The machine is a Jack LaLanne Power Juicer & cost me $99. It’s a bit bulkier than I’d imagined, but then again, I rarely use kitchen appliances.

I’ve been curious about juicing ever since my friend Jennifer blogged about her 13-day juice fast, but truthfully the green veggie juices still freak me out a bit. I’ve yet to try one, but I did look up juicing recipes and bought the right ingredients so maybe I’ll work up the courage to go for a leafy drink tomorrow.

Tonight I got it set up and tested it out with my very first concoction:

• 1.5 Braeburn apples
• 2 carrots
• 7 strawberries

I wasn’t sure how I’d feel about the addition of the carrots but the drink was so delicious and there’s no way I would’ve just snacked on 2 big carrots, so I consider the test a win.

Here’s a look at it coming out the spout (touch the image to play the glmps):

It brings me serious joy to see the tide turning ever-so-slightly.

Every morning he’s been crawling into bed with me – he’ll wrap his arms tightly around and repeat, “Me love you mommy. Me love youuu!”

Just last night as I was saying goodnight he asked, “Hold me hand? Pleeeease. Me wanna hold your hand mommy. Me no let go.”

:: cue the chorus of awwww ::

Snuggling up with my baby is positively delicious (especially when he’s got his superhero towel on).

In the past few weeks Peach’s ability to connect the dots and see the bigger picture has left me speechless.

Her empathy has moved me to tears.

All I can say is this little girl is special in so many wonderful ways and right now she’s petitioning hard for us to adopt more kids. I know she doesn’t totally understand what that means, although tonight at dinner when she asked when we can adopt someone else Nick said, “Well, it’s a long process dear.” To which she replied, “I know, it’s a lot of work.”

We were driving to see a movie on Friday…

Peach: Are there lots of other kids who need families too?

Me: Yea, sure. Here in Milwaukee and across our country, but all over the world too.

Peach: Well, I have a great idea! I think we should adopt a big kid!! Then, you and daddy could go to the grocery store and leave us home to play with our new big kid. I’ll get another pillow and more covers and she could sleep in my room!

Jude: No, in meeee room!

Peach: No, Jude! I called her first! Our big kid sister will stay in MY room.

Yesterday I found myself at the same hospital where I gave birth to Jude.

They made me walk round and round the maternity ward during my four day stay so I couldn’t help but recall those first frustratingly painful steps I took in the hours after the unexpected c-section. When I felt like giving up or crying I’d be reminded of the amazing baby swaddled up in the bassinet next to my bed. He was worth it and so much more.

I’m always fascinated when I see various paths and places intersect – it reminds me that the world which seems so big is actually quite small.

This time I trekked the same halls 2.5 years later on behalf of my other, older child.

Peach’s mom gave birth to baby #4, a girl, and I was there to visit and take photos. No matter what happens or where the child ends up years from now I feel good knowing I can at least pass along pictures.

Because of the ‘no contact’ order I went by myself. I was relieved when I walked in and found it was just S, her boyfriend, and the baby because his mom is often around and has been confrontational in the past – the time she repeatedly screamed “baby snatcher” at me was particularly memorable.

I try to stay positive when talking to S but yesterday as I held her newborn daughter I couldn’t help but feel terribly sad. When she goes home today this will be the first time she’s had two kids in her care at once, and they’re only 13 months apart.

While I hope for the best I’m not naive about the possibility that this little girl may someday be in the same situation as Peach.

For the past few months S has been promising me and the social worker that she’d finally get her tubes tied. With two kids in foster care and now two kids at home she verbally recognized that her best bet for success was to focus on her 1-year-old and the newborn. “I can’t have more kids,” she said. “I know it’d be too much for me.”

But then yesterday at the hospital S told me she changed her mind about the procedure.

She wants to have more kids someday.

As I said my goodbyes and walked back down the hall I felt defeated.

Believing that she was really trying to better herself I’ve gone out of my way to be supportive – picking her up in the middle of the night, giving her tons of baby stuff, canceling a trip so I could babysit when she was desperate.

Because of my love for Peach I’ve been secretly hoping I could somehow help save her birth mom. But I can’t.

I finally feel free to let go and watch her life unfold from a distance, no matter how disappointing it may be. If she needs me I’ll respond, but I’m not going to let her problems become my problems anymore.

You can’t make people change if they’re not ready.

Jude: Nooooooooooo. Don’t! Me no poop! Whyyyyyy you say that?

Me: It’s okay, baby. Can I just check you?

Jude: Nooooooooooo. Me only pee pee. Me no poop!

Me: Hmm… well, it smells like poop. Are you telling mommy the truth?

Jude: No.

Me: Are you lying?

Jude: Yes.

Me: Did you poop?

Jude: Me only pee pee.

Me: Are you telling mommy the truth?

Jude: No.

Me: Okay, well I don’t want you to sit in poop so let’s go get you cleaned up.

Jude: Noooooooooo. Me don’t want to. Me only pee pee.

Me: Are you lying?

Jude: Yea.

Me: Well let’s get you changed.

Jude: Nooooooooo.

Me: But poop is yucky and if you leave it in your undies it’ll make you stinky and sick.

Jude: Whhhhhhy?

Me: Because.

Jude: *big sigh* Ooooookay. Sowwy mommy. I say sowwy.

Here’s her official 1st grade photo:

Peach snuggled in and nuzzled her face against mine, then softly whispered:

“You’re my mommy.”

“You’re my mommy, forever.”

I opened my eyes. Looked into hers, and said, “Yep. You’re my daughter, forever.”

I love that he can talk and say just about everything he wants… but it also makes me kind of sniffly.

Those moments of being able to cradle him for hours and kiss him endlessly are over (unless he’s fast asleep).

Here he is at 2 months old – sooo tiny! I LOVED the way he smelled so I’d pull him close and breath deeply over and over – memorizing the smell of his skin and breath.

These days he’s able to play baseball with Daddy…

And he’s regularly making it to the potty! (A recent breakthrough, although far from completely potty trained.)

I know every mama thinks their kid(s) are the smartest and cutest but really… just look at him!

I can’t help but swoon.

My first PointsPlus commercial was a full 30 second spot sharing my story but the new one is a mashup of several success stories.

By the way, U.S. News & World Report ranked Weight Watchers as the #1 weight loss diet choice in its first-ever diet rankings. But then again, I could’ve told you that. ;)

Today marks the 6-year anniversary since my dad died. I had just turned 22 and was a semester away from graduating college.

I still miss him and think about him all the time but over the years I’ve realized his death was a kind of last gift.

As much as our culture tries to cordon sickness and death off to hospitals and nursing homes, I feel infinitely blessed to have been part of my dad’s dying process. My dad got to die at home surrounded by people who loved him while we held his hand and stroked his head as he passed away on the living room floor.

Looking back I can see how scared I was of the process. I’d spent so much of my life trying not to disappoint this person who always had this aura of strength and resolve about him, that towards the end I often struggled to know how to engage him because suddenly his armor was off.

He didn’t even look like himself because cancer had so thoroughly destroyed his body – he reminded me of photos I’d seen of emaciated concentration camp victims. He was no longer the fearless leader, but instead, my dad was someone who needed help walking from the kitchen to his mechanical armchair. In those last days, I remember him struggling just to swallow the ice chips we fed him.

Even though it was uncomfortable and frightening, I hold those days where we all held vigil around him in my heart. As someone who often felt like an outsider in my family, I distinctly knew I belonged there with my siblings.

In the last real conversation I had with my dad he told me he was proud of me. He was excited about me going off to grad school and reassured me that ‘everything will be okay – life will go on’.

The two nights before he died he managed to get himself down onto the floor to kneel and pray. My dad was far from perfect but I think towards the end he tried to reconnect and make amends for some of his mistakes.

I’ve taken a lot of lessons away from my dad’s life and death, and hopefully they’re making me a better person than I otherwise would’ve been.

• Life is terribly short. 80 years may sound like a long time when you’re a kid, but it goes by quickly… so don’t waste it.
• Relationships matter the most. Money, fame, and the myriad of stuff that seems important loses its value when death approaches. The investments that we make into other peoples’ lives are the things that really last.
• Siblings need to stick together. It seems most people focus on parent-child relationships but the odds are your brothers and sisters will be around to either support or torment you much longer. Strengthening those bonds will pay dividends, especially as you get older.
• People will fail you. No matter what, people are not and cannot be anywhere near perfect. Getting hurt and hurting other people is inevitable – what matters more is the response to those failures.
• Shades of grey are okay. While it might be more comfortable to believe the world is made up of concrete absolutes where things fall neatly into buckets of ‘right’ and ‘wrong’, life is more complicated than that. There’s an exception to virtually every rule and it’s easier to just accept that early on.
• Love is always worth the risk. Whether it’s putting yourself out there for a date or plunging into parenthood – allowing your heart to be vulnerable is painful because rejection or loss is always a real possibility. Love is the ultimate expression of our humanity – when we stop being willing to give/receive it, we’re sure to lose our way.