..perfectly clear..

On realizing you have become the Mommiest of all.

2011-04-02T05:10:00.000-07:00

Tonight hubby and I have the pleasure of attending a tribute banquet for Joe Scheidler, one of the most prominent figures in the pro-life movement and a great defender of pre-born life.

As you might imagine, I don't regularly attend formal banquets and my wardrobe shows it. I was hoping to scrounge together a nice outfit (that actually fit me, and was not maternity) at the thrift store. In this pursuit, I realized how very, very different my shopping habits are now that I'm a few years deep in my mothering career.

And so, folks, this is how you know that you have, in fact, become the mommiest of the mommies.

1. You evaluate all clothing based primarily on it's nursing potential.

In hunting the thrift store for a suitable dress, I came across this gem:

Not anything too exciting to look at on it's own, I know (though it is very soft, figure-flattering, and versatile, color-wise. I will probably double it as an Easter dress). The great thing about this dress is the swoop neck and the layer beneath it, which I promptly made nursing-accessible.

And, the price was right.

2. You find a great necklace and think: Awesome! I have a sling to match that!

3. You hunt the thrift store for a small, simple black clutch that will, specifically, fit a diaper or two and wipes perfectly and discreetly.

Blessings, all!

Birth, take three. Part two.

2011-01-22T07:50:00.000-08:00

Let me tell you a little something about birth preparation.

It's a bunch of hooey.

I'm kidding, sort of. But I will say this: while I was pregnant with Joseph, I ate really well. Loads of protein, tons of vegetables--my diet was pristine, with few rare exceptions. I was very active and walked easily several miles each day with the kids. I did prenatal yoga almost every day--5 times a week, minimum. I drank, quite literally, ONE GALLON of red raspberry leaf tea EVERY DAY through my second and third trimester. I was taking other birth herbs, too.

And so, as I stood in my kitchen during the wee hours of Friday morning, September 10th, having spent the last 24 hours in early labor with very little progress, I couldn't help but wonder why I hadn't done exactly what I wanted to do all these months: spent my days lying around, eating brownies and drinking cokes until the baby just, you know, popped out.

Matt, who was still awake, asked how things were going and I mumbled something about the baby never coming out and how I didn't think being sedated during labor would really be that bad. I did some laundry and then tried to sleep again. Still awful.

Somewhere between 1am and 2am contractions spread out pretty significantly and started growing more intense. They were longer. I'd say they were coming every 10-12 minutes, and lasting a whole minute. Now we're getting somewhere, I thought. Each wave got me out of bed, leaning against the door frame or pacing the hall. Needless to say, there wasn't much sleep to be had.

I rested in bed at 4:00, drifting off and waiting for the next contraction.

The next thing I knew, I was waking up at 4:30--hadn't I been having contractions? I shrugged it off and welcomed the sleep that, at long last, seemed to come easily.

I woke up at 6am, flustered. All I could think was, OH MY GOSH, WHY AM I NOT PUSHING THIS BABY OUT RIGHT NOW? The September sun was already peeking through my bedroom curtains. I wasn't even having contractions. Nothing. Flat nothing.

I wanted to cry, but I was too tired.

I got up to use the bathroom, then came back to bed.

Contraction.

I rolled over.

Contraction.

They were not "good ones".

I tried to sleep a little more, but gave up and got out of bed after a few minutes. I went for a walk.

The sky was beautiful and clear, but my mind was cloudy. The weather was cool--so cool, in fact, that I caught a glimpse of my anklebones for the first time in weeks. I thanked God for the merciful, sweet relief from the 95-degree days.

I felt horrible. I was so tired. It was a strange brand of exhaustion, too. My body knew it was doing something important, I'm sure. My mind, however, was growing skeptical. I couldn't fathom what the day held for me, or how I could possibly cope with being left with the boys all day. I ran over the night in my mind, over and over. I just couldn't stop thinking, Oh. my. gosh. Why am I still pregnant?

My anxiety died down a bit when I got home, and I dedicated myself to being as normal as possible. I had to welcome the rest, I told myself. I threw in another load of laundry and made coffee. By this time, the boys were waking up and we ate breakfast together. I was starving.

At some point in the night, Matt had hooked up the hose for the birth pool to the kitchen sink. Oh, the heartache. The baby was never coming out. I knew it now. I detached the hose. Matt got ready for work. I showered and dressed. I emailed my midwife to let her know that things had fizzled. The baby was, officially, never. coming. out.

Shortly following my concession to be pregnant forever, contractions started again. 7-10 minutes apart, lasting a little less than a minute. I was annoyed.

I decided, at this point, to jump into distraction mode with both feet. I had an appointment scheduled with my midwife that evening, and I was bound and determined to fill up my entire day until then. Matt left for work, and the boys and I played outside. We went for a walk and played in the sandbox. I baked brownies and watched episodes of Little Bear online. I was having contractions every 10 minutes all day, and they were hard.

I tried and failed to rest while the boys napped that afternoon. It was just so uncomfortable. Everything was so uncomfortable. When they got up, my friend Tessa and her two boys went to the park with us. "So," she said, "Did you have a false start last night?" I sighed. "Yeah...I don't know. I think I kind of am in labor." What I meant to say was: I think I am in labor, and I think I'm going to be in labor forever, because my baby is never coming out.

I wanted to hold my baby. I wanted to BE holding my baby.

They were the best diversion, though. The weather was so nice, the adult conversation was so refreshing, and the kids played and played--for hours. By the time we were walking back home, contractions were noticeably more intense. It was 5:30, and Matt was home from work, strumming his banjo in the living room. I left shortly after for my appointment.

I was starving.

At Christina's office, I waited in the waiting room with another woman who was 20 weeks along with her first baby. I felt like an elephant (an uncomfortable, tired, and grouchy elephant who was still having contractions....maybe every five minutes now), and I wanted to tell her not to believe the lies--babies don't really come out, they just live in your uterus forever and ever and swim around like a fish in a fishbowl. I didn't, though.

Karen, the nurse, was there too, and she was so nice. She took my blood pressure and we chatted about the day, the contractions, and the night before. Christina checked me. I was 4cm and almost completely effaced. Baby was at station zero. She swept membranes and sent me home with instructions to try to rest, and to call if things picked up within the hour.

Why did I drive myself to that appointment? The contractions immediately following the exam were biting--my body was kicking into active labor, and I almost immediately started to feel shaky and nauseated.

When I got home, I tried to relax, but my anxiety level was really high. The contractions were painful--much, much more painful than early active labor contractions with the others. Matt offered to take the boys to the store to stock up on some laboring drinks and a few other things, and off they went. I went about doing a few things around the house. Contractions were coming every 2-3 minutes, still lasting less than a minute. I called Christina to let her know that things were, indeed, picking up, though certainly not imminent or urgent.

Being alone was horrible. The contractions were horrible. I couldn't relax, I couldn't calm down, and I didn't understand why--I didn't expect to feel that way at all. I was afraid. I was absolutely terrified, and I didn't know how to deal with it.

I tried to console myself. Maybe I am dilating quickly, I thought. I pulled the box of birth supplies out of the spare room and swept the floors. I washed some dishes and waited for Matt to arrive home with the boys.

They got home shortly after 7:30. We got the kids ready for bed, and Peter was being especially difficult and requesting that *I* do everything for him. At this point, I was really feeling it. I had the shakes, really bad. My legs trembled uncontrollably. I was starving, still--but felt too nauseous to eat. The contractions were hard to deal with, sweeping over my body in that way that makes you feel like you're suffocating. What it felt like, honestly, was like I was about to hit transition.

I knew I needed to relax. Karen was on her way to our house, and I knew I had a long way to go before this baby was coming out.

Karen arrived with orders from Christina to check my progress. It was 8:30 or so, and I was, in my mind, hoping at least to be 5 or 6cm, though it felt more like 7 or 8.

I wasn't. I was still 4cm.

At this point, Karen went to bed in our spare room while my spirits plummeted. I was done. I didn't want to do this anymore, and as far as I could tell, things weren't even progressing--they were just getting more and more painful.

I started devising elaborate plans in my mind. How was I going to get out of this? I'll call my mom, I thought. She will understand. She will take me to the hospital and get me an epidural and a c-section and a nice glass of orange juice and then this whole ridiculous nightmare will be over. Okay. That's what I'll do. This thought was warm and fuzzy and brought me abundant comfort, even though I never even picked up the phone to call her.

The shaking was almost as bad as the contractions themselves. I had planned to wait much longer, but decided to fill the birth pool to help me relax and to soothe some of the tension in the wrong places. It was awesome. The warmth eased the trembling almost immediately. My unhinged, rampant anxiety and terror settled into more of a quiet despair. The swarm of I can'ts that muddled my thoughts became more concrete. I just couldn't do this, and that was that. Calmly, I said, "Matt, I think we should go to the hospital."

There have only been a few times in our marriage that I have seen Matt's face look that way--totally caught off-guard and unprepared for what I had just said. He always knows exactly what to say, exactly what I'm about to say, and how to respond. But just then he looked alarmed and confused and I could tell he was struggling to find some encouragement. "Oh--no--no, we shouldn't do that. Why would you say that?"
"I want drugs. I want a c-section, and I want to go to the hospital because I don't want to do this. I think we should just go."
"Um. No, sweetie, you're doing fine. You don't want--"
"Yeah. I do. I want it all."
"I'm just...I'm going to go call Renee," he said, pulling his phone out of his pocket and heading for the front porch.

Good, I thought, dejectedly. Maybe she'll take me to the hospital.

He made an excellent call.

She didn't take me to the hospital, though. I'm not sure what exactly he said to her on the phone, but she did come over shortly thereafter. I was sitting in the pool, still plotting about how I was going to get my epidural. She sat next to me, held my hand, soothed my nerves, and reminded me with so much sureness that I did not, in fact, want a c-section--what I wanted, truly, was for the whole experience to not hurt. And that was simply not an option. She. was. phenomenal.

It was probably 10:30 at this point, maybe 11. My friend Renata (who had planned to attend the birth) came over with Zoe, her (then) 6-month-old (my goddaughter!). As soon as she was there, the last shred of my epidural fantasy faded, because I knew Renata wouldn't stand for it. And I knew she was right.

And so, I labored on. I was in the pool, then out of the pool. It felt good to bear down just a little with the contractions. I leaned on a birth ball, swaying with each wave. We chatted and swapped birth stories and I was so thankful to not only not be alone, but to have such incredible company.

I don't remember when Christina got there. I remember her arriving, but don't remember the time. Midnight? 1am? I was a "stretchy 6cm". It hurt so much. So much. I was exhausted. I'd get in the water and contractions would slow, almost to a stop, leaving me with the agonizing choice between the sweet relief and forcing myself up and onward.

Matt baked a pizza for everyone at 2 o'clock. He was constantly checking the pool temperature and boiling water on the stove to keep it warm.

It was at 3am that I went outside for a walk. Not far, just back and forth on the sidewalk outside our house. Renata walked with me, and I bemoaned the fact that I wasn't holding my baby right then. I mentioned that I wanted Christina to break my water. She urged me to press on a little longer, and after a few trips back and forth with little improvement or progress, we went back inside.

Pain.

I ate a bowl of cereal. It was at 4:30 that Christina suggested the breaking of the waters, and I heartily agreed. With the very next contraction, I knew I'd hit transition. It brought about a whole new wave of pain--above and beyond what I ever expected labor could possibly feel like. It brought a new level of "I can'ts", shakiness, nausea, fear. Karen encouraged me to rest, to try to sleep between contractions, and I did. I slept between them, but by the third wave I couldn't take it. I got back in the pool.

So. Much. Pain.

The next hour was a blur of pain and power. It felt like drowning, struggling to keep my head above the magnitude of the contractions, and then submitting. At 5:35, I started pushing. I remember, even at this point, I didn't fully expect the baby to actually ever come out.

I had hoped that pushing would bring some relief from the intensity, but it didn't. It hurt. It was hard. I was first semi-squatting, then squatting, and then finally on my hands and knees in the water. At some point during this, Ambrose woke up and cried out in his bed. Matt dealt sweetly with him and put him right back to sleep--and I was so, so thankful for his obedience.

By 5:45, the baby's head was out. With the next contraction, I expected the shoulders to come out, but they took at least two more pushes.

And then, THEN there was this:

At 5:54am, Saturday morning, September 11th, our third son was born. Joseph Sebastian Yonke, weighing in at 7lbs, 8oz. He was 20 inches long.

I have never been so happy to see anyone in my entire life. The moment was filled with all the exclamations you'd expect to hear: "Hi!" "I love you!" "I'm so happy you're here!" "I am SO happy you're here!" and, of course, "It's a boy!" I heard the 6:00 church bells chime. it was beginning to grow light outside.

He didn't cry right away and wasn't breathing well, but was receiving cord blood and eventually pinked up and cried one of the very sweetest cries I've ever heard.

Sweet victory. Sweet relief. Utter joy.

My toddlers were perfect angels. They waited long enough for me to get stitched up (only one stitch!), and robed and comfortable on the couch before getting out of bed. Renata took a trip to the store and returned with donuts and orange juice for everyone and a gorgeous bouquet. The baby nursed and nursed like a pro. And it was sweet. It was so. very. sweet.

Birth, take three. Part one.

2011-01-21T14:27:00.000-08:00

Well, as usual, it's been awhile. Let me introduce any followers who may have not already met the handsome young man pictured on the left. This sweet brown-eyed bundle is my third son, Joseph Sebastian Yonke, born September 11, 2010.

It's taken me awhile to write about Joseph's birth for a number of reasons. Aside from being the third baby in a few short years, there was alot of other chaos following his birth that left me in a place that wasn't--or hasn't been--conducive to writing the story the way it needs to be told. His birth and the weeks following were so complex--so long, with so many twists and turns, it took some real time and processing to sort it out in my own head, let alone for someone else to read.

I was blessed this time to have two very good friends with me for the birth, along with an absolutely fantastic midwife and nurse, and, of course, my beloved husband who catered to my every whim during the whole thing. It was difficult--the most painful of my three labors--but was made so much more pleasant because I had such pleasant, caring company.

There have been plenty of theories passed around about what we should have done differently, and how the birth could have been made better from both inside and outside sources--good, wise suggestions and discussions that I loved being able to share, but in a way, it left a residue of inadequacy--of feeling like his birth was flawed somehow, or that it wasn't a good birth. It's taken some time for me to make peace with the way his delivery was, the things I would do differently if I could, and, also, realizing that I can't.

After spending these months with my sweet, sweet Joseph, I have learned much about mothering, and what it is to be a good mother. Good mothers have babies who get sick. Good mothers have babies who cry. Yes, even breastfed babies. Even babies born at home. Yes. Even babies who co-sleep and baby-wear and cloth diaper, or any number of other things that we crunchy moms like to believe will make our children super-human. Good mothers sometimes find themselves in less-than-ideal situations, even when they've done everything "right", or made the very best decisions that they could. And that doesn't necessarily mean they did something wrong, or that they've failed at being good mothers. Good mothers have to make tough decisions and do hard, painful, unpleasant things. They have to trust their instincts--and they have to refine their instincts with knowledge. Good mothers trust deeply in their bodies and their hearts, but trust more deeply in the righteousness and goodness of their God. And sometimes that means not taking the advice of friends, or doctors, or other knowledgeable, good mothers. Sometimes it means enduring the scrutiny of other good mothers or friends or doctors who wouldn't have made the same decisions as they did.

And so I've been thinking and rethinking, what defines a good birth? A healthy baby? A healthy mother? A vaginal birth? An unmedicated birth? A home birth? Water birth? Fast birth? Perfectly medium-paced birth? I think it's important to separate our ideals from what is simply good and what is best for us--to recognize that a good birth is not necessarily our "ideal" birth, but it is dealing with the twists and turns in ways that are gentle to our bodies and our babies' bodies. It's allowing our minds and hearts to work with our bodies to do what they need to do without harsh critique. And that is why I want to tell the story of Joseph's labor and birth, the way it felt to me, without dissection or analysis, without rethinking what I should have done differently--and to recognize that his birth was, indeed, a very good birth.

And so, I present to you:

Labor: Part One.

When I went to bed on Wednesday evening, September 8th, I knew things were starting to happen. Not anything imminent to be sure, but there were rumblings of things to come and I knew that the baby would be born soon. I tossed and turned with light contractions through the early part of the night and found it hard to get comfortable enough to sleep well. I got up to use the bathroom (to be fair, it was one of the many, many times I got up to use the bathroom that night) at 2:00 and had a good, strong contraction. The baby felt really, really low. The contractions stayed strong for the rest of the night, and I didn't sleep much at all after that. By 5, I thought I'd be calling the midwife sometime that day, probably that evening, but continued to try to rest for another hour or so.

The boys were up by 7 and we all went about our usual morning routine. I had a distinct "I-think-I'm-in-early-labor" buzz, despite being really, really tired. The weather was cooler, and cloudy. Contractions had spread out a bit, but were still notable and coming regularly. I finished up some sewing projects and went for a walk with the boys. By the end of the walk, I was having frequent, short, irritable contractions--and was beginning to feel pretty irritable myself. I was tired and uncomfortable. The boys were being uncooperative and fighting naps and I was running out of patience.

At this point, contractions puttered out for a bit. My mom called and offered to take the boys for the rest of the afternoon and evening, and I could have bowed at her feet. Matt left his office a little early to run work errands and I tagged along with plans to go out for dinner afterward.

Through the car trip and walking through Office Max, contractions picked up speed again. These are good ones, I thought. They were growing increasingly uncomfortable, coming regularly 7 minutes apart. We tried to find a restaurant after that, and honestly, I was so famished and ill at ease with contractions that I probably would have settled for a happy meal.

We found, however, a really cute 50's-themed diner and were the only people there. I was starving. We chatted about work, and finally concluded that, if our baby was indeed a boy, his name would be Joseph. Joseph Sebastian. We talks about St. Sebastian and read his story on Matt's iphone--the saint who was martyred twice.

After eating, contractions were growing stronger still. Still 5-7 minutes apart. I remember distinctly discussing the possibility of some friends coming through town on Saturday evening, and Matt was pressing me to agree to have them for dinner. Feeling a bit bewildered, I paused for a contraction and then blurted, "Honey, we are going to have a BABY before Saturday evening."

We lingered a bit after dinner and then went home for a few minutes before heading out to pick up the boys from my folks' house. The car ride to DeKalb was bad. The contractions were powerful and uncomfortable and I was growing confident that things were moving steadily in the right direction.

My mom could tell almost immediately that I was feeling it, and semi-jokingly begged me to not have the baby in the next day, since she was going to be really busy.

The 30-minute ride home was also rough. "I think this may be our night," I told Matt, still uncertain. I remember feeling really hungry again. The contractions were coming with lots of pressure.

At home, we put the boys to bed. I took a bath and drank a glass of wine, hoping to relax enough to sleep. We watched some Hulu, I emailed my midwife to let her know that things seemed to be starting and that I would give her a call when they picked up.

I went to sleep at 10pm, and it was miserable. Perhaps it was less restful than hiking, or aerobic exercise. I really mean it--it was awful. My body and mind were exhausted, but my uterus wanted me to be up, moving with the contractions. I got up at midnight feeling like I'd just completed a really intense workout. Shaky, tired, and starving. I drank a bunch of water and ate a sandwich. It was here that my spirits really started to drop. Things were happening, but not nearly as quickly as I had hoped they would. I was totally exhausted and sleep continued to elude me. My hope of having a baby that night was fading.

2010-03-31T18:28:00.000-07:00

It has been a gorgeous day.

I am really tired.

Our car is broken and needs to be repaired. Most unfortunate, since this car will be totally useless to us in a few months. Sigh.

I wish the children would stop talking at me for 3 minutes. Just three. That's all.

my chatty boy and the ways he makes me laugh.

2010-03-30T12:43:00.000-07:00

Today I took Ambrose to his first dentist appointment, as we've been growing concerned about the condition of his front teeth. I'll spare you the boring details of the appointment, but it went very well. I loved the dentist, and it was a relief to have taken him in. At least I now have professional reassurance that everything is OK.

Anyway, our dentist of choice is quite a drive from here, so I had a nice long car ride with my boys and my sister, Kyla. The thing is, my boys talk. Alot. Especially Ambrose. I mean, incessantly.

The winning quote of the day:

Kyla: Ambrose, how many words do you use each day?
Ambrose: Huh?
K: How many words do you use every day? Do you count them?
A: Uhhhhhm, no. I don't count. I just like to talk about them. (slight pause)
And exercise, too. I don't like to exercise. I just like to talk about it.

Palm Sunday

2010-03-28T18:46:00.000-07:00

"By raising Lazarus from the dead before Your passion, You did confirm the universal resurrection, O Christ God! Like the children with the palms of victory, we cry out to You, O Vanquisher of death: Hosanna in the highest! Blessed is He that comes in the name of the Lord!"

Chicken Enchiladas, round two.

2010-03-27T18:45:00.000-07:00

Okay, so I attempted making chicken enchiladas again for dinner tonight, and they were amazing. I have an extraordinarily happy and full stomach this evening.

The winning recipe: White Chicken Enchiladas , with modifications.

Oh. so. good.

And for the record, that's not my photo. It's the Pioneer Woman's, which is why it's so pretty.

Celebrating my birthday boy.

2010-03-26T12:30:00.000-07:00

Today I celebrate two very important events in my life: the anniversary of my marriage, and the birth of my second son, Peter. Since I posted about our anniversary a few days back, I'm moving forward to celebrate my birthday boy.

The past year with Peter has been incredibly therapeutic for me. At the end of his first year, I remember an overwhelming sense of relief; of completion of something very difficult. As a small baby, he was clingy and fussy and demanding and exhausting. We battled thrush constantly through his first year, for reasons unbeknown to me at the time, and I spent copious amounts of time and effort trying to ward it off. In a word, as Peter turned one, I felt depleted.

This year I have watched him become one of the most pleasant, kind, content and enjoyable people I know. He, as a toddler, is truly a comfort to me. Caring for him is rewarding and sweet and full of cuteness, and I am so thankful for him in ways that I just can't fathom trying to express in a blog post. I love him so much. He is such a sweet gift to me.

But there are some things I should express, for the sake of documentation. So here they are:

~Peter is the best co-sleeper there ever was. After Ambrose, I didn't believe such a child could exist. But, there is not a more enjoyable way for me to sleep than cuddled up with him. He somehow blends into you, doesn't mind being nudged, but also likes to snuggle.

~Peter is a great eater right now. He is not at all finicky about his food selection and generally has a strong taste for vegetables and healthy proteins, even when faced with the option of sugary sweets. He will gladly eat a giant salad for lunch almost every day,and was frankly not that into his birthday cake after the candles were blown out. I fear that one day he'll change his healthy ways, but I am so appreciative of them right now.

So, many happy returns to my little brown-eyed boy! As you can see from the pictures, we had a wonderful day.

Happy Feast of the Annunciation!

2010-03-25T18:41:00.000-07:00

The Super Coupon (or, actually productive coupon-clipping)

2010-03-24T18:30:00.000-07:00

So, my mom recently introduced me to this site: http://jillcataldo.com/

Essentially, it's a site that lists the current specials and deals at your local grocery stores, and offers links or other information about additional coupons to use alongside those deals in order to get some really. good. values.

At first I was skeptical and fairly sure that things like this would only lead me to purchase things that I don't need for the sake of "saving" (spending) money. Some of the deals were just so good, though, that I couldn't *not* give it a whirl, especially with a $4 off an $8 package of diapers coupon.

Additionally, there was a sale on bacon-wrapped fillet mignon steaks (yeah, yeah, they're not *top notch*, but even BAD fillet mignon is still just bad fillet, right? I thought they'd be nice to have around for Easter-tide.) Anyway, the deal was buy 1 package, get 1 free at $7.99/package of two fillets. THEN, I printed two coupons from the manufacturer's website, one for $3.00 off of one package, and another for buy three, get the fourth free. So, in the end, I got three packages for free, and got $3.00 knocked off the one that I did pay for--adding up to a grand total of $5 for 8 bacon-wrapped fillet mignon steaks. Not bad, eh? I figure, even if they're not great, we can find a way to eat them at that price!

All in all, the steaks were the only thing I bought that would not have been on my grocery list originally, and as I'm marveling at my receipt right now, I'm estimating that this grocery bill would have been roughly $22 more than it was if it hadn't been for all the clipping.

today is not my anniversary.

2010-03-23T10:22:00.000-07:00

(I'm posting this a bit late, as some computer troubles prevented it from being posted last night. :) )

But, we did celebrate today. We spontaneously decided to go out last night after realizing that our other opportunities were very limited until well after Easter. (And, as many of you know, we share our anniversary with Peter's birthday, which makes it kind of hard to make the actual day a date night.) Anyway, it was great and we ate good food and reminisced.

I can't believe we've been married for five years--what an astounding and wonderful five years it has been. And moreover, I can't believe what a different person I am now than I was then, and all the things we've both become that we never, ever expected to be. I am so blessed.

I can't wait to watch LOST.

2010-03-22T19:18:00.000-07:00

We haven't watched since before Lent began, and I'm totally stoked to get caught up.

Aside from that, today was thoroughly uninteresting--with one exception. We used the grill for the first time this year. And it was delicious.

well, oops.

2010-03-21T17:53:00.000-07:00

It's not Lazarus Saturday. That's next week. Oops. But it is the fifth Sunday of Lent, on which we commemorate St. Mary of Egypt. A reminder to as all, as we near the end of the fast, that through repentance and the mercy of God, even the greatest of sinners are transformed.

I had a really nice time at a kids birthday party (that was also fun for the adults!) this afternoon & evening. The boys are wiped out, and I'm glad to be home early enough, with children in bed to have some relaxing time with Matt. Good night!

Lazarus Saturday

2010-03-20T21:32:00.000-07:00

I really love Lazarus Saturday (to be celebrated Sunday). Here's to a foretaste of the resurrection.

"By Your word, O Word of God, Lazarus now leaps out of death, having returned to this life. Therefore the peoples honor You with their branches, O Mighty One; for You shall destroy Hades utterly by Your own death.
By means of Lazarus has Christ already plundered you, O death. Where is your victory, O Hades? For the lament of Bethany is handed over now to you. Let us all wave against it our branches of victory."

2010-03-19T12:10:00.001-07:00

Talking with Ambrose lately has become a series (barrage? attack?) of questions--primarily, "Why? WHY? WHY?!!!". Oftentimes his questions are nearly impossible to answer, especially given their incessant nature and strong demand for an immediate response. I find it totally endearing and simultaneously feel as though he is tying knots in my brain each time we talk. Anyway, in hopes of not forgetting these strangely charming & fatiguing chats, I've posted one.

This is a very real, standard, and unedited conversation that I had with Ambrose while out on a walk a little while ago.

We had just passed a woman who was carrying a large bag of clothes.

Ambrose: Mama, what is that lady carrying?
Me: Oh, it looks like a big bag of clothes.
A: What clothes? Who's clothes are they? What is she going to to do with them?
M: They're her clothes. Maybe she's taking them home to put them away.
A: Is she going to wash them?
M: I don't know, maybe.
A: Is she going to wash them because they're dirty?
M: Perhaps. I really don't know what she's going to do with them, Ambrose.
A: Are they dirty because someone put them in the mud? Who put them in the mud?
M: I don't think anyone put them in the mud. But maybe. You never know.
A: Why did they put them in the mud?
M: I don't think anyone put the clothes in the mud, Ambrose.
A: Why did they put them in the mud? WHY? WHY, MAMA?!!!
M: I don't know, Ambrose. I don't think the clothes are muddy.
A: Who's clothes are those? Can we go straight? Can I go see those muddy clothes?
M: No, we can't go see them. We're going this way, to our house.
A: Ohhh, but I wanted to see them! What is that noise I hear? Can you tell me?
M: Birds.
A: What are they doing?
M: Chirping, or singing.
A: Why are they doing that? Are they dancing, too? Do birds like to eat snakes?
M: No, birds don't eat snakes. Birds eat bugs and seeds and berries.
A: Why?
M: Because that's the food God made for them.
A: Why?
M: Just is.
A: Can you tell me why? Why, Mama? WHY?!!!
M: What? I don't know--that's just the food God made for them to eat. That's all.
A: Can you tell me why?
M: I just did tell you why. God made birds to eat bugs and seeds and berries so that they don't have to be hungry.
A: But why?

It goes on, but I'm sure you can imagine the rest.

It's another gorgeous day here, but snow is in the forecast for tomorrow.

Oh, Spring

2010-03-18T20:25:00.000-07:00

Thank you, hubby, for such a sweet post yesterday. :)

I'm a little embarrassed by the "too tired to blog" thing. I really have no explanation, other than that this pregnancy has brought about a form of exhaustion that is totally foreign to me. "Too tired", right now, carries a desperate, I-will-probably-throw-up-if-I-don't-get-to-sleep-right-now feeling with it. But, that's enough whining about pregnancy for one post.

The last few days have been so refreshing--we have been outside nearly all day--lots of walks, riding trikes in the driveway, trips to the park. The sunshine feels SO. GOOD. Oh, spring. I love you.

Thoughts About Erin

2010-03-17T20:03:00.000-07:00

A guest post by Matt Yonke

My wife, the proprietress of this blog, was too tired to blog tonight. But, you may remember, she promised to blog every day through Great Lent.

It's a remarkable feat, I haven't blogged consistently in ages. It takes work and it takes self-reflection, which can be hard to gin up at times.

But before that blissful blanket of unconscious swallowed her, she asked me to blog in her stead. She just asked that I post that she was tired and cute pictures of the kids, but I thought maybe something more was in line.

My wife is a really cool person. I love to be with her. Especially early in our marriage, we spent a lot of time together. More than most couples, I think. We didn't have many friends and they all lived far away. I think it's safe to say we didn't go two days without spending the evening together for a good couple of years.

We've had our struggles, but especially because of her patience and the good she brings out of me, we've forged a pretty loving relationship. It feels real, solid and lasting.

I feel like we're headed for a long, fruitful relationship and I'm so thankful for that. And it wouldn't be that way if it weren't for her being the beautiful, good, strong woman she is.

As we approach our 5th anniversary next week and the birth of our 3rd child in a few months, I couldn't be happier with our life or more grateful for her.

2010-03-16T18:47:00.000-07:00

It was so nice outside today. We spent the whole day out, and it was wonderful.

Okay, so back to yesterday. I found this gem at the thrift store whilst hunting for plain white maternity shirts (which are, apparently, a rarity? I ended up going to two thrift stores, then Target, and then caved and just went to the Motherhood store). Anyway, that's not the point. The point IS that I've been hoping to find an inexpensive, wooden, not-pink-or-girly toy kitchen for my boys for the last few months, and haven't had any luck, mostly with the "inexpensive" part.

So, I saw this at the store, thought it was cute, and then immediately noticed that the oven didn't have a door. I wouldn't have even stopped to look at the price if Ambrose's eyes hadn't lit up. "Mama," he says, "I could make you fwench toast on that stove."

And that, as you can imagine, wooed me completely. It was a $4 well spent. It's made alot of french toast in the last twenty-four hours. They could not care less that the oven doesn't have a door.

One last thing, for my own sake because I don't want to forget:

Today at lunch, I was telling Ambrose that he'd have to eat his meatballs before he could have a cookie. We talked for quite a while about this while he tried to figure out how to phrase what he wanted in such a way that would get me to consent to letting him eat cookies for lunch. After alot of back and forth, he stood up next to me, put his hand on my knee, and waving one hand around to clearly illustrate his point says, "Okay, how about you could get me some meatballs, and you could put them on my plate, and you could cut them up for me, and then I could just leave them on the table and have a cookie. Okay, Mama?"

2010-03-15T18:44:00.000-07:00

Pleasantly surprised this evening to have Renata and her kids (and my goddaughter!) over for an extraordinarily chaotic, but really, really enjoyable dinner. I dished up Renee's fast-friendly vegetable soup and cornbread.

I have more things to write about from today, but really need to get to sleep. Goodnight!

2010-03-14T18:32:00.000-07:00

The great method of prayer is to have none. If in going to prayer one can form in oneself a pure capacity for receiving the spirit of God, that will suffice for all method. -- St. Jane Frances de Chantal

blech.

2010-03-13T17:56:00.000-08:00

I've been feeling increasingly lousy since my chicken enchiladas incident on Thursday, and am mostly feeling annoyed about it. Watching 12, 13, and now 14 weeks pass without easing up on the (morning?) evening sickness is really...blech. I feel VERY entitled to feel better now that I'm in my second trimester.

In addition, I think I'm getting some of my wisdom teeth, and it HURTS, which is making me extra irritable on top of being queasy and tired.

I'm making a stronger effort to go into the upcoming week prepared to feel crummy and especially to prepare for the dinner hour (when I usually feel my worst) so that at least Matt and the boys can eat a normal dinner with minimal preparation and clean up. I planned mostly simple meals that don't require much preparation anyway (and am blessed enough to have a husband who offered to help me with some vegetable-chopping), but, since I'm already whining, even THAT sounds like way. too. much. work right now.

But, this is temporary. And worth it. Well meaning people have said things like, "Oh, it must be so hard to feel sick with the little ones around." I guess, in ways. But really, how did I do this twice before without them? They make me so happy--they lighten the mood and remind me of how much I will love this new baby. If I didn't have them, all I would have is sickness and moping.

2010-03-12T17:20:00.000-08:00

Today I was doing some reading in the Psalms, and on a whim, decided to read through some of the book of Hosea--an old favorite that I haven't read in years. I realized, as I was reading, what a perfect Lenten meditation it was.

If you're not familiar with the story of Hosea, it begins with God commanding Hosea to take a "wife who plays the whore". And he will love her, and she will leave him. She chases after flashy men who give her flashy things, and yet he loves her.

'And the Lord said to me again, "Go love a woman who has a lover and is an adulteress, just as the Lord loves the people of Israel."'

The book is full of God's anger toward Israel, as well as sadness, and pleas for reconciliation. Most touching, I think, is in chapter 11 (**Ephraim was the largest tribe in Israel):

"When Israel was a child, I loved him, and out of Egypt I called my son.
The more I called them, the more they went from me; they kept sacrificing to the Baals, and offering incense to the idols.

Yet it was I who taught Ephraim to walk, I took them up in my arms; but they did not know that I healed them.
I led them with cords of human kindness, with bands of love.
I was to them like those who lift infants to their cheeks.
I knelt down to them and fed them."

And, a beautiful call to repentance in chapter 6:

"Come, let us return to the Lord; for it is He who has torn, and he will heal us; he has struck down, and he will bind us up.
After two days he will revive us; on the third day he will raise us up, that we may live before him.
Let us know, let us press on to know the Lord; his appearing is as sure as the dawn; he will come to us like the showers, like the spring rains that water the earth."

2010-03-11T18:53:00.000-08:00

I spent the better part of today dreaming of chicken enchiladas. I even sent my dear husband out to the store to get a few ingredients to make them for dinner. And so I set to work-- baking chicken, making sauce, and making a bean-and-rice filling for a vegan version for Matt.

Several hours later, the thing I have fantasized about all day is sitting atop the stove, hot and bubbly out of the oven. And here I sit, too nauseous to eat them. Sigh. First trimester, I thought we were through.

A lesson in boys:

2010-03-10T17:57:00.000-08:00

1. Sometimes you should let little boys jump in muddy puddles and make big splashes. It is good for them.

So, we did. Today was that lovely taste-of-true-spring day that always comes and then disappears in March. It was sixty degrees, sunny in the afternoon, and the ground was still wet and fresh with rain and melted snow. It had rained throughout the morning and Ambrose was begging to go outside. Finally, peering out the window, he asked, "Can I put on my boots and go in the mud?"

We walked down the street and splashed in every puddle we found, and wrapped the whole thing up with an ice cream cone from the Banana Split. I wish I'd had the good sense to bring my camera on the puddle jumping walk--the looks on their faces were just so cute. But I didn't, so I scrambled to get a few shots as soon as we got home.

The rest of day consisted of hearty naps, a walk to the park to play with friends, and really, really thorough baths.

All in all, a very, very good day.

It Was a Really Nice Day Today

2010-03-09T19:19:00.000-08:00

It was a really nice day today. I'm choosing to live in the Chicago fantasy world wherein March won't play its cruel tricks and drop back down to 30 degrees next week.

2010-03-08T18:25:00.000-08:00

I'm totally counting this post for today as well as yesterday because 1)I've been going non-stop and 2)There is literally less than two hours of sleep dividing my yesterday from today, so they are getting mushed together.

So, to summarize:

~We saw the Avett Brothers last night and it. was. so. awesome. It's nice to take advantage of the small gap we have between babies right now to do things like that. Once this baby is born, finding time and opportunities for concerts is not going to be at the top of the priority list for a long while.

~To explain my two hours of sleep: We got home from the show a little after 1:30am, were in bed by 2, and then I was up at 3:45 to get ready for work. The sneaky little blessing here? The bagel shop had a new oven installed today (first time in 20 years!) that they haven't been able to get working. My boss just called to tell me to take the morning off, which I can *totally* use tomorrow.

~I feel like all I post about is how tired and weary I am, in one aspect or another. I guess I didn't realize how strong a trend the need and anticipation for rest was in my life until blogging about it. What does that say about my life?

~Lastly, but far from least, I am loving the conversations I get to have with Ambrose these days:

Ambrose: Hey, I have a great idea to go to space!
Me: Oh, really? What's your great idea?
Ambrose: To go to space! I guess I could. In the summertime when all the snow melts and it's warm outside and we could go in a helicopter together and see the moon.
Me: Ambrose, I really like that idea.
Ambrose: Yeah, me too. I guess I could.

Another day, another dollar.

2010-03-06T18:46:00.000-08:00

Nice day today consisting of:

1. Sleeping until it was almost light outside.

2. Going to work for a few hours, but not as many as usual.

3. Letting the kids play outside in the nice weather.

4. Making some last preparations for childcare while Matt and I go to a long-awaited Avett Brother's concert tomorrow. Woohoo!!

2010-03-05T21:19:00.000-08:00

Put on the spiritual armor, and become a soldier. Strip yourself of worldly cares, for the season of Lent is one of wrestling. Cultivate your soul. Cut away the thorns of evil. Sow the word of godliness. Subdue the body, and bring it into subjection. Keep down the waves of evil desires. Repel the tempest of evil thoughts.

~~St John Chrysostom

I have no idea how to even begin doing this right now. I feel so compromised, so tired, so nauseous. And maybe that is why the Church doesn't require me to Fast, but I still feel like I should have some part in the non-food-fasting part of Lent. I really have no idea.

The weather is getting so nice. It's been sweet to see Ambrose ache for spring in his small three-year-old way. He frequently looks out the window and asks if the sun is melting any more snow. He asks if we can open the windows, and when I tell him it's still too cold, he asks if he can open the (sheer) curtains to "see the sun". He wakes up in the morning and asks, "Is it a summer day?". Oh, warm weather. You cannot get here soon enough.

A lovely day.

2010-03-04T18:04:00.000-08:00

Well, I missed yesterday's post. Not because I was lazy or didn't want to-- mostly just because I fell asleep last night before I had the chance. I try not to say it often because it is the most boring, annoying expression, in my opinion, but I am so, so unbearably tired right now.

But, in the happiest of happy news, I was able to spend the day with my friend Renata as she labored and birthed her third baby today. Her baby girl, Zoe Elizabeth, was born late in the afternoon at home, weighing in at 9lbs, 0oz and 21" long. The birth was absolutely amazing, and I feel extraordinarily blessed to have witnessed it.

Blessings, all. Good night.

Busy day.

2010-03-02T18:43:00.000-08:00

Missed my blog post last night due to being sick. Nothing serious, of course, just plain ol' being pregnant, it seems.

Anyway, today was a day of running. Went to visit a friend's new house, stopped by Grandma's for a trip to the Goodwill $1 sale, to the bank, to Trader Joes, and to Church, among other things. So, that being said, I'll leave you with this quote:

"In the final analysis he who does not fast does not believe in God, for he does not really believe in the existence of the enemy and the great victory gifted to us over him by our Saviour. He who does not fast does not believe in Him Who said to the enemy, 'Man shall not live by bread alone.'"

--Anonymous Monk

2010-02-28T18:12:00.000-08:00

Well, I'd had hopes of writing a post about how orderly my home is, because I had such high ambitions of starting the week out peaceful and organized. The grocery shopping is done, and the fridge is cleaned out. The laundry is done, but it's not put away. Spent a good deal of time making food for the upcoming week, yet there seems to be quite a few straggling dishes around the sink still.

We DID have a nice dinner, a family walk on a reasonably nice day for February, and overall had a quiet Sunday at home. So, dishes will wait.

These pictures totally crack me up. One morning when I got home from work, they scurried around the house finding "hats" and "coats" to convince me that they were ready to go for a walk. 'Scuze the blurriness.

On Bright Sadness.

2010-02-27T17:28:00.000-08:00

Recently, someone mentioned to me how they were fervently searching for reading and study material for a group of women who wanted to find ways to make Easter a tangible holiday for their families.

And it got me thinking about how I was aware of that as a kid--Easter was always celebrated, but there certainly wasn't the same kind of anticipation for it as there was for Christmas. Or even birthdays, really. And I also realized how nearly impossible it is to feel that way now--now that we have Lent.

Lent is what makes Easter real.

But it has to be embraced, and that takes hard work, I'm learning. It takes a real stripping of self--a nakedness, a childlikeness, to really grasp the deep sadness, and yet still see the bright light that shines through it. Symbolically, we must be naked to follow a naked Christ.

Honestly, I don't really know what else to write about tonight. My body and soul are aching for the comforts of a feast, it's been a long day and the evening has left me headachey and weary. Lord, have mercy.

Blessings, all.

Akathist to the Mother of God, Nurturer of Children

2010-02-26T18:30:00.000-08:00

This is a really, really beautiful prayer. I was so pleased to find it today.

Today is the day...

2010-02-25T12:22:00.000-08:00

that my clothes just don't fit anymore. At all. My super great husband took me to the maternity outlet store to get new work pants for tomorrow morning.

Other notes:

-I'm really tired, but I feel awesome other than that. Each time I've reached this point in pregnancy, I find myself occasionally wondering if all that nausea and crazy exhaustion was imaginary. Third time around, I'm fairly certain it was not, nor has it ever been.

-We have serious pottying success here. Prior to potty training, many wise women told me to wait until he was really ready & not push it sooner than that. Totally worth it. Now that he gets it, he just does it--no help from me required. Awesome.

--Week number two of Lent is nearing an end, and the heaviness of it is starting to set in. Does Easter really come after this? What about spring? It seems ages and ages away.

2010-02-24T19:12:00.000-08:00

"At the beginning of my religious life, suffering and adversities frightened and disheartened me. So I prayed continuously, asking Jesus to strengthen me and to grant me the power of His Holy Spirit that I might carry out His holy will in all things, because from the beginning I have been aware of my weakness." [p. 56] She later writes; "From the moment I came to love suffering, it ceased to be a suffering for me. Suffering is the daily food of my soul." - Diary of Saint Faustina

snow.

2010-02-23T19:00:00.000-08:00

Really good day in the snow yesterday. It was perfect packing snow--heavy and wet, but still white and crisp.

I am, admittedly, really lacking in the playing-in-the-snow department. Honestly, aside from going out for walks and occasionally shivering and bouncing on the front porch while the kids play, this is really the first time this year that I've gotten them AND myself bundled up and really dug into the white stuff. I don't especially like being cold or wet, but they don't mind. I sometimes forget that.

Anyway, we spent a couple of hours shoveling the driveway, building snowmen and building a (super duper cool) snow fort in the back yard. It was totally fun.

Sadly, Matt had taken the camera to work with him yesterday, so I didn't get any pictures. Today, though, my sister got some shots of similar adventures at Grandma's house (will post soon). And, more snow (insert quiet groan) is on the agenda for tomorrow, so I imagine our fort will once again be put to use.

Really thankful for my boys today. Feeling very proud of my potty-train-ed/ing boy and am just really overwhelmed sometimes at what sweet little men they are.

The Appropriate Thing to Say When a Stranger Walks into Your Bedroom in the Middle of the Night

2010-02-22T19:37:00.000-08:00

So there I was, in the bath at 8:30 p.m., both boys asleep, Matt off to WalMart to buy an iron. I'm enjoying my soak when all of a sudden, Ambrose cries out to have his CD restarted.

Not willing to risk his crying waking Peter, I sloshed out of the bath, piled my wet hair atop my head, hastily wrapped a towel around me and went into Ambrose's room. I don't think he recognized me at first in my fresh-out-of-the-bath garb. His response:

Hey, what's you name?

The only appropriate thing to say when a stranger walks into your room in the middle of the night.

Sunday evening post

2010-02-21T18:39:00.000-08:00

Just a couple of notes tonight:

1. Got to hear the sweet sound of baby #3's heartbeat on Friday. It took FOREVER to find it--considerably longer than my other two. Seems like the baby was hanging out behind the placenta, but we DID hear it. 160 bpm. (Yeah, I know it's "girly". So were my boys.)

2. I think it's a boy.

3. For the first time in about a month and a half, coffee sounds good again. Hallelujah. Work in the morning is torture without it.

2010-02-20T19:44:00.000-08:00

So, I've been thinking a bit about my intentions for Lent this year quite a bit over the last few days. Probably would have been a good thing to settle prior to Lent actually beginning, but. You know. Here we are.

I'm not really in a good place to engage the Eastern fast very well. I never have been, really, since I've always been either nursing or pregnant during Lent. Which, in a sense, is freeing. In another sense, it leaves you completely structure-less and confused about the ways you CAN engage in the great return.

So, this year I'm focusing on just eating simply. Simple food,simple living. Adequate nutrition, but no frills. We've cut television entirely and limited our audio pretty significantly as well. I so desperately want to teach my children (and myself) to feast well by teaching them to fast well.

I want to spend more time being mentally present at home during the day. Obviously, I'm physically present. And my heart is always filled with love and concern for my family. But the actual, real days are full of distractions and escapes--email, facebook, housework. I want to spend more time looking into my family's eyes when they're talking to me, I want to respond more quickly when they require something, and I want to minimize the things that make doing that more difficult.

I want to embrace the purifying experience that mothering is, and spend more time becoming aware of God's presence in the most menial parts of my day. I am learning that, as a mother of young children, sometimes prayer doesn't come in long, quiet, peaceful stretches. It usually comes in breaths, in sighs, in quick whispers of worry. Those prayers are real. They matter. God hears them, and they count. I want to fully internalize that this season.

So those, briefly, are my larger goals this year. I'm sure there are more--and more practical ways to bring those changes about. But, there's lots of time. May your fasting be blessed!

small miracles.

2010-02-19T08:48:00.000-08:00

I am fairly certain that a miracle happened to me last night.

Probably a miracle that has a perfectly logical explanation, but I am purposely choosing to believe that it is a miracle--a divine answering of prayer-- so if you know what the logical explanation IS, please don't tell me.

Last winter, one of our laptops fried. Totally crashed. And with it went an entire year of baby pictures that hadn't been uploaded anywhere else. Months before this had happened, we'd transfered all of these pictures from our old, caveman-like desktop TO the "more reliable" laptop, thinking that they would be safer there until we chose to print them or something. Except, they weren't. They were gone.

I had frantically searched the old machine, hoping to find them somewhere else. Hoping that I hadn't really deleted them completely. But I had. At least as far as I and my more- technologically-inclined husband could tell. They were gone.

I kept it in the back of my mind that maybe there was a possibility of recovering some of the documents from our laptop somehow. Maybe we could have someone look at it. And mostly, I tried not to think about it. It was one of those things that crept into your mind in the middle of the night: What if I never see those pictures again? Sure, they're only pictures. But I think any woman who has ever had a baby knows that they're more than "only pictures". I sent up frequent, quiet prayers that those pictures wouldn't really be lost--they meant so much to me.

Anyway, a couple of days ago, the caveman desktop had been turned on (By whom? Still a mystery. I'm guessing someone under the age of 4). I noticed the screen looking all weird and distorted and figured the machine was probably on it's last leg, turned it off, and didn't think about it again until yesterday. Anyway, when I booted it up yesterday, I dragged the mouse through the start menu, accidentally pausing long enough over "My Pictures" to notice a bunch of OLD photos pulling up--notably, December 2006-June 2007 (Ambrose's baby pictures).

And they're all there! I mean, there's a handful of photos that were directly put on the laptop that I don't have, but I'm perfectly THRILLED to see these again.

Well. That took more space than I'd expected it to. I had intended to talk about some hopes and intentions for Lent this year in this post, but I think I'll save it for tomorrow. On the agenda for the rest of the day? Headed to visit my new midwife, followed hopefully by a trip to McDonald's for a 3-year-old who successfully used the potty today.

Update

2010-02-18T06:50:00.000-08:00

[Pix to follow soon -- Computer Sanfu.]

So, I guess an update is probably in order.

My boys are growing so much.

Ambrose turned three in November and is quite the chatterbox with a wild imagination. He carries a mischievous look in his eye, has a (strong) tendency toward bossiness. He likes to push the limits. He always has a plan, he always wants to know what's going on, and he wants to know why. I occasionally fear that he is far too clever (conniving?) for the good of anyone in the household. He loves his trains. And all vehicles, really--but mostly trains. He could care less if we ever fed him again. I'd guess his favorite food is probably air.

But, he has a very tender side to him and likes to be held and cuddled, and strongly dislikes being cold. I always worry about him. Not because anything is wrong--I'm not really sure why, actually. He's just so skinny and fair and seems so delicate to me.

Peter will be two next month. He is so cute. He talks in "question words"--meaning, everything he says sounds like a question--ending on a higher pitch than it started. He is earnest and kind and very aware of others and their needs--as far as a two-year-old can be. Upon being told that we are going to the store, he'll bustle around the house finding coats, shoes and socks for everyone. And then will proceed to gather the car keys, the diaper bag, my purse, etc.

His primary hobby is imitating everything Ambrose does. He's strong and sturdy and durable, but is very sweet and sensitive and not at all reminiscent of the tightly-wound, fussy baby that he was a year ago. Unlike his brother, he's an eating machine and has never complained about any food item I've put in front of him. But seriously, he is so cute it kills me.

As for me? I'm doing really well. I started working in September at a little bagel & coffee shop in town. I work a few early-morning hours each day so that I can be gone and back home again before Matt has to leave for work, and I don't miss much time with the kids. Getting up at 4am is tough, I admit, but not nearly as tough as not making enough money to pay your bills. The job is fun, though, and fast-paced and I really do enjoy it.

And, as most of you probably already know, we're expecting our newest member in September of this year. Still anxiously awaiting my first appointment with the midwife tomorrow evening, but frankly, I'd be more anxious if my abdomen wasn't ballooning like CRAZY. Something is quite obviously growing in there. And if not, something is seriously wrong.

So, there we have it--we're all caught up. Blessings, all.

xoxo

It's not that I meant to leave, it's just that I couldn't think anymore.

2010-02-17T12:36:00.000-08:00

Peter, 22.5 months Ambrose, 3 years & 3 months

Well, the dust on this place is a bit overwhelming. It's like writing a first post all over again. Ack.

But, I'm back, nonetheless. For a time, at least--after more than a year!

I'm not sure what it was that made me decide to come back here recently. I think I was looking for a picture, a post that I had made--and I realized how much you forget when you don't write things down. And also, probably, it was winning the "Most Consecutive Days Without Blogging" award on Facebook. :)

Anyway, as we enter Lent, I am making a commitment to blog every day this season. Every. Day. And yes, I've erased and typed that again at least three times. I want to blog honestly, whether or not anyone is reading.

Blessings to anyone who stops by! We'll be seeing more of one another.

25 Random Things About Me

2009-01-25T06:33:00.000-08:00

I got tagged on facebook. This things seems to have already made it's way through a huge part of my friends list, but I'll play anyway. :)

1. I drink way more coffee than I probably should.

2. I've gotten into some really serious traditional food prep in the past year, and I love it. I make milk kefir, water kefir, yogurt, kombucha tea, and I soak/sprout grains. It's fascinating. And I find it relaxing.

3. My 10 m.o. is an extremely clingy baby who needs several extra doses of comfort than his brother ever did. I feel like I'm constantly pulled between respecting him as an individual with individual needs and letting him experience life's harsh realities.

4. My favorite color is green.

5. I'm really thankful that I have two little boys. It's something I really wanted.

6. When I was a kid, I went to the state fair with many 4-H projects, and won superior ribbons. Categories included: Small Pets and Bread baking. This is especially funny now, because I hate small pets and don't really eat bread.

7. I don't like to take naps. I never seem to get back into the swing of the day after a nap, even if it's short.

8. Pregnancy and nursing have been good to me, insofar as that I weigh about 20lbs less now than I did before I was pregnant with Ambrose.

9. I really want to like fish. I'm trying hard.

10. When I was a newlywed, I nannied for a family 3 days a week for about 6 months. Incidentally, the children were two little boys who were very close in age (18 months). It was extraordinarily difficult/frustrating/exhausting, which is why I ended up quitting. Heh. Payback?

11. I love, love, loved my homebirth, and wish more women knew how empowering natural birth is.

12. I am so incredibly thankful for my mom. I don't know what I would do without her.

13. I don't really mind changing diapers that much.

14. I love nursing babies. Well, my babies.

15. I'm having a really bad morning with the boys. They're both standing next to me, crying. I feel like my brain is about to implode.

16. I don't like talking on the phone. And I can't really multi-task when I am on the phone .

17. Once, I made a Bible cover with a deck of cards. It looked really cool. It was very controversial, despite the King of Hearts being placed front and center.

18. I bought my wedding dress on ebay for $50.

19. I'm super proud of my hubby, and of the work he does. Really.

20. There are alot of other things I really should be doing right now. Fortunately the crying children are distracted.

21. My favorite band is Dashboard Confessional. This hasn't changed since I was 15.

22. I've learned to like broccoli, squash, and hard-boiled eggs in the last year.

23. I've never fed either of my babies baby food or purees. I believe pretty strongly that if you have to puree it for them, they probably shouldn't be eating it.

24. I'm making chicken tacos for dinner.

25. I would really like a glass of good red wine.

the newest project...

2008-10-30T21:13:00.000-07:00

I finished this mei tai for a friend's sister last night, and I've gotta say-it almost makes me want a little girl. (In the very, very distant future!!!) I really love the way it turned out, though--aside from, of course, the darling Amy Butler fabric, it just feels so strong, so comfy, sturdy, and soft. Hopefully the recipient will like it as well! :)

these are hilarious.

2008-10-09T19:51:00.000-07:00

My mom took the boys and I to get portraits taken at Sears this afternoon. It was crazy. The result? A set of pictures that quite accurately represent my life. Enjoy!

This was the first picture taken. We ended up bribing him with candy.

The difference between taking one baby to get photos taken and taking two babies to get photos taken: when one is happy, you're only halfway there.

This is Ambrose with not one, but two lollipops. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

It's funny...in my mind, this photo was "good" because they were both smiling. Turns out that's about the only thing we got right.

What sort of mother lets her kid have two suckers?!

Yes, Peter is biting Ambrose's toes. Ambrose is crying about it.

Going back for more.

Not without a few gems, though. :)

it begins...

2008-07-29T19:20:00.000-07:00

I'm quite aware that little boys love to roughhouse with one another, and when I learned that I was going to have two little boys less than a year and half apart, I figured that I would be in for my share of wrestling matches. I guess I just assumed that those were a few years down the line.

This afternoon I ran to the kitchen for a minute and heard both boys giggling from the living room. I smiled and went to see what was making them both so happy. Peter was propped in the corner of the couch, and Ambrose--sweet Ambrose--had a pillow clutched to his chest and was lunging--I mean actually throwing his entire body--on his baby brother. They were both laughing wildly.

?!

changes.

2008-07-24T09:19:00.000-07:00

Since this whole nasty sickness/medication/thrush deal started awhile ago, I've been pretty conscious about what I eat. Granted, I think I usually try to be conscious about what I, and everyone else around here eat. I plan healthy meals, make sure we all take in plenty of fresh fruits and vegetables, get enough protein, etc. Oh, and it gets worse. We drink raw milk, make yogurt with raw milk, and drink fruit and spinach smoothies with it in the mornings. I guess where I was really running into trouble was in between the healthy meals.

So anyway, long story short, I've been cutting out anything that can feed candida (thrush)--sugar, in all it's forms--even limiting fruit to one serving a day, yeast (beer, bread), and most wheat flour. Has it been fun? No. I don't plan to make it the way I eat for my whole life, though I've learned alot about ways that I should amend my eating habits. But to tell you the truth...I feel great. Also, I'm losing weight like crazy?! Didn't really expect or intend to encounter either of those things, but I guess they're a nice bonus.

Aside from that, Peter is teething quite painfully. Ambrose teethed very effortlessly for the most part, so this is a new one for me.

My next big project around here is to move the TV out of the den and into...dun dun da DAH...the basement.
Fortunately, we don't have much of a TV habit around here. We don't have cable or satellite or even any local channels, but ever since Peter was born I've been more inclined to use movies to entertain Ambrose during the day--which isn't a problem in and of itself, I've realized. The larger problem is that I usually resort to the TV as a big, huge parenting cop-out. There are some days that I would rather not spend the morning toting him around while I do chores, or sit on the couch reading "Old Hat, New Hat" fifteen times in a row, or promptly disciplining him for any number of offenses, so I just pop a movie in. Too easy.

We have a small, 13-inch tv/dvd player combo in our bedroom closet for the occasional rainy day. But I'm pretty intent on keeping it to just that, at least for a long time.

Anyhoo, I've been a big slacker about taking pictures lately. I'll get some up soon.

2008-07-18T11:47:00.000-07:00

Back in good health here! Healthy enough to blog, even.

For those who asked, I did end up taking another round of antibiotics. Lord willing, I can steer clear of those for awhile. Ugh. As predicted, Peter did get thrush again. I'm learning so well that you have to be absolutely militant when warding off yeast, but hopefully it's gone for good now.

As a result, however, I've become a total probiotics fanatic. I know, I never thought I'd be the granola girl who did all this weird stuff either. And maybe I'm still not, yet. Anyhow, I've started making my own kefir and my own yogurt, which are both really great sources for good bacteria and excellent tools for rebuilding the immune system. Plus, they make great smoothies. (Banana + a handful of frozen berries + a cup of yogurt= 1 delicious breakfast)

The boys. You know, I was just about to write "the boys are getting so big" or "the boys are doing so well", but really, how cliche. Truthfully, the boys are not getting so big. They are so small. They're tiny. They barely understand English, and often times behave in a similar fashion as monkeys or small puppies. I'm not saying that because I don't like them, or because I'm not enjoying my life, or because I want someone to feel sorry for me. I'm just saying it because that is the real truth.

Sure, they are incredibly cute. They are precious, and I always, always, always have someone to cuddle with. It is adorable. But they're not getting "so big", and they're certainly not doing it "so quickly". When they're 20, I'll tell you about how big they are, and maybe then I'll be able to tell you something about how fast it goes. But right now, the minutes and hours are so much longer than the weeks and years.

On that note, I really am having a good time with them. It's fun to see them interact, even if it is only on a very basic level. Peter always gets a kick out of Ambrose, and Ambrose is continually growing more fond of his little brother. He's falling into the Protective Older Brother roll quite well. It distresses him to see his brother being held by strangers, and is even more distressed when he cries.

I'm going to leave you with this sweet video of Peter's first giggles. (Which of course were not for me, but for Renata who is an expert at peek-a-boo). Foolishly, I filmed it sideways, so yeah, they're upside down. Anyone know what software I could use to flip it?? Anyhow, just tilt your head for now. :)

on strep throat.

2008-06-14T13:22:00.001-07:00

When Peter was four weeks old, Matt had strep throat.

When Peter was nine weeks old, Matt had strep throat again. Ambrose got it, too. So did I.

So, we all took antibiotics. I hate antibiotics.

Courtesy of the aforementioned medication, Peter developed thrush.

No sooner had I killed the thrush did I wake up today with a terrible sore throat and a headache.

I have strep throat. Again.

I was contemplating going without antibiotics and letting my body duke this thing out itself.
This would just mean that I would probably spend a week or so being very sick (and since strep usually involves throwing up for me, I mean very sick). It would not be the end of the world, but I have a really hard time fathoming how I would take care of my two little kids being that sick. Also, I would then be running the risk of coming down with something more serious--scarlet fever or rheumatoid fever. Rare, but not rare enough to not matter. It was really a hard decision. I guess I'm just going to slaughter my body with another round of antibiotics.

I have no idea where we keep getting it, and I really hope this is the end.

It's moments like these when I realize that my body is not my own, really, at all.

things that i'm loving this summer.

2008-06-11T07:06:00.000-07:00

1. Mojitos. Hubby and I crafted the perfect refreshing cocktail, and we plan to drink them all summer.

2. My clothesline. I know, it sounds dopey. But, this is the first house we've lived in with a yard, and I'm taking full advantage of the ancient clothesline hooks that someone set up here a long time ago. There's something really relaxing about line drying clothes, plus it's a nice excuse to take the boys outside. Not to mention that it's an awesome money-saver. By decreasing the use of our dryer alone, I managed to shave more than $30 off our gas bill.

3.
This fantastic purse I found on my latest thrift store excursion.

4.
This heap of mei tai pieces that has been sitting in my sewing corner since Peter was born. Kristin wrote an awesome tutorial on how to make a Scandinavian mei tai, but the last one I made I gave away. This one will have padded shoulder and waist straps and a sleep hood. Not to mention the gorgeous Amy Butler fabric. I desperately want to wear it, but each time I get an opportunity to work on it, I think of something more pressing that needs to get done, or someone wakes up from their nap. I'm making it a goal to spend a few minutes on it each day.

5.
Having a fat baby. I love, love, love fat babies. In fact, the whole time I was pregnant I prayed that my baby would a) be another boy, b) have brown eyes and c) that he would be a fat baby. Would I have loved him if he'd come out completely different? Of course. Coincidence? I think not.

6. The way Ambrose has started walking around the house, arms raised in question, asking, "Ipod? Ipod?" As though he gets to have it, even if he does know where it is.

I have no idea what I'm doing.

2008-06-10T09:17:00.000-07:00

Okay, so maybe it's not that bad. I feel pretty competent at changing diapers, nursing babies, tidying toys, giving baths and naps, and putting babies to bed. But, there are days when I just can't shake this feeling of being a little girl with her dolls. Only now, the dolls are getting bigger, louder, and are requiring more and more decisive action and discipline on my part. And that's when I feel like an amateur, which I pretty much am.

Last Thursday, I spent most of my day wearing a pair of strappy black heels around the house. Mind you, I have no taste for shoes. I don't like wearing them, I certainly don't like shopping for them, and even less do I like buying them. These shoes are the nicest pair I own, only for special occasions. Most of the time I wear a pair of black flip flops that go with everything in the summer, and in the winter it's boots or a pair of mock-Birkenstock's. I'd prefer to go without completely.

So anyway, back to last Thursday. I had a ton of laundry to do. We all went through a round of strep throat a few days before, and I was neurotically washing all of our bedding, plus catching up on the laundry that had accumulated while I was sick. I was getting a little frustrated at how little I was getting accomplished compared to how much I was working. The morning had been a series of spills, diaper changes, nursings, and other toddler and infant-type interruptions. So when I noticed Ambrose starting to rifle through the shoes in my closet, I thought, "Good, that should keep him occupied for awhile."

Instead, however, he emerged from the closet carrying the aforementioned heels, one in each hand, shouting, "Mama! Thew!" (translate: thew=shoe). "Yeah, great. You found some shoes." I replied, unenthusiastically. He proceeded to sit down at my feet and began trying to take my flip-flops off. "Thew. Mama. Thew." I was a little humored that he was so intent on me wearing these shoes, so I put them on. He giggled, and said, "Niiiiiiiiiiiiii!" (translate: nice). He then ran off to check out the semi truck that was driving down our street. I slipped the shoes off as soon as he left the room. When he returned a few moments later, he shrugged his shoulders saying, "Thew? Thew? Mama thew?". And then he dug those darn things out of the closet again. And I wore them.

Funny thing was, he didn't forget about them. He routinely kept checking to make sure I was wearing the correct shoes, and each time he would giggle and say, "Niiiii!" It was just so cute. It made my day, and I'm not at all sure why. Now I just hope he outgrows the lisp and the shoe fascination before he gets too much older. :-)

So, I know why you're here. Here are the pictures you've been waiting for.

(Oh! This was so cute! Matt told Ambrose to go read a book to Peter...and he did. Make Way for Ducklings...he just stood there quacking and pointing at pictures of ducks.)

you know you're the parent of a toddler when...

2008-05-30T19:13:00.000-07:00

...your conversation over breakfast goes like this:

Me: Good morning, Ambrose. Could you tell me what a cow says?
Ambrose: Baa!
Me: No, silly goose. A cow says 'moo'.
A: Baa.
M:Moo. Eat your oatmeal.
(silence)
M: Hey, so what does a cow say?
A: BAA!
M: No! Moo! A cow says moo!
A: No. No. Baaaaaa *raises eyebrows to really get the point across*
M: Ambrose, a cow says moo. I promise.
A: Baa.
M: Moo.
(silence)
M: Glad we can all agree.
A: BAA!!!!

2008-05-27T09:56:00.000-07:00

I think one of the most satisfying things in life is making a baby fat, happy, and thoroughly milk-drunk. I'm currently sitting on my couch--my toddler is cashed out and tucked into bed, and my very, very roly poly two-month old has just nursed himself into a coma on my lap. I'm shirking a few of the usual afternoon chores to sit and stare at my sleeping baby without having to guard his well-being from his older brother. :-)

I've had a very busy break from blogging, but I'm going to make a concerted effort to post more often now, as much for my own sake as anyone else's.

The boys are doing well. Peter weighed in this week at 15 lbs. (Yes, fifteen. You should check out his massive thighs!) He's very sweet and cuddly...and exceptionally soft and squishy. I must admit, I'm a little relieved to see the newborn stage pass. There is something so sweet and precious about those early weeks, but also something so nice about more predictable days, longer stretches of sleep at night, and a more content, smiley baby.

Ambrose is doing his best to sharpen my parenting skills, to put it nicely. He's always doing something incredibly cute or incredibly awful. He loves to be outside, and he loves to read books--and is really starting to process the stories and anticipate the sequence of stories that he's heard often, which is really rewarding. It's moments like those that get me through the moments when I find him throwing mega blocks down the basement stairs, one by one.

Anyhow, there should be more posts here soon. Blessings, all.

back in the swing of things...

2008-04-20T11:58:00.000-07:00

So, I woke up this morning and realized that Peter is almost a month old! Crazy. He seems both brand new (which he still kinda IS, I guess), and like he's been here forever. Is it that way with every baby? I feel like I've known both of my kids forever.

Anyway, we all seem to be absorbing him appropriately. Even Ambrose. The thing about them being as close in age as they are is that although physically managing two babies is a bit challenging, my toddler is still too young to truly be "jealous" of my affection or attention. Though, perhaps that's because he's still so needy that he gets an awful lot of it? I'm not sure, but all in all, it hasn't been as difficult as I'd expected. I mostly just have to worry about Ambrose being gentle with the baby. He's usually not ill-intended, just curious and little ("are these eyes REAL?!"). Thank goodness for slings, though. (For what it's worth, my ribbed-knit ring sling is my favorite newborn carrier, hands down. It's easy to take on and off, and you don't have to put the baby down to get it on or him in it. Plus, it's easily adjusted for tightness and head support, etc.)

I'm feeling great, and am happy to be back at my pre-pregnancy weight (pre-pregnancy shape is another story...*sigh*). I've really enjoyed having a baby in the spring.

And, I've given into the pressure of society and I'm now on Facebook (be friends with me!!!)--so you can always check there if you're just dying to see pictures of my stinkin' cute kids (I know you are!) and I haven't gotten around to posting them here. Blessings, all!

P.S. By the way, yes, in the first picture Ambrose is wrapped up like a mummy. This is a tactic we use to keep him from keeping himself awake when putting him to bed. :-)

And, bonus pictures:

our birth story...

2008-03-26T17:13:00.000-07:00

FYI: The following contains intricate details about birth. :-)

At 11:15 am on Wednesday, I met my second son, Peter Elias, in the solitude of my bedroom.

This second birth was very different from my first, of course, as each and every birth is unique. Odd as it may sound, there was something much more durable--sturdy and old-fashioned--about Peter's birth, about Peter himself, really, and about me that make him so different from his older brother.

The day before I went into labor was a day that a dear friend had predicted I'd have the baby (she was right to the day with Ambrose, and only off by 1 day this time, which I'd say is a pretty darn good track record). The day was hormone-laden, for lack of a better description, and I found myself in tears over the smallest things. I'd had a doctor's appointment at noon during which I'd asked the OB to do an exam to see if there was any sign of dilation or anything, in hopes that it would make me feel one step closer to delivery if he told me I was already 2 centimeters--or, at least make me feel like I didn't make the hour's drive to his office for nothing.

Nope. Not dilated at all, and "just starting to thin out". These are not words a woman wants to hear the day before her due date. Sure, I'd had secret hopes that he would tell me I was 8 centimeters dilated, ready to push any second. But I would have settled for 1 cm. Shoot, couldn't you just lie to me to make me feel better?

I cried most of the way home, convinced that I was going to be pregnant forever--weeks more, at least. I cried because I was so uncomfortable, because I was sick of gaining weight, sick of my puffy fingers, my aching back, my constant mood swings, and of generally feeling like I could not enjoy my life. And because of this big jerk that wouldn't let me into the lane I needed and made me take a 10 minute detour on the way home.

Around 1am on the morning of the 26th (our 3rd wedding anniversary, by the way) I realized that I was tossing and turning in my sleep with contractions. Around 1:30, I was pretty sure that these contractions were different, and would probably not be going away soon. As I'd sworn I'd do ever since Ambrose was born, I tried my best to rest between them, even sleep if I could, until they were strong enough that I had to get up and move around. At 3am, I woke Matt up and asked him to light up some candles and incense for me, and told him that in honor of our anniversary I was going to get him the rest of the week off of work. And, oh, a son.

At 5am, I got up and did a few things around the house and then took a bath to relieve some of the pain in my back. I kind of worried that a bath would bring things to a halt, as it had with my last labor (even after I'd been laboring for twelve hours with Ambrose, warm water weakened contractions and spaced them further and further apart. Not only did his labor take forever, but I felt like I had to poke and prod most of the time to keep it going.) Anyhow, things didn't slow down this time, and the water felt great. Shortly after this, Ambrose was awake, and delighted to find me in the bath, still half-dressed (well, in a t-shirt).
I guess it all probably seems pretty silly to a 16-month-old. He even offered me one of his water-squirting "bath-ketballs" and would periodically run by the bathroom door, stop, giggle and say, "Mama! Bath!"
It was really sweet to have him there with me in those early stages--fixing him breakfast, talking to him, getting sweet cuddles and kisses and reading books. As things progressed, I had to devote more attention to labor, so I left Matt on Ambrose duty. I still really loved having them there--being there, in our house. It made processing the idea of a new baby arriving in the next few hours feel so organic. There was nothing foreign, no dramatic departures or running around. It was just our family, exactly where we belonged.

Dr. White arrived around 9am, decked out with his old-school doctor box and dressed in a sweater vest. It was kind of funny, actually, how I suddenly felt like I'd been transported to a different century. I was 6cm.

In my "I'm going to be pregnant forever" moments the night before, I had reluctantly sent Matt to the store for the last of the things we needed for the birth, but hadn't bothered to organize it to any degree, since, of course, I was permanently pregnant, and totally irrational. I remember hearing the doctor and Matt gathering things together while I labored in the tub and feeling quite relieved that some sweet angel hadn't allowed me to put that off any longer. Around this time, Ambrose went down for a nap, and contractions were growing increasingly intense. By 10am, I was 8-9 centimeters. I spent most of my time in the water, sometimes crouching or kneeling with contractions. I was hoping to cross through transition and pushing before Ambrose woke up, but, alas, he both woke up early and I seemed to be stuck in transition for an eternity.

The hopelessness of being within moments of giving birth is like nothing else. I've been mulling those minutes over in my mind for days now--and that's the best word I can think of to describe them. Hopeless. They're dark, doubtful moments when you no longer trust yourself or anyone else, but are in complete submission to God and to the natural processes he built into mankind. Though somewhere, in the deep recesses of your mind, you know that soon, the pain will be gone. Soon, you'll meet your baby...soon, but not now. Now, you have just endured hours of painful, exhausting contractions. And the baby is still inside. There's no way out or around it, you just have to go through it--but suddenly you don't want to. At least, I didn't. I was ready to close up shop. I remember thinking, in the foggy moments between very intense contractions, "Why can't I just take a nap? Can't I finish this tomorrow?"

It was truly divine that, during these precise moments, our aforementioned friend, Renee, had stopped by to pick up Ambrose until after the birth. I'd had my doubts about laboring without any other womanly presence (my last birth was with a midwife), but figured I'd manage to find a way to get the baby out one way or another. As nice as it was to be with my sweet little family, there's something that starts to ring awfully hollow about the encouragement of your husband during an event so exclusively feminine as birthing. Crumpled against the edge of the bathtub, terrified of the next wave of pain that was about to overtake me, I was dead sure that I couldn't take another minute. I couldn't do it--not now, not ever--someone was just going to have to slice me open to get this baby out. I called for Matt, but Dr. White appeared in the doorway and informed me that he was outside getting Ambrose shipped off. "Would you like me to get him for you?," he asked.

No. I didn't want Matt, truthfully. I wanted someone to tell me that I was physically and emotionally capable of enduring whatever the next hours were going to bring, to accurately acknowledge the fierceness of labor, to tell me that I wasn't going to die from contractions...or to just slice me open and get the baby OUT already. I did not want to be patted on the shoulder and told that I was "doing a good job".

In all her kindness, Renee met me in my extremely vulnerable state there, shaking in my bathtub. She offered just a few moments of sweet, soothing words that only another mother could ever extend before she took Ambrose home with her for the next few hours. She really gave me a glimpse of the light at the end of the tunnel (and a new perspective on laboring, and the importance of women being with other women during birth...but that's a discussion for another day). A few moments after she left, I felt like standing up. A few moments after that, I felt ready to push, and a few moments after that, I gave birth to my son, in my bedroom, as sunshine poured through the windows from behind the curtains.

He weighed 8lbs, no ounces, and has the sweetest head of dark hair that reeks faintly of heaven. Like I said before, he's a bit sturdier than Ambrose was as a newborn. Also a bit rounder and louder and hungrier and perhaps more opinionated, but I'm pretty sure he'll need all those things to survive his first year of brotherhood to my sweet 16-month old.

If you made it through this entire post, you have my sincere thanks for reading. Peter and I both are doing fabulously. More pictures and updates to come.

something you should never say to a nine-months-pregnant woman:

2008-03-11T08:05:00.000-07:00

"Hey! You kinda look like the Pillsbury dough girl!"

And, if you happen to make this horrible mistake, do *not* follow it up by poking this woman in the belly button with a pencil and say, "hoo! hoo!"

People, especially men and old women, seem to forget all their manners when addressing pregnant women. Why is this? Here's a tip: if you wouldn't like someone to say it to you when you're *not* pregnant, you should not say it to someone who *is*. Think before you speak!

yep.

2008-03-01T20:18:00.000-08:00

We're all alive and well here!

I'm sitting in my living room, alone, as Matt's out with some friends tonight. Ambrose is in bed. My work is done for the day--and I mean it's *really* done. This feeling is a bit foreign.

Since my last post, we've found a nice young couple to rent our condo, I've put my 8 1/2 months pregnant self into overdrive and packed up all of our belongings (by the way, moving is 3 times as much work after you have a kid. No more of this 'three-car-loads-and borrow-your-friends-pick-up-truck' business. Your possessions multiply by like 12 when you have a baby. Make note of this.), we've moved into our new house, painted the living room, stripped wallpaper and painted the kitchen, and are officially completely UN-packed. Thank goodness for nesting hormones, and restless pregnant legs that make you hate sitting down so much that you'd rather just stand up and unpack 5 more boxes. :-)

So, that leaves me here tonight, in my new house, feeling a little bit fidgety. There are no more boxes to tackle, no more cupboards to clean out, no more drawers to de-clutter, no second coats of paint that will just have to wait til tomorrow. Seems like a good night for labor...ha. (Kidding!!!!!)

That's what I've been up to. I'm kicking myself for not taking before and after pictures of our new place. It's just such a quaint little house--old, with lots of pretty, wood floors and trim. I'll put up the after pictures, but they'll be less enjoyable without the before shots.

Other than that, Ambrose is being cuter than anything. He roars like a tiger, dances to the church bells that we hear periodically throughout our day, and has a great affection for climbing. On everything.

Less than a month to go before baby #2 is here. My body feels like it's 90 years old, and I keep having to remind myself that I feel that way *because* I'm pregnant, or I find myself thinking that I just feel way too tired and crummy to have another baby.

this is just so cool!

2008-01-12T16:16:00.000-08:00

...watching my little person become, well, a person. I'm just surprised over and over at how many things he's able to make sense of, you know?

In the last few days, he's developed a strong preference in reading material. The Wheels on the Bus board book was a gift from his Aunt Jen and Uncle Pat for Christmas, and after I read (sang) it to him this past week, he's been enamored with it. He manages to find it, no matter where I put it, and bring it to me, saying what seems to be his attempt at "round and round."

He knows that a dog says, "woof, woof".

And, just now, he got a potato out of the bag I keep in the "pantry" (which is actually just a cubby on my kitchen desk), came and took my hand, and led me to the silverware drawer to get a fork so that he could eat his (still-raw) potato. And, of course, I couldn't resist just baking it up for him in the microwave right then. He ate the whole thing, saying "tado" over and over again.

...and we're back!

2008-01-07T09:01:00.001-08:00

Whew. This place is dusty!

Needless to say, my blog got the cold shoulder over the holidays. We're back in action now, and better than ever! Though, I suppose that's not saying much.

Anyway, we had a wonderful Christmas and New Year's. Matt had a lovely, lovely Christmas break from work (I tell you, no one knows the true value of paid time off like a former construction worker and his wife. It's pure bliss.). I'll save you all a long-winded post about all the happenings of the last few weeks, but since you're here...here are some highlights (in no particular order):

1. Ambrose is a lean, mean, walking machine! This is now his primary mode of transport. I'm having such a good time with him (usually), and he's doing all sorts of funny, c-u-t-e things. He's recently started grabbing books off of his bookshelf (or any bookshelf, really) and wanting them "read" to him (for 10-15 seconds), and *must* have a plate and fork or other eating instrument when he eats (though uses both very ineffectively).

2. He also frequently attempts to play peek-a-boo with a blanket in front of his face while walking. This often results in him running straight into closed doors, walls, bookshelves--you name it--and then falling flat on his rear end. Sometimes, I try not to laugh at this.

3. We are home-birthin', baby! We found a wonderful home birth doctor a few days before Christmas, and are thrilled that baby boy #2 will enter the world in his home come late March, barring any real disasters or complications.

4. Speaking of baby #2, I'll be 29 weeks this week. I feel like this pregnancy is flying by--which is good, because I'm a zillion times more uncomfortable than I was last time. I am, however, really trying to savor feeling the baby move, stretch, and kick. Strange as it is, that was something I really missed after the Ambrose was born.

5. That's about all I've got for now. I'm looking forward to having more time to blog now that the holidays are past. Though, as I sit here watching my son eat his lunch (fork in hand, mind you), I'm noticing that he's not actually consuming the baby carrots I cut for him...rather, he's popping them in his mouth, chewing them as though he enjoys them, and then spitting them out. I am constantly amazed at his mess-making capabilities. And the record-setting time he can do it in. I'm just beginning to wonder if there will be time for anything at all other than diaper changes and cleaning up once the new baby comes?

pictures...

2007-12-14T16:27:00.000-08:00

Ambrose was terrific for his one-year portrait. I love every single shot. *sigh* Here's a sampling:

the good ol' department of motor vehicles

2007-12-12T12:28:00.000-08:00

This morning, I made a trip over to the DMV to renew my driver's license. I hate the DMV. Today, however, I was delighted to find the place practically empty and walked right up to the counter. No lines. No wait. It was wonderful.

But the DMV has a way of always being a rotten place to go, and just when I began to think I might not absolutely detest my experience, the clerk opened her mouth.

Eying Ambrose in the mei tai on my back, she says, "Are you sure he's in there right?"
A quick pat over my back and I assured her that yes, he was.
"He won't fall out?"
"Nope, he's nice and snug."
"I bet he'll climb out one of these days. Aren't there any buckles or anything?" (WHAT?! No PLASTIC?! I can't believe it even WORKS!!!)
"Oh, no. It's just cloth. It's really comfy."
"Hm. Well, I bet he'll learn to climb out." (smiles at Ambrose) "Won't you?"
"I hope not. He really likes it in there."
"My daughter uses one of those...what are they called? Baby Bjorn. Those are nice."
"Yeah." (Mentally rolling my eyes at her, and at everyone who truly thinks a baby bjorn holds a candle to a mei tai.)

To her credit, she did go on to ask me where I got it, and said it was very pretty. This really wasn't the part of the conversation that irked me the most.

Later on, she was confirming all the information on my old license.
"Height and weight still the same?," she asked, peering over her glasses.
"Yes." And truthfully, they were accurate--yes, weight too--even with being pregnant.
She gave me a long once-over, smiled sympathetically and then said, "I understand."

See you in four years, you mean old lady!

the things occupying my time...

2007-12-08T09:24:00.000-08:00

So, it seems that I'm sewing my life away these days. I've been enjoying it, honestly, since I find sewing really relaxing...but whew! After making and selling the adult mei tais, I've since taken on the task of making these mini mei tais (for baby dolls--I think they're awfully darn cute, if I'm allowed to say so:-) ).

Turns out they're really, really popular, especially among moms who have their own mei tais, and I've taken orders for about 10 of them.

As a little birthday present for my favorite 5 year-old and 3 year-old sisters, I made these little doll diapers. I spent an afternoon over there a few weeks back making real diapers for Ambrose, and they kept sheepishly asking if they could play with them. So, hopefully they'll enjoy these.

And a bonus picture, while we're not too far off the topic of babywearing:

Sometimes, riding around on mom's back for the afternoon while she vacuums and does dishes is just sooo relaxing that you can't help but fall asleep. And sometimes, you fall asleep so deeply that you don't even flinch when she practically drops you onto the bed from her back.
I just love this picture.

snow, snow, snow!

2007-12-05T20:51:00.000-08:00

Oh, how I love the first snow. We got about 4 inches last night, and are expected to get a few more in the nights to come. I'm not sure why...there's just something so cozy about listening to the plows in the middle of the night, and waking up the next morning to a bright white world.

When Ambrose woke up this morning, I excitedly took him to the window to show him the snow, which was still pouring from the sky. Awe-stricken, he announced, "uh oh!" (Like, hello?! Am I the only one who noticed that the sky is apparently falling?)

I'm selling some mei tais!

2007-11-30T12:48:00.000-08:00

Baby carriers, that is. Not to be confused with a delicious alcoholic beverage, the Mai Tai.
If you're interested, all the info & photos can be found here: www.mei-tai.blogspot.com

Happy Birthday, Ambrose!!!

2007-11-23T16:58:00.000-08:00

Make an on-line slideshow at www.OneTrueMedia.com

adventures in cloth diapering...

2007-11-18T18:41:00.001-08:00

I'll spare you all a lengthy post about all of my newly-formed opinions and preferences within cloth diapering, but I wanted to post some pictures of my new all-in-one (diaper + cover) pocket diapers that I've been spending most of my free time working on. I'm really pleased with them! And the best part? To buy diapers like these new, they would be $11-$13 each. I, on the other hand, hit the Veteran's day sale at Joann's and spend $10.66 total, and made 15 diapers. They've basically already paid for themselves, in relation to disposables.

One side is flannel, and the outer layer is high-performance alpine fleece (as a cover--though some would insist that you need even higher quality fleece, this works just fine). I'm stuffing them with prefolds and an extra soaker made from scraps of flannel, old towels, and fleece.

Anyway, here they are:

Inside the pocket

And, of course, sealed with a snappi. Maybe someday I'll get the boy to hold still long enough to get a shot of him wearing one. Until then, you'll have to take my word for it. :-)

and another thing...

2007-11-18T05:58:00.000-08:00

Little boys really DO instinctively know what sound cars/trucks/other moving vehicles make.

No one taught him this, but over the last few days, Ambrose has started pushing around his little yellow dump truck making a "vrrrrrrrrrooom bvroooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOm" noise. He also knows that trucks are supposed to crash, and that when that happens, it is loud. Little girls do not do this.

When did my baby become so much less of a baby and so much more of a boy?

baby talk

2007-11-16T17:14:00.000-08:00

I just can't get enough of Ambrose's sweet new words. Today he started saying "Oh no!". He says it so passionately, too, like he honestly thinks whatever misfortune has just taken place is really a tragedy.

I think that sometimes I don't give him enough credit for his communicating efforts. For example, today, while I was folding some laundry, he crawled up beside me and started pointing to his high chair repeating, "num num, all done, num num, all done." (He pretty strongly associates being "all done" with being in the high chair, since we make him say it before he can get down after meals) I was sure it was just a fluke that he seemed thrilled when I responded by putting him in the high chair and giving him a banana--but he did the same thing again at dinner time.

This morning, I sat him in the rocking chair while I was making the beds and handed him a few books. He proceeded to "read aloud" from them in this deep, droning baby-babble. It was very adorable, though I'm hoping not an accurate reflection of how he perceives my reading aloud to be. :-)

And a bonus picture. This is what we call "Sunday afternoon" around here:

so, things have been pretty quiet around the ol' blog...

2007-11-13T18:48:00.000-08:00

so I thought I'd ramble a little about the small happenings around here.

I'm officially over the halfway mark this week--21 weeks pregnant. Woohoo! I have a consultation set up with Homefirst, the homebirth/uber-crunchy medical practice in Illinois. For those of you who know something about them, it should humor you to know that I'll be consulting with Dr. Rosi. More on that later. I will almost certainly walk away with a story to tell.

Ambrose, of course, has been busy. He's not very good at staying still long enough to stand on his own for very long, but has attempted to take a few steps here and there.
To his vocabulary, he's recently added "night-night","up", "down", "uh-oh" and now actually correctly addresses "mama" and "daddy". He is in love with his daddy, and has taken a preference to him over me when given the option. Well, usually.

We've slowly been making the switch to cloth diapers over the past few weeks, which has been surprisingly enjoyable, and not nearly as gross as I'd expected it to be. There is, of course, alot of trial and error involved, and alot of experimenting to find your own personal preferences. But, on the whole, it really saves us money (really! I honestly debated this for a long time)--and I'm all about that, especially with the prospect of two in diapers.

Other than that, I'm having a ton of bizarre pregnancy dreams these days. Last night, I dreamt that I was in labor in a hospital in a labor/delivery room with another woman who was also laboring. Her birth was super fast, and she was just sitting there, holding her baby and telling me that she didn't understand what was taking so long, and bragging that she'd already had her baby. This dream made me very, very angry.
Other dreams almost always leave me very panicky, and usually consist of me hopelessly forgetting Ambrose's name, leaving him someplace that I can't remember, or just not being able to find him.

Still no buyers for the house, though. It's a bad time of year to be selling, but I'm soooo praying that we won't be moving when I'm 9 months pregnant. *sigh*

someone snapped this picture of ambrose...

2007-10-31T05:57:00.000-07:00

...at the rally last Saturday at the Planned Parenthood. For those of you who don't know, the largest abortion clinic in the country opened this month 10 miles from our house, in spite of a bunch of very shady legal (illegal) maneuvering. Read more about our fight against it here.
Cute picture, though.

this is something I have agonized over.

2007-10-25T12:18:00.000-07:00

If you know me well, it will probably come as no surprise to you that I would agonize over something very trivial. I'm very good at it.
But anyway, over the last few months, I've been completely on the fence about finding out the gender of this baby before he or she is born.

When I was pregnant with Ambrose, I was totally opposed to finding out. I loved, craved, and savored the surprise, and if I had to do it over, I wouldn't do it any other way. His birth was beautiful, and I will never forget the moment that I learned that he was, in fact, a HE. There are so few good surprises in life, that being one of them.

Generally speaking, I think it's genuinely better to wait until the baby is born to find out. I think learning an unborn baby's sex is oftentimes just another way that modern medicine strips pregnancy and birth of their natural mystery and beauty--it's another of the many modern interventions that make women feel as though they don't know "how" to be pregnant or give birth without ultrasounds or pitocin or epidurals or narcotics or a measuring tape. It's a bunch of bologna, and I try to steer clear of that mindset as much as I can.
That said, I also think it can be really boring. Sometimes we get birth announcements in the mail and I find myself thinking, "Okay, we already knew it was a boy, we already knew his name, and we already knew the date of your planned induction. So, uh, thanks for letting us know that your baby weighed 7lbs, 10oz!" I'm not saying it's a nice thing to think, or that it makes the baby itself any less amazing, I'm just saying that I think it's awfully dull. And very trendy.

But there are other factors involved. Between the bizarre illnesses and ailments and infections this pregnancy has provided, the recent change in jobs, insurance, and care providers, and now the prospect of moving and trying to sell our house in a not-so-hot market, not knowing anything about this baby started to feel like just one more thing that I couldn't prepare for--it felt daunting, not exciting-- and I didn't want to spend the next few months feeling that way. I eventually decided that it was more important to me to be excited about the pregnancy and birth of this new person than to hold to some theoretical ideal. With Ambrose, it was more important to me to have one, huge explosive moment of surprise at the birth. This time, I'm going to need a slow, steady drip of happiness, and I'm OK with that. In fact, I couldn't be happier. I think with another baby, I'd love to go the surprise route again. I really loved it. But today, I had an ultrasound, and I found out. I'm thrilled to death! And on the way home, I bought this. :-) :

A sweet conversation...

2007-10-23T18:46:00.000-07:00

Today, over lunch at my parent's house, my younger sisters were having a discussion about babies.
Alea, who's 8, announced, "I saw a commercial on TV for a medicine that will make it so you can't have a baby for five years."
The other little girls looked astonished. Hope (6) was having a hard time understanding why anyone would want to go such a long time without a baby. "Why?!," she asked, assuming that her older sister would be able to explain. Alea shrugged. "Some people don't like babies," she said. Emma (4) was quietly thinking about this for a minute and then said, "But I won't do that. Mom didn't. She loved all her babies." "Yeah, me either." chimed the other two, and proceeded to eat their lunch.

The whole thing really just warmed my heart. These little girls are still so untouched by the world and so naturally see new life as good. I hope they never lose that.

A new journey...

2007-10-16T16:35:00.000-07:00

So, this upcoming Monday, Matt will begin a new job as the Assistant Communications Director of The ProLife Action League in Aurora, IL--quite a change from being an electrician. We're thrilled and a little anxious, and looking to move soon to be closer to his work.
We (ok, he, but I get included by default) will officially be professional pro-life activists, and that's awesome.
As a total side-note...this job will also mean a change in insurance, and (though not definite yet!) that will quite possibly mean that we'll be able to have a much-desired home birth--which is almost equally thrilling, for me.

a first for everything...

2007-10-16T10:03:00.000-07:00

Ambrose has his very first stomach flu. Poor guy. He feels just terrible.
Something I forgot from my childhood, though, is that babies don't give any warning before they vomit. Sometimes it seems to not phase them at all. They just let it all out, wherever, on whatever or whoever is nearby. They also don't apologize, offer to help clean up, or kindly wait patiently while you do. When you manage to get a bucket handy when it's needed, they try to stick their hands in it.

Anyway, it's awfully sad to see your babe so sick. Here's to hoping he feels better soon.

oh, would you just LOOK at these!!!?!

2007-10-13T12:30:00.000-07:00

Paula just opened a new shop! I am in *love* with her alpha-birdy-bet letters. Soooo cute. In the process of wooing husband into purchase. Wish me luck.

on the menu tonight...

2007-10-10T09:58:00.000-07:00

A few times a year, I indulge. I love this jambalaya recipe. It's from my mother in law, and it's the perfect combination of sweet and spicy. Oh, so good.

Ingredients:
3 boneless, skinless chicken breasts
1 pound smoked sausage
1 C. chopped onions
1 C. chopped celery
1 T. minced garlic
2 C. rice
5 C. chicken stock
1 C. sliced carrots
1 pint tomato sauce
3/4 C. brown sugar
Tabasco or cayenne to taste...we use cayenne, mostly because we'd use an entire bottle of tabasco on one pot of this.
1 t. paprika
salt & pepper

Season chicken with salt and pepper, brown with garlic. remove to large cooking pot. Saute onions and celery, remove to pot. Melt brown sugar in fry pan. Add sausage and brown. Remove to pot. Add rice, carrots, tomato sauce, paprika, cayenne (or tabasco), salt and pepper to pot and cover with chicken stock. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat to a simmer. Cook until rice is cooked, approx. 30 minutes.

I meant to post a picture, but forgot to do it before it was all cleaned up and put in the fridge. You'll have to use your imagination this time, folks.

Also, Ambrose started saying "all done" today. Usually only after I say it (i.e., when he's done eating, getting a diaper change, getting out of the bath), but I'm pretty sure he knows what it means. It comes out as a very sweet "uh-DUN". So cute.

well, we can at least pretend it's fall...

2007-10-07T16:39:00.000-07:00

Even though it's like, 89 degrees outside! I'm pretty sure it just feels hotter than it really is because it's October, and every Chicagoan's mental thermometer is saying "too hot!!!! tooooooo hot!!!!!!! It should be 60!!!!!!".
But, in spite of the record-high temps for this time of year, we went to the pumpkin patch this past week with my mom and sisters.

The Aunties:

Emma, with her pumpkin.

Hope, still in search of the perfect find.

And Sari on the hayride.

And my super-cute sister Kyla. Ambrose loves her. So do I. I seem to be missing one sister, though. Oops.

why you shouldn't let your baby play with the cell phone...

2007-10-03T19:58:00.000-07:00

No, he didn't break it. However, after I broke down and let him play with it on the drive home from a family birthday party tonight, he did manage to both unlock the keypad AND dial 9-1-1. He got a call from the Aurora Police Department a few moments later, which went unanswered, and then another, when I finally finagled the phone away from him in time to answer it. It was a woman from the police department, stating that they'd just received an emergency call from this number, and that it sounded like there was a struggle. And I'm sure it did, considering that he was chewing on and bashing the phone all over the place. She spoke with Matt and I both to make sure everything was OK, and we assured her that we were absolutely fine, albeit a little embarrassed.

How my 10-month old managed that, I'll never know.

rockin' and rollin'...

2007-10-03T14:43:00.000-07:00

I've been feeling the baby move every day this week--a lot. It's officially one of the coolest feelings in the world.

huh. it was right.

2007-10-01T06:52:00.001-07:00

What American accent do you have? Your Result: The Inland North You may think you speak "Standard English straight out of the dictionary" but when you step away from the Great Lakes you get asked annoying questions like "Are you from Wisconsin?" or "Are you from Chicago?" Chances are you call carbonated drinks "pop."
North Central
The Midland
The West
Boston
The Northeast
Philadelphia
The South
What American accent do you have? Quiz Created on GoToQuiz

And yes, when I say "bag", it rhymes with "vague", not with "rag". This makes Matt f-r-e-a-k out every time.

2007-09-25T05:50:00.000-07:00

So, I saw the midwife again last Friday. Heartbeat is still in the "girl" range--about 160. Actually, so far, all signs and symptoms point to having a girl (yeah, I have total faith in old wives's tales.). And to tell you the truth, I'm not sure how I feel about that. Honestly, I'm not sure what all the fuss is over having girls, or why people seem to think that you must want to have a girl, or why women squeel at the idea of buying pink booties instead of blue. Maybe that's just a result of growing up in a house with 6 girls, or maybe it's because there's something incredibly charming about the affection of a little boy. I don't know. Of course, I don't doubt that I'll be thrilled with the new person no matter what, I'm just struggling to get excited about the prospect of having a daughter. For this reason, more than any other, I probably won't find out the gender before the baby's born.

In other news, there's not much other news. I love the change in weather. It's a little overwhelming to remember that last fall I was also pregnant, anxiously waiting to have a baby and thinking, "Next year my baby will be almost 1!" And he is. How fast time flies. He's changing alot lately, too. He's finally got the hang of waving "hi!" and "bye-bye!" He think this is extremely impressive, so he tries it out on everyone he sees. He also thinks that if he waves hello and smiles when he's doing something he shouldn't do that maybe I'll be so caught up in his cuteness that I won't notice he's trying to shred the mail or stick his hands in the toilet.

Oh, and he FINALLY figured out how to drink water out of a bottle last week. That's a relief for me.

and many more, maybe.

2007-09-19T06:56:00.000-07:00

Today I turn twenty-one.

I think...

2007-09-17T06:36:00.000-07:00

...that I might be over the hump! I hit the 12 week mark last week, and I'm feeling awesome. And I don't mean that I just feel better, I mean that I really feel fantastic. Possibly better than I did before I was pregnant, something I remember saying last time, too. Maybe it's just this beautiful fall weather we're having. Maybe it's the fact that my blood pressure is slightly higher than my usual 90/65, making me feel just a little more "alive". Maybe it's because of the prenatal vitamins that I occasionally remember to take. I don't know, but I just have energy coming out my ears-- which is good, because I've been catching up on all the housework that I've slacked off on over the last eight weeks or so.

So, feeling better means I'm cracking down and kicking my protein intake up to 100 grams a day again (as opposed to the first trimester "eat anything that won't come back up" diet). I did this religiously last time I was pregnant, and was really glad I did. Now I just have to get motivated.... I need someone to constantly chant "eggs! milk! chicken! peanuts!" at me. Any takers?

On Sunday, we went to our first Tridentine Mass at St. John Cantius in Chicago. It was absolutely gorgeous, both the Mass and the church. It was a great day to be downtown, too.

Pictures:

Oh, and on a totally unrelated note, I've finally gotten the hang of wearing the Mei Tai carrier on my back, and can get it on by myself. I can't even begin to say how awesome it is. Here's why you should wear your baby, too.

On becoming "Real".

2007-09-10T09:54:00.000-07:00

One afternoon a few weeks back, I sat down with Ambrose to read a story before he went down for a nap. Bored of the usual books we read, I'd pulled "The Velveteen Rabbit" off the shelf--a book I haven't read since, well, childhood. I didn't get further than a few pages before I found myself so touched by how relevant the book's message was to me now. And for that reason, I'd like to share a couple excerpts from the book here.

"What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came in to tidy the room. "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?" "Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. when a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become real." "Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit. "Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt." "Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?" "It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. that's why it doesn't often happen to people who break easily, of have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of you hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."
And:

The Rabbit sighed. He thought it would be a long time before this magic called Real happened to him. He longed to become Real, to know what it felt like; and yet the idea of growing shabby and losing his eyes and whiskers was rather sad. He wished that he could become it without these uncomfortable things happening to him.

And as I sat on the floor that afternoon, wearing a pair of tattered sweatpants and a stained t-shirt, reading this as my son pulled fistfuls of hair from my already half-hearted ponytail with one hand and tried to poke my eyeballs out with the other, all while I tried my darnedest to keep down my lunch of wheat-thins and sprite...I realized something.

I realized that when St. Timothy told us that women shall be saved through childbearing, he wasn't kidding. Not even a little. And I realized that these days--and the many days to come--that I spend changing diapers and fishing newspaper out of tiny mouths and wiping snotty noses, the days that I spend miserably nauseous because of the brand-new life residing in my womb, and the nights that I spend sleepless are not for nothing. They're God's gracious gift to me--they're opportunities to become "Real"...the means through which God is saving me, and is making me Holy. They're my opportunity to work out my salvation--bit by bit, with fear, with trembling, with pain and with joy, and with the sacrifice of so many personal luxuries.

And you know, I am so, so thankful for that.

thrush, thrush, thrush....

2007-09-08T07:25:00.000-07:00

Yep. We have it. I sure hope there's an "I SURVIVED BREASTFEEDING" t-shirt waiting for me at the end of all this.

On nursing while pregnant, and the intercession of Saint Giles.

2007-09-05T07:30:00.000-07:00

I've been a little hesitant to write this post for the last few days, simply because I'm not sure how well it will be received, and up until now I've not been able to decide if I wanted to subject my experience to as much scrutiny as I most certainly will by posting it on my blog. I decided it was a story worth telling, regardless of how people--non-Catholics, in particular--respond to it. So here goes! I should warn you, though, that the following post is pretty long and very personal. I always love comments, but if you want to debate the intercession of the Saints, do it on Matt's blog.

So first, I should say that since a few weeks after finding out I was pregnant again, I've been having a really hard time nursing the baby. Alot of women have trouble nursing during pregnancy, so I did expect to encounter some bumps along the road. What I didn't expect, however, was to feel the way I did. That is, to suddenly begin to HATE nursing. It was almost like a switch went off in my brain one day; one minute I loved nursing, as usual...the next, I wanted to throw myself on the floor and have a tantrum every time the baby so much as looked at me in a hungry way. I mean, really. We're talking about a serious case of sensory overload, and every time I sat down to nurse, it began to feel like a serious violation of personal space. I honestly just wanted to throw the baby off of me and run screaming from the house. It was awful. I was tense and Ambrose knew it. I'd let out a frustrated sigh, he'd start bawling.

My milk supply took a dip last week sometime and I began to notice fewer and fewer wet diapers coming from him, not to mention a more intense need to nurse (both for comfort and for food), which just added to my frustration. I've also had a hard time drinking water lately, which didn't help that situation at all.
So I felt kind of trapped. I feel pretty strongly that 9 months is too young to wean a baby, and I so desperately did not want to resort to formula (It's from the devil! Not to mention that Ambrose is CLUELESS as to how to drink out of a bottle. I'm sure he'd get hungry enough eventually, but still.). It was heartbreaking for me, too, because up until this point I really, truly loved nursing and it was awfully sad for me to come to the realization that this relationship that I've so cherished might really be ending. Don't get me wrong, I was really hating it. I just missed loving it.
Last Saturday I spent nearly an hour trying to feed and put the baby down for a morning nap. I'd get frustrated, he'd get stressed out...we'd take a break, try again, repeat. It made me so sad, and I felt like I was doing such a terrible job (and I was!). I've been telling myself for weeks to just grit my teeth and get through it each and every time, but it just didn't work that way. It seemed to be a battle between pregnancy hormones and breastfeeding hormones, and the pregnancy hormones were winning. This was something I've been in prayer for constantly, something I've asked others to pray for me about as well. But still, I had no tangible solution, there was nothing I could do to talk myself out of the way I was feeling, and I was pretty much at a loss as to what to do next.
After the baby was finally sleeping that morning, just a few days ago on September 1st, I returned to the living room, feeling defeated, and began flipping through the book of Saints that I keep on our coffee table. I came across the section of patron Saints for Women. There were patron saints for childbirth and mothers and wives and...yep, breastfeeding mothers. I read the few paragraphs written about St. Giles, the patron saint of nursing mothers and how he'd given up his wealthy heritage in Athens, Greece and lived as a hermit in France, living off the milk of a doe (thus, his patronage) and giving his riches to the poor. His feast day? That very day, September 1st.
Yeah, it seemed a little eerie. (In a good way!) After a few google searches on more of St. Giles' life, I offered up a quick prayer for his intercession: "Saint Giles, pray for me." And I did each time I nursed for the rest of the day.

I don't want to cast the intercession of the Saints in a light that makes it seem like some "magic" that "works instantly!!!" like one of those internet ads that claim to help you lose 20 pounds in 3 minutes. Obviously, it's not like that at all. All I was asking and hoping for was for someone holier than I to present my needs before the Heavenly Father. And he did. That very afternoon, I sat down to nurse, bracing myself for battle.

Nothing.

Really, nothing. I didn't want to throttle him! I felt as nauseous as ever, and there was absolutely no physical or logical explanation for the sudden change in attitude. Saturday passed peacefully into Sunday. I began each nursing session with a "Saint Giles, pray for us!" And repeated it each time I felt myself growing tense or frustrated. And the thing is, I really wasn't tense. In fact, I was downright relaxed. For the last few days, I've honestly enjoyed our nursing relationship--something I haven't been able to do for over a month, and I'm so thankful for that. In many ways, I feel like we both still need it.
There still seemed to be a problem with how much Ambrose was actually eating, though...since we were down to approximately 2 *very slightly* wet diapers a day, and a moderately wet diaper at night, and this had lasted for close to a week. Monday night I prayed specifically for this, and asked St. Giles for his intercession, in particular, for my supply issues.
Yesterday afternoon (Tuesday), I changed two heavy, very wet diapers. Things are going well today, too.

So interpret this post however you like. As for me, I'm praising God for being faithful to hear and answer my prayers, praying that He will continue to do so, and eternally thankful to Saint Giles for his powerful intercession on my behalf.

2007-09-04T09:21:00.000-07:00

We had such a nice Labor Day weekend! We ended up not going to Michigan as planned, since work for Matt was mile-high...but he did get home early on Friday and only worked the morning on Saturday, which left us with alot of time together. There was a fair going on downtown Naperville, which we got to enjoy on Friday and Monday...and bought some greasy food that cost nearly as much as our mortgage. Had dinner with my family on Saturday, and we also won some free passes to the pool/water park in town--enough that we were able to go on both Sunday and Monday. So, a good time was had by all.

We also had our first trip to the ER with Ambrose this weekend, which was considerably less fun than the other highlights of the holiday. He was out on the patio while Matt was cooking dinner on the grill, and when Matt set the hot lid on the ground, Ambrose's fast little self was there in a split second and his right had went straight to that lid. It blistered, and we took him in. Poor guy, he was in so much pain! They loaded him up with some hefty painkillers and some ointment, and he's doing much better...though still pretty doped up.

Hey...

2007-08-28T15:58:00.000-07:00

...what's the difference between Bono and God?

God doesn't think He's Bono.

this is a whining post.

2007-08-26T18:49:00.000-07:00

A few days after Ambrose got over his uber-crabby "roseola" episode, he wound up with a nasty head cold. He so kindly shared this treasure with Matt and I as well. So, morning sickness (erhm, all-day and all-night sickness which kindly took a three-day break last weekend only to return full-force last Monday morning), the sniffles, a crabby baby and a couple of weeks of very sleepless nights have left me, well, tired.

In alot of ways, hearing the baby's heartbeat has made the sickness and sleepiness and all seem worthwhile, in that it makes it all seem more "real". But really, now that I know everything seems to be going well, I just feel entitled to not feel sick anymore.

Yeah, I'm really whining. Why stop now?

To add to my already not-so-pleasant attitude, we finally hammered out a few days at the end of next week when we'd be able to get up to Michigan by ourselves and have ourselves a real, longer-than-one-or-two nights-vacation. This has been sounding sooo good to me, especially with the way I've been feeling lately. Anyway, the plan was to arrive late Wednesday night, then spend Thursday, Friday, and Saturday just as a family, and then spending Sunday and possibly Labor day with extended family, who were planning to come up on Sunday after church. We found out at the end of last week that our vacation will come to an end on Friday evening and that we'll have to share the cottage with some early arrivers for the remainder of the weekend, that point on. It's just frustrating to finally arrange it so that we can afford to take days off of work for a family vacation (and believe me, times like these come few and far between for us) just to end up not getting it.

On the bright side, I guess we at least get a mini-vacation. Also, I've been able to dedicate some time to pro-life work in the last few weeks, which has helped take my mind off of feeling crummy and focus on much larger, more important issues in the world. I have more on this, but it deserves a separate post, so more on that later. Thanks for listening to me whine!

a sweet sound.

2007-08-24T09:52:00.000-07:00

I was fortunate enough to hear my unborn's heartbeat for the first time this morning. I might be more of a sucker for that than most other moms...but that sound just sends a shiver up my spine and tears to my eyes. 170bpm at 9 weeks, 2 days. At 10 weeks, Ambrose's heartbeat was 160 bpm, and it eventually slowed to a "boy" heartbeat around 15 weeks (like 140). Anyway, I'm just thrilled to death!

a very long week.

2007-08-15T10:58:00.000-07:00

Well, Ambrose has been running a fever on and off since Sunday, and has become what is best described as a cling-on baby--spiraling into an intense crying fit even to be set down for something as short as a bathroom break. Yesterday morning the fever had disappeared rather abruptly, but I noticed a light rash on his face and neck, and I'm suspecting Roseola. He seems to feel pretty crummy. The house and I both could use some TLC...but alas, here I sit with my nursing, finally sleeping, nearly-nine-month-old. Poor guy.

Also, I spoke much too soon about morning sickness being in full swing. I'm trying not to whine, but let me just say that I'm so nauseated that I don't want to move or sleep or breathe...and I certainly don't want to eat anything for the rest of my life. I am not exaggerating.

Our TV has been on more in the last 4 days that it has in the last two years. I'm ashamed to admit that. It just has such a numbing quality. *sigh* Here's to hoping next week brings better things.

I think I take this test once a year.

2007-08-09T07:27:00.000-07:00

And so I did again.

always amazing...

2007-08-07T07:37:00.001-07:00

The photo is of an unborn baby at 7 weeks gestation. By 8 weeks, all body systems are complete, and that's pretty darn cool.

Morning sickness is in full swing.... Goodness, I hope this is full swing. It set in last Thursday evening and hasn't really let up since. It's strange how comforting it is to feel so rotten at this point, though.

By the way, I think it's a girl! However, I was dead sure that Ambrose was a girl, too. I figure I've gotta be right one of these days.

It is so hot. So hot. And humid. It's ugly.

Anyway, my out-of-the-womb baby is on the move. He's climbing everything and has a new found love for eating dryer lint and paper. I think if I tore up a piece of paper and fed it to him for a snack, he'd be thrilled. You cannot take your eyes off him for a second, I tell you. There is no rest for the weary.

Here he is, cruising around the coffee tables.

And enjoying french fries at McD's.

on the love of food.

2007-07-31T07:06:00.000-07:00

Ambrose has fallen in love with food this week.
Here's my current list of food that he likes and actually eats:

Sweet potatoes
Oatmeal
Strawberries
Peas...kind of. He'd rather just play with them, but likes them when he actually does eat them.
Scrambled eggs
Chicken
Celery...if you count knawing as eating.
Carrots
Bananas
sweet corn
Cheerios
Green Beans
Toast
French fries...(hey, the other option was screaming all the way home.)
Tater tots
Broccoli...kind of
and Chocolate chip cookies... go figure. Also, all cakes and any other danish. Definitely takes after me in that department.

On the other hand, the pregnancy hormones have taken over my body and I have developed a strong love/hate relationship with all things edible. That is as it should be at this stage of the game, I suppose. My first appointment with the midwife is the 24th of August. So, if all goes well, we should be able to hear a nice little heartbeat then.
Last time I was pregnant and I had to wait 6 weeks to get in to see the midwife, it felt like eternity. I'm so much less anxious this time, about everything. It's nice.

2007-07-26T05:47:00.000-07:00

This morning, in a sleep-deprived blur, I stepped on the scale--only to be totally mortified and nearly have a heart attack at my massive weight gain. I stepped off, thinking, "how could this have happened?!"
And then I realized that I was holding the baby.

life...

2007-07-21T15:07:00.000-07:00

is full of surprises!

You guessed it. We're pregnant!

toads and oatmeal.

2007-07-18T12:46:00.000-07:00

So, just now I went out to our patio to pick up some of the damage the storms had done lately...including knocking over the stroller. When I went to pick it up, out jumped this TOAD. He's pretty big, too, at least for living in an cemented-over apartment complex. Needless to say, I was caught totally by surprise and my heart is still returning to it's normal pace.

Anyway, we finished up the Face the Truth tour on Saturday, and we've settled back into our usual routine. The second part of the tour was great, though. And, while protesting in Evanston on Saturday, a pregnant girl was persuaded not to have an abortion. And that makes the whole thing worth it.

Ambrose has discovered the joy in pulling himself up on things. Particularly the dishwasher, when it's open, so he can pull all the silverware out of the basket. He has 5 teeth poking through right now. All at once. 4 on top, one on the bottom.

Oh, and he loves

LOVES

oatmeal.

Face the Truth

2007-07-11T06:06:00.000-07:00

This is the sign I carried yesterday when I went out with the Pro-Life Action League to protest in Rockford. We lined up alongside the road at busy intersections with a few other images of murdered babies--in such a way that there were 10-15 images of a first trimester abortion (at least 20 feet between each sign, too), then 10-15 of a second trimester (which is what you see here) and then the same of the third trimester....and variations on that theme. In the end, our protests at three different sites stretched out for a mile or more. I was fortunate enough to be standing near stoplights at 2 of the stops, which gave me ample opportunity to talk with drivers as they waited for their light.

It was remarkable.

I'd have to say that it's encouraging that the feedback was pretty evenly split between getting a thumbs up and getting flipped off. But the thing is, at least for me, that I'm not standing out there with that sign to convince the hard-headed-pro-aborts that abortion is wrong. I'm standing out there so that the completely unaware half of the population knows what abortion really is. Because they really, truly don't know. I'm standing out there for the 15-year-old girls who gasp in horror and ask, "Is that really a baby?" and for the big black man who took a long, hard look at my sign and declared, "That SUCKS! I am a-GAINST that!", for the elderly couples who shake their heads muttering, "What a shame."

Early in the morning, two ridiculous liberals pulled up in front of me and began a discussion:
"Are you guys Christians?"
me: "Yes."
guy:"Let me ask you something. Why do this? What effect do you think this is going to have?"
me: "I'm doing it so people know what they're doing to babies."
guy: "People know what they're doing to babies." (said in the MOST condescending way. He proceeded to ask me about the war and a few completely irrelevent questions.)

But they don't. They don't know. In fact, I bet that most of the women who decide to abort their babies don't know what that means, as is evidenced by the woman who came strolling along the sidewalk just moments after that bozo drove off.
She came over to admire Ambrose, who was sleeping pretty soundly. "Gosh, he's cute," she said, stroking his arm. She looked at my sign for a moment, and then slowly started moving on. "I had one of those once," she said, pointing at the sign. She paused and stared for a moment. "But I'm real sorry. I didn't know it was like that. I didn't know. It was just my situation...but I didn't know."

Killing babies--killing anyone--is wrong. But they're not just stopping a beating heart (which would be awful enough in itself). They're brutally and unapologetically dismembering and murdering them. People need to know that.

Anyway, Ambrose and I are going back out again with the Pro-life Action League tomorrow and on Saturday. Pray for us and for the group and most importantly, for the message.

your mission...

2007-07-07T06:08:00.000-07:00

The love of my life is spending today and the upcoming week working with our friend Eric in the pro-life movement--that is, traveling around the state and parading around with posters of aborted babies in public places, among other things. You should go visit his very dusty blog and ask him how it's going, and tell him that he ought to blog about it. Because he really should!

why you shouldn't bathe the baby in ice water, and other helpful hints.

2007-07-05T07:14:00.000-07:00

A few days ago, I picked up the book The Mechanical Baby at the library. It's more or less just a review of the history of theories and practices on child rearing. Interestingly enough, before the days when most people were literate, almost all childcare literature was written in the form of prose--to make it easier to memorize and then pass from person to person.
In the 1500's, it was apparently a very common practice amongst the Germans to take a newborn baby and give it a bath in ice water--the theory being that this would "harden it to the cold". In 1584, a man named Schevole de St. Marthe wrote this poem regarding the practice, basically saying that you shouldn't bathe your baby in ice water.........because it will kill the baby. It's oddly humorous, really...but awfully sad to think of how many babies were lost to such a dumb idea.

"The Germans use, a race inured to cold,
To war, to labor from the cradle bred....
The new-born child, yet reeking from the womb,
They took to what oft gave him to the tomb;
Lest he should from his father's strength decline,
They plunged him shivering in the freezing Rhine...
And taught him thus, from childhood, to defy
The cold and frost of an inclement sky,
The force of dreary winters to despise...."

"The Germans grown more wise, as more refined,
And doomed, no more, to ignorance of mind,
For ages have their barberous cure despised
And all condemn what their rude sires devised
A method how superior! learning gave,
To bathe the infant in the tepid wave."