very best friends for dinner this week. Between our crazy schedules, the distance that divides us and the fact we're both moms of little ones, a girls' night is a rare occurrence, but, boy, was it fun. I gobbled up a delicious salad topped with grilled chicken, slices of avocado, cheese, and tomato chunks. (I'm still a ravenous nursing mama, which explains my preoccupation with food.) The salad was fresh and tasty, but the company was the highlight of the evening. A good girlfriend is such a treasure. I thank God for her and all my friends and want to work at being a better friend this year (talk less, listen more, etc.).

3. I've been very productive in the writing department lately, thanks to some help from Pop (my husband's dad). I can always feel good about outsourcing playtime to him to give me some extra time to write because he is so good with my older girls (he's good with the baby, too, but she generally sticks around mama). Yesterday the girls built fairy houses with him outside while I tackled a few assignments with looming deadlines. My book is also coming together word by word, and my November deadline doesn't seem quite as daunting anymore even though we have a move in our near future and lots of other big changes ahead. (I'm not pregnant.) :)

*I shared some details of the recipe in the comments.

And what about you? Go on and toot your own horn and celebrate your own small successes at Faith & Family Live!

Forget the Sugar and Spice

2010-01-20T06:56:00.000-05:00

I discovered this fine art in one of my 5-year-old's thank you notes. I asked her (yes, her) about it and she very conversationally told me what her little figure was thinking about in each bubble above his head: A house, love, someone holding a balloon, and...

Do you see something stinky (and not-so-lady-like) about one of the guy's thoughts?

Honestly, I don't know where my daughter gets her obsession with all things stinky from. Well, maybe I do.

Good Eats

2010-01-18T07:36:00.000-05:00

We have a food snob on our hands. Nine-month-old Mary Elizabeth turns her nose up at anything pureed. Mashed bananas do nothing for her. Forget the plain avocados. This girl wants the good stuff. She loved my guacamole, which is a bit on the spicy side, and she had no problem feasting on my lasagna.

I can't blame her. She's been getting the subtle nuances of myriad flavors and spices in Mama's milk. I have a penchant for aromatic Indian food and spicy Mexican fare. I love feta, dark chocolate, ginger, garlic, cumin, and cilantro, so why wouldn't she hope for a more beguiling blend of flavors?

So I'm breaking all those "starting your baby on solids rules" and getting creative. Sometimes I mash what we're eating as a family (lasagna is easy). If a food is particularly difficult to mash, I'll use one of my favorite baby food tools that I purchased long ago with my first child: The Munchkin Baby Food Grinder.

My new approach seems to be working. M.E. still prefers my milk to anything else and isn't too big on meal times at the table, but she's starting to sample small bites more and more each day, and she no longer gags quite as much or looks at me as if I've poisoned her like she did when I tried to spoon feed her rice cereal (mixed with breast milk, odd that she didn't care for it) or more traditional first-baby foods.

Have you had a reluctant eater on your hands? Both my older girls voraciously gulped down solids as soon as I started offering them at six months. Madeline, I recall, grabbed the spoon from my hand and shoved the food down during her first feeding. Anyone have any tips for getting a baby to eat more solids? I'm in no hurry. I know she's getting all she needs from my milk, but this might be a good discussion for any moms out there who are faced with a more persnickety eater.

M.E. certainly doesn't look unhappy or undernourished with her current eating situation.

Empty Yourself

2010-01-14T07:36:00.004-05:00

*I wrote this post a few days ago, but I'm just getting around to posting it. I know you understand. :)

"Excuse me, ma'am?" a teenager invades my deep thoughts as I stand stewing over what brand of canned black beans will provide the best nutritional bang for the buck. Organic or not?

I glance in his direction. He's clad in all-black, his shoulders are slumped, and his hands are stuffed deeply in his pockets.

"Yes?" I say.

"Do you have a quarter to spare?" He takes one of his hands out and opens it wide. I notice the deep groves in his palm. His hand looks like it belongs to an old man.

What I want to say is, "No. I don't have a quarter to spare. I don't have anything left to spare. I'm tired. I've just gotten over having a fever, my house has more bacterial and viral colonies than a Petri dish, and this grocery store visit is my first solo hurrah in a long, long time. So please just leave me alone, and go find some other housewife to nickel and dime."

"Whatever you did for one of these least brothers of mine, you did for me..."

And so I take a deep breath as I dig through my change purse. I don't have a quarter, but I do manage to come up with two dimes and a nickel amidst a treasure trove of pennies. I drop the change into his open palm. He closes it quickly.

"Thanks," he says, waving his furled fist at me.

"Sure."

When I'm in the baby section, two Hispanic men approach me. "Can you help us, please?" one of them says with a thick accent.

I want to say, "No, I can't help you. I help little people for a living, and I'm tired of helping. I just want to grocery shop in peace and quiet."

"I was a stranger and you welcomed me..."

And so I force a smile. "Sure. What do you need?"

He shows me what I thought was his grocery list. I see that it's a WIC form listing the approved baby food items he has permission to purchase. His companion is clearly embarrassed and is staring at his feet. I think about how I don't have to worry about feeding my family, and I swallow down a lump of guilt. It falls down inside of me with a heavy, aching thud and sits in my middle like a rock.

Stop being in such a rush, I admonish myself.

I try to assist him, but the form is rather cryptic even for someone whose first language is English.

"Thank you," he says after I've handed him a box of authorized baby cereal.

"You're welcome."

Then my cell phone buzzes. I curse myself for bringing it with me, but then I remember that I now keep my grocery list on my iPhone. Blasted technology.

I don't recognize the number, but it's local. What if it's an emergency (that's really why you have a cell phone right?)? So I answer the call. It's a friend. She needs a favor. It isn't a big favor at all, and this is a friend who has done a lot for me. I owe her one. But I don't want to say yes.

"I know you're busy," she says.

I am busy. Too busy to think. Too busy to sleep. Too busy to help a friend in need? Wait a minute.

"Greater love has no one than this, than to lay down one’s life for his friends."

"It's no problem at all," I say.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

I hang up, and I wander over to the cereal aisle. I'm looking for plain, old Cheerios. Not Yogurt Burst Cheerios. Not Honey Nut Cheerios. Not Oat Cluster Crunch or something or the other Cheerios. Just good, old-fashioned Cheerios. The tyranny of too many choices is stressing me out.

When did life get so complicated?

It didn't. Not really. I'm the one muddying things up. My thoughts, my tendency to over-analyze everything is like a knife because I waste time and energy cutting through so many things that really don’t matter. It's simple, really. There's only one right choice I need to make every day, every moment no matter the cost. It's a choice that frees, not enslaves. I must choose to abandon myself to God, to give everything to Him - the big moments and the small moments in the produce aisle of the grocery store - so that whatever situation arises, I will do what He wants me to do even when I'm tempted to do otherwise.

With spiritual growth (and I'm obviously not there yet), I don't think this even will come down to a choice. Loving God, doing His will, will become as natural as breathing (I've always been a wishful thinker).

How do I get to this peaceful place?

I have to empty myself and fill the void with Him.

This isn't the same as punishing myself or neglecting my spiritual, physical, and emotional needs. It's about emptying yourself of your way and embracing His way. It's about ridding yourself of all that makes you weary and afraid. Abandon yourself to God. Take your burdens, your grief, your worries, your guilt, your annoyances as well as your joys, your wishes, your hopes, your love and your whole life, and bring them to Him. Submit your will to Him. Let God tell you what to do. This isn't easy for me to do. Or anyone to do. We don't like being told what to do. But I'm glad I listened to God in the grocery store instead of all those selfish, negative voices in my head. I'm grateful I said "yes" when I was tempted to say "no" because what I learned (for the umpteenth time) was this: Empty yourself and God will fill you up.

Use Love

2010-01-12T00:03:00.006-05:00

Welcome to the January Carnival of Natural Parenting: Parenting resolutions!

This post was written for inclusion in the monthly Carnival of Natural Parenting hosted by Code Name: Mama and Hobo Mama. This month we're writing about how we want to parent differently — or the same — in the New Year. Please read to the end to find a list of links to the other carnival participants.

My personal parenting goal is to work on nurturing my relationship with my middle child, my 2-year-old daughter, and to “use love” when things get dicey.

I’m nursing the baby and reading with my oldest daughter from Teach Your Child How to Read in 100 Lessons when my toddler starts to fall apart. She throws a crayon. She hits her big sister. She starts screeching.

“Use words,” I screech back.

More tears spill from her big, brown eyes, saying what words cannot. I need you, Mommy.

Later that same day we are cuddled next to one another. She places her hand on my cheek, a tender gesture that never fails to tug at my heart.

And then she uses her words very well. “Mommy, why do you yell at me when I ‘cwry’?”

Good question.

When my baby cries, I immediately respond with a gentle touch or soft words. I scoop her in my arms. I nurse her. I kiss her sweet tears away.

When my 5-year-old cries, we talk. I can actually have rational conversations with her about feelings or consequences if her behavior is out of line.

But when my middle child, who has recently hit the 2-and-a-half-year-mark, cries or shrieks or hits, I’ve been too quick to snap lately. Sometimes her angry outbursts and apocalyptic approach to the smallest problems are infuriating, not to mention completely irrational. It is not the end of the world that you can’t get one of your socks on your foot. You will not go sock-less for the rest of your life. Bruised, blistered feet are not in your future, and you will somehow survive this atrocity.

Sometimes I’m just tired. I don’t feel like I have any more to give. I’m homeschooling my oldest child for the first year. I have a 9-month baby who is still nursing almost exclusively and is rooted to me like a barnacle both day and night. My 2-year-old has always been my easy child, the one who complies, who slowly weaned herself at 18 months, my one child who sleeps and doesn’t put up a fight. When she's recalcitrant, I’m taken aback and often short fused.

But there’s no excuse for my insensitivity. So I apologize to my daughter as we cuddle in the stillness of the day. The baby is asleep while my older child is having quiet time in her room. It’s just the two of us. My toddler curls beside me. Wisps of her honey-hued hair tickle my face. I smile at her. She beams back. All is forgiven.

The next day when she throws a fit, I crouch down to her level. “Do you need a time-in?” I say looking into her glassy eyes.

She stops crying, wondering what that means.

“Come here. Let’s cuddle for a bit.”

She climbs onto my lap, and all her frustrations melt into my arms. She is calm and quiet.

And so am I.

I’m trying to teach my little girl to “use words.” But she’s imparting a far greater lesson. She’s teaching me that above all, we should “use love.”

******

Visit Hobo Mama and Code Name: Mama to find out how you can participate in the next Carnival of Natural Parenting!

Please take time to read the submissions by the other carnival participants:

(All the links should be active by noon on Jan. 12. Go to Hobo Mama and Code Name: Mama for the most recently updated list.)

• To Yell or Not to Yell — The Adventures of Lactating Girl
• It Is All About Empathy: Nurturing a Toddler's Compassion Potential — Baby Dust Diaries
• To my babies: this year… — BluebirdMama
• Mindfully Loving My Children — Breastfeeding Moms Unite!
• January Carnival of Natural Parenting: Resolutions — Code Name: Mama
• Imperfect Mother — Consider Eden
• Resolutions — Craphead (aka Mommy)
• FC Mom's Parenting Resolutions 2010 — FC Mom
• What’s in a Resolution? — Happy Mothering
• January Carnival of Natural Parenting: Parenting resolutions — Hobo Mama
• Natural Parenting Resolutions — Little Green Blog
• This year, I will mostly... — Look Left of the Pleiades
• Parenting Resolutions — The Mahogany Way
• I Resolve to Breastfeed In Public More Often — mama2mama tips
• Moving to Two Kids — Megna the Destroyer
• Use Love — Momopoly
• My parenting resolutions — Musings of a Milk Maker
• Talkin' 'bout My Resolutions — Navelgazing
• Parenting Resolutions — One Starry Night
• Invitations, not resolutions — Raising My Boychick
• No more multitasking during kid time — The Recovering Procrastinator
• I need to slow down, smell those roses AND the poopy diapers — Tales of a Kitchen Witch Momma
• Resolutely Parenting in 2010 — This Is Worthwhile

A Very Good Day Indeed

2010-01-08T10:32:00.010-05:00

Madeline's wishes continue to come true. This morning we discovered a thin blanket of snow on the ground. The girls were eager to play outside, so we bundled up and braved the elements. (My roots may be Northern, but I have transformed into a complete cold weather wimp.)

We discovered these tiny animal prints in the snow. A cat or dog perhaps?

Madeline couldn't stop smiling.

Rae was much happier today and her fever broke on Wednesday, but her nose is still a drippy faucet (so is mine now, unfortunately).

Snowball fight!

Other news:

1. Besides the excitement of snow, the baby (who is 9 months now) slept from 1 a.m. to after 8 a.m.! Woo-hoo! This is a record for us. She's also finally starting to eat a few more solids. Over Christmas she nibbled on one of Pop's (my husband's father) pancakes. Last night she happily smacked her lips after sampling my signature guacamole. The kid just doesn't want any of the pureed goo. Like her adventurous, foodie parents, she has a sophisticated palate and simply hopes to broaden her culinary tastes with real food. Or at least that's what I tell myself when she turns her nose up at offerings like mashed bananas.

2. Please continue to pray for Sarah Reinhard, a dear friend and fellow blogger whom I've actually had the pleasure of meeting in-person. Her 2010 has gotten off to a rough start; yet, she continues to be a beautiful, grace-filled witness.

Well, it's time for me to take a nap. Step. Away. From. The. Glowing. Rectangle. Now. The icy roads were no match for Pop who came to play with the older girls, so the baby and I can get some rest. M.E. still has a cold, and her nose and ears turned bright pink within seconds of being outside, and alas, my mom-in-law, who is a lactation consultant, suspects I'm on the verge of developing mastitis.

Ah well. Things could be worse. A whole lot worse.

In fact, lately I've been wondering why I'm so lucky when so many people I know are suffering. (I hope to flesh my thoughts out and write a REAL post on the subject one of these days). But instead of waiting for my lightening to strike, I think I'll just be grateful for the sun spilling in through the blinds.

Grateful for the glittery snow I can see on the ground from my bedroom window and for the sounds of my girls' happiness traveling up the staircase and Pop's voice reading a story to them that I hear.

Grateful for a healthy baby slumbering peacefully, my inviting bed, my most recent issue of Cooking Light to flip through as well as a good novel and spiritual book to read.

Grateful for a friend's victory after a long and absurd fight with her insurance agency over getting her baby's surgery for his cleft lip and palate covered (her insurance company had the nerve to say they wouldn't cover it because it was only a cosmetic procedure!).

Grateful that same sweet baby is in surgery now and that a candle is burning in his honor.

Grateful my husband doesn't have to work ALL weekend and said he shouldn't arrive home too late today.

Grateful I heard the voice of a dear friend on my voicemail this morning.

Today is a very good day indeed.

What are you grateful for right now?

Snow Day

2010-01-07T18:45:00.011-05:00

Proof that it snowed today in Georgia

My children never stop reminding me that it's the little things in life that bring us great joy. When the snow first began to flutter outside our window, my 5-year-old invited us all to do a snow dance; its choreography consisted of us running around in circles, screaming and laughing and saying, "It's snowing!" over and over. When the snow kept on falling, she announced, "All my dreams are coming true."

Here she's checking to see if the snow is sticking (it wasn't), but snowflakes are still falling and the temp is dropping so maybe we'll get lucky.

Sampling a snowflake

I'm so happy!

But I'm not. I'm cold. (My poor 2-year-old is just getting over a virus and didn't share her sister's enthusiasm for the nippy weather.)

12 Days of Christmas in Pictures

2010-01-06T06:45:00.004-05:00

Papa and his Baby Rae

The joy of the season is written all over my kids' faces, wouldn't you say?

Mary Elizabeth spending time with her godfather

My 88-year-old nana (the woman behind this wisdom)

An uncle admires my little marsupial who is fast asleep in her pouch.

Our Hungarian princess frolics in her own little world.

Nana with her third great-grandchild

Believe it or not, this was not a forced pose. The sweet hugging was short-lived but sincere.

Aunt Rachel and Mary Elizabeth in their new caps, made with love by Nana (my husband's mom, not my 88-year-old grandma)

Are those baby blues turning green? Only time (and melanin) will tell.

One of the many feasts (I didn't have to cook) over Christmas.

Gaba (my mom) with my brothers. Please keep praying for the prodigal son (pictured at left). He had his discernment retreat last week and is now 98 percent sure he is being called to the priesthood. As for my baby brother (at right), he has another vocation in mind and would really love to meet his future wife sooner rather than later, so if you have prayers to spare, say one for him, too.

I'm thoroughly boring you to death with picture thoughts because I haven't had the time to string together words. I've got three sick kids on my hands. The hacking is violent, the cheeks flushed, the snot superfluous. And yet, they smile. And giggle. And keep the joy of Christmas alive in our home.

Epiphany celebrates the manifestation of Christ to the Magi. My children are the manifestation of joy that doesn't need clear sinuses or a pile of presents to come forth. They gift me with their unflagging optimism every day.

Happy Epiphany!

Let Sleeping Moms Lie

2010-01-04T06:30:00.006-05:00

The Christmas season has been great but busy. I'm craving order and a restored rhthym to our days. And more hours spent in REM would be nice, too, because I'm feeling a lot like this right about now (not like the blurry-in-motion toddler but like the passed out babe):

I had to chuckle when I read this post on co-sleeping. Just because you embrace what's known as a family bed doesn't mean you're all dreamy and cozy. Sometimes I find a pinkie toe precariously close to snaking its way up my nose. Or I hear the gnashing of teeth (anyone else have a teeth grinder out there?).

Just recently, my toddler has been waking up in the middle of the night, crying because she can't find her elephant lovey in the sea of covers on our bed.

"Mommy's right here," I remind her.

"I want elephant," she sobs.

It's nice to feel so needed, especially when the clock says it's 2 a.m.

Maybe I should have considered asking for a sound-proof mom cave to crawl into when the bed gets really crowded and noisy. Forget the MacBook Air, Honey. Just give me a silent night.

Due to my pathetically low energy levels and caring for a congested, sniffling baby and an elephant-seeking toddler all nightlong, I'm going to focus on catching up on sleep this week in lieu of writing pensive posts about making resolutions and/or reflecting on lessons learned in 2009. Besides there is plenty of really good stuff out there from other folks whose brains amount to more than gray sludge.

To name a few standout New Year-ish posts:

Five Steps to Real Change in the New Year

Greeting the New Year: Same Old Story

Love is My Only Resolution

Now

Predictions for 2010

resolved.reneged. resigned?

Thoughts on a New Year

What's the Word?

2009 Was Fine

Seven Life-Changing Lessons I Learned in 2009

10 Questions to Encourage Engaged Parenting in 2010

What a Year!

2009-12-31T15:31:00.002-05:00

2009 has been a year of many blessings.

There was this sweet baby.

Oh, and then news of a family members reversion and a calling.

Then there’s my husband’s new job. That's right! After nine years of medical training, my husband will be earning R.D. degree - as in real doctor (I did not coin this phrase; Lisa Hendey of Catholic Mom is the one who recently congratulated my husband on his R.D. degree). Forget the M.D. Sure, it was exciting for my husband to graduate medical school, but there was so much left to learn. There still is. He’ll never stop learning. But on July 1st, he'll be a resident no longer. Woo-hoo!!!

This spring, we'll be putting our townhome on the market. Then we’ll be gearing up to move from the chaos of the city (no more heinous Atlanta traffic!) to a more bucolic kind of town (we'll have a yard! Our own yard!!!!). Best of all, our new town isn’t far from extended family.

When my husband began the job search, he kept hearing how tight the market was. I worried. He didn’t.

Then people said doomsday kind of things about how he won’t be able to take care of patients the way he wants because of Uncle Sam. I worried. He didn’t. In fact, I once asked him what all the doctors he knew were saying about all of the health care hoopla. “We’re too busy taking care of patients to talk about it,” he said simply.

In this tough market, he was offered some amazing jobs (a testament to the years of hard work he has invested) - some far, far, far away from our extended family. I worried about making the right decision. He didn’t. “You can’t put a price tag on being close to family.”

He’s like Yoda, except he’s over six feet tall and doesn’t speak in strange syntax. But the no-frills-kind-of-wisdom is definitely there.

He gives great gifts, too, like this (much better than the Force). “So you can write that book of yours at coffee shops.”

I am one lucky woman.

Have I mentioned I’m writing a book? I mean, officially. I received a signed contract one week before Christmas.

The blessings are just too many. There’s no need to count them. They’re everywhere.

My dad’s license plate on his car has three simple letters: TYG. I’m sure people think those are his initials. They aren’t. My dad is driving around a gratitude-mobile. TYG stands for “Thank You, God.”

Perhaps I should tattoo myself with TYG to say thanks for my life’s bounty. Then again, maybe I’ll just show my gratitude by ceasing to worry and to simply put my trust in my husband and God as we forge forward and face all of the exciting changes ahead of us.

2009 has been a great year indeed. I can hardly wait for 2010.

Happy New Year!

Thank you God for my many gifts. Help me to never stop showing my gratitude even when things aren’t so rosy. May I learn to always set my eyes on the light at the end of the tunnel no matter how dark it may seem at times. TYG!

Show, Don't Tell

2009-12-29T14:59:00.002-05:00

“That’s the sweater you wore the night we got engaged,” he says.

“You’re right,” I say surprised that the camel-colored, wool-blend sweater is still in style (I think it is anyway) and even more surprised that he remembers I was wearing it on that special night more than eight years ago.

Then, with the arm that’s not holding our baby, he draws me to him and kisses me.

I don’t give him enough credit. I too often assume he doesn't notice all the little things I do for him or our family. I wipe our bathroom counter and clean our sink. I step back to admire their gleam and wonder, “Does he even notice?”

I give my lashes a quick swipe of the mascara and run a brush through my hair before he comes home from work. I glance in the mirror and hope he still thinks I’m beautiful.

Sometimes, as a words-of-affirmation-Love-Language -kind-of-girl, I long for him to write long love letters, songs, or sonnets that profess his undying affection for me. That’s not likely to happen. He’s more of a show-don't-tell-kind-of-guy. He shows me he loves me all of the time more with his life than with words. The way he treats me, the way he kisses me good-bye and greets me with a similar kiss when he returns home every day, the way he squeezes my hand after we’ve successfully diffused a titanic tantrum together, the fact that he remembers what I was wearing the moment he fell on one knee and asked me to marry him - these moments say what all the words in the world could never spell out so simply and beautifully. I cherish you. I honor you. I notice you. You’re beautiful. I love you, and I’m so glad I married you.

Me, too.

Merry Christmas!

2009-12-25T06:53:00.002-05:00

Moonless darkness stands between.
Past, the Past, no more be seen!
But the Bethlehem star may lead me
To the sight of Him Who freed me
From the self that I have been.
Make me pure, Lord: Thou art Holy;
Make me meek, Lord: Thou wert lowly;
Now beginning, and always,
Now begin, on Christmas day.

-Gerard Manley Hopkins (1844-1889)

Merry Christmas! May Christ be in your hearts now and always.

Image Credit: Two Hearts Design

An Early Christmas Gift

2009-12-23T08:02:00.002-05:00

My husband is mostly off this week although he's working two short evening shifts. He had to work Christmas Day last year and the day we attempted to celebrate as a family, he was called in to the hospital. Needless to say, I'm very happy to have him around and so are our daughters. We have lots of fun family plans (hence, all the noise from the kiddos; they are very excited as they should be).

We're supposed to only be exchanging small, token gifts this year. My husband has been known the cheat in the past; frugality is more my forte (and my idea). I'm hoping this year will be different because I want for nothing, and he's already been giving gifts to me every day.

When my older girls attempted to find me this morning, I heard him say, "Give Mommy a moment." (This is why I'm writing. Thank you, my knight in shining armor! Who needs to be rescued from dragons? This damsel doesn't mind being locked in her tower to write for 20 minutes uninterrupted.) That moment was just the gift I needed.

Yesterday the baby was napping. "Go rest," he told me.

"I won't be able to sleep," I said.

"Just try."

"There's so much to do." (And I wonder where my toddler gets her recalcitrance from.)

"Well, then just go into our room and be alone for a few minutes."

That's exactly what I did, and I was gifted with some time to decompress.

"Feel better?" he asked when it was time for reentry.

"I do." Thanks to you.

He's a keeper, wouldn't you say?