Baby Fat

I’m going to start right now and tell you that some of you are not going to like this post. I’m going to vent about my flab, and I know many of you are rolling your eyes. I’ve hummed and hawed about writing about this, but decided that given the fact that I have suffered through four life-changing and body-altering pregnancies before turning 28, I deserve to get some weight off my chest – literally!

I have good genes, and have never really had to worry about or watch my weight. Correction, I never did until after I had kids. The first is the worst. Nobody tells you that really, you are going to be wearing the same clothes home from the hospital that you wore in. I was pretty happy with my first pregnancy, only gaining about 20lbs, as the book said, and couldn’t understand why others struggled with gaining too much or too little. When I stepped on the scale five days after being delivered of my 7 ½ lb baby, placenta, etc., I was horrified to see that I had actually gained weight and not lost any. Fortunately, my daily walks and good genes fixed that one and soon I was sporting my same clothes.

Pregnancy number two was the one where I was sick from day one till the day he was born. I lost 12 lbs and only gained 15 back… so really, it was a three pound pregnancy. Easy breezy to lose! I love our family picture when Mr. T was blessed at 2 weeks, I look fabulous. Skinny minny, big boobs… you know!

Number three was the killer. I gained 50 lbs! Mr. Man told me later that he was worried my rear would never look the same. It took me a long time to lose all of that. But I did have three kids three and under to chase after, and so a year later it was all gone and I was the tinniest I’ve ever been… actually fitting a size four. Don’t hate me… I will never be a size four again. Still, those skirts I bought that spring still look so pretty hanging in my closet!

So now almost eight months postpartum, I am sitting here on my big fat rear (which I now fear will never be the same), feeling the flab fold over my jeans and wondering what I need to do to make this just go away. I’ve been waiting for months. Apparently it’s not leaving on its own and I’m going to have to do something about it. Can I just tell you how much that sucks. I took pictures, but am disgusted enough myself not to post them for you. At night when I lay on my side and the flab jiggles over to join me… ughh. I have no more pregnancies looming, I have swimsuit season staring me in the face, and I need to stop eating so much decadent Easter candy and such and get my butt in gear to get fit. Finally I’m going to have to work for this, and it more than serves me right. I’ve been a lazy pig and a definite free rider.

I am wondering though – which one of you stole my fairy godmother – I prefer the wave the wand and lose the weight way better.

Stunning Survival

I love this picture from this past weekend. I think my Mom looks absolutely radiant! This gives me hope and the knowledge that with surviving young momhood, comes the reward of being a Grandma! Baby J adores her too, and though you can't tell from this picture, he is just about to clobber her with slobbery baby kisses and cuddles. If I can be half the Mom that my Mom is, I will be a success.

Empathy

My heart broke this morning when I was forced to say goodbye to somebody I love. Later I had tears come to my eyes as I watched my son in pain, knowing that with his upcoming surgery he will soon have even more pain. And I wanted to take it all away. I am more than willing. My heart, while broken for the time being, is still able to feel for him, still aching to hold him and comfort him. And then I learned that a friend had lost her baby, and my heart got stuck in my throat. There are no words.

I remember taking a class in seventh grade where we discussed empathy. I remember being confused by the term and even more befuddled by the ability to have such a skill. It was one of those “skills” classes, where teachers spend way too little time hoping to suddenly instill values and life skills in their students. I don’t think it’s a skill. I think it’s a part of being. Empathy can be painful and can awaken emotions within you that you never knew existed. Empathy takes a lifetime to perfect, but it can be startlingly evident on a daily basis.

I always thought the primary song “I Feel My Savior’s Love” meant that I could feel how much He loves me. But today the words found new meaning in my soul as I felt my Savior’s love for so many others around me. I can only pray that they feel it too.

Hakuna Matada

So I’ve consulted my crystal ball, spent some time pondering the perplexities of blogging and gotten over some of my issues that made me take a brief pause. I hate having my words thrown back in my face, I’m puzzled over some of you and your reasons for reading my blog, but I’ve decided to ignore that, not privatize my blog for the time being, and attempt to continue recording my many coloured days.

Mostly though, I’ve missed blogging. I’ve spent a good hour this morning catching up on all of your blogs, and then there is the fact of how boring my journal gets when I’m convinced nobody is going to be reading it. I admit, I like an audience. That fact alone terrifies me. I’ve also been toying with the idea of actually writing a book. See what you’ve done to me? You’ve motivated me and made me feel competent. Scary things could happen.

Mostly though I’ve caught up on some projects, taken a trip up to Canada, hosted some family for Easter, been dealing with a hormonal seven year old daughter, and just lived out my many coloured days (mostly) computer-free.

For your viewing pleasure… here’s what a bit of sugar (okay, it was a lot) can do to a lazy Sunday afternoon:

Taking a Blogging Break

The Baby Sleeps

After countless nights of getting close to no sleep, a miracle has happened. Amidst the drippy nose –whether from a cold or teething, getting adjusted to the time change and being back home after our vacation, the baby decided to make last night absolutely wonderful. He was fed at dinner (5pm at our house) and then I was out running errands at bedtime and he went to sleep without nursing. Then, he didn’t awaken for his on-the-clock 10 pm feeding. I waited, thinking that with the time change surely he would be screaming for me at 11pm. Nope. At 11:30 I went to bed with a bit of trepidation, wondering if I should dream-feed him or wait. I decided to wait and fell asleep close to midnight. Around 4am I awoke drenched in my own milk and aching to feed my baby. But I also felt rested. I honestly considered getting up and taking a walk outside, or working on one of my many unfinished projects. Instead I lay there, letting my thoughts wander and reveling in the marvelous sense of well-being that four hours of sleep (in a row!) can do. About 4:18 the baby awoke and relieved me. (Note that he went almost 12 hours without eating!) I was ready to get up with him afterwards, but instead he fell back asleep (his tummy must have been so warm and full) and slept until 7:30am.


I have a huge surplus today (my milk supply doesn’t quite know what is going on), but other than that we are all having just a spectacular day. Truly, when Mom is happy (and rested) everyone is happy.


Ironically, I can’t seem to find any recent picture of Baby J sleeping, maybe now we can get some sleep and some pictures of him sleeping around here!

Pop-ups and Private Talks

We pulled out our Easter stuff today. Forget the egg hunts, this year the boys are spending all their time with the silly pop up rabbit! I love when they entertain each other like this!


Last night, Miss J asked if she could talk to me in her room privately. There is no better way to get a Mom's immediate attention. There she got all shy, and wasn't sure she wanted to tell me. I assured her she could tell me anything, and sat in anticipation with a calm smile pasted on my face. She told me she had gone to her teacher and told her that her Mom (ME!) had called her a bad name before school. Her one-of-a-kind teacher asked her if she wanted to talk about it privately, so they moved to the reading corner. Miss J then proceeded to recap all the glorious events of my "grumpy" morning, including the broken scraper, the yelling and the inanimate object name calling. Apparently Miss J mistook a boot being called stupid as herself being called stupid. This severely hurt her feelings, brilliant girl that she is, could not imagine her mother thinking her any less than so. Her sweet teacher comforted her and told her that it sure must be a lot of work to get three kids and a baby ready every morning, how frustrating it must have been to have to walk everyone in the cold to take Miss J to school, and how doing so showed how much I really do love her. Miss J thanked her and felt better. Mrs. Wonderful First Grade Teacher also explained that sometimes Mom's get frustrated and say things they don't mean. Miss J was confused by this fact and that's why she was telling me all of this. Was it possible that I sometimes said things I didn't mean? Oh girl!

I feel like I'm moving into a new realm of parenthood. I would much rather play pop goes the weasel than have to deal with the impending "private" talks that make me want to pop!

Don't get me started...

I’m grumpy. No I’m not PMSing… I’m just tired and grumpy. I’ve been stuffing my face full of chocolate for the last few days and even that is not taking away the grumpiness… taking the edge off perhaps, but still… it exists nevertheless. In the past few weeks we’ve had the croupe, ear infections, a bronchial infection, flus and colds, a sinus infection, a back injury, and the shingles. Not to mention bad dreams and 2 new baby teeth. I don’t think I’ve slept for more than an hour in a row in several weeks. It is truly a miracle that amidst the lack of sleep, hovering germs, the multitude of doctor visits and my non-vitamin C chocolate diet that I have stayed healthy. I’m grateful, really. But I’m still grumpy.

I’ve had a lot of successes lately too. I’ve completed a plethora of projects, kept my house relatively clean, hosted a couple of social gatherings, kept atop my primary president responsibilities, been a “good mom” most of the time, and so forth. Am I convincing you?

I, however, am not fooled.

I hate when I get the grumpies. This morning was bad. Several non-living things in my house were called “stupid” and when my broken scraper (yes, we’re still scraping our cars over here) refused to do its job and I ending up having to haul all the kids to walk Miss J to school without slipping on the black ice it truly seemed like the end of the world. Mr. Man is my solace, and has reminded me several times that “it’s okay to be grumpy.” As I apologize for snapping at him, he will sweetly and simply say, “you’re fine. You can be grumpy.” Reminded of my status, I yell inside my mind that “IT’S NOT OKAY!” But is it?

My friend wrote an excellent post on expectations which I found interesting, profound and pointed. Don’t you think?

Truly I think expectations are a vital and good part of life. Without them I would NOT be getting out of bed after a night of no sleep. But with them, I choose to do one more learning activity with my boys instead of putting on a movie and taking a nap. Expectation can be an inconvenience too. So I’m trying to find a bit of balance, lessen my expectations while still taking them into consideration and accepting the fact that I’m tired and grumpy today, but that’s not who I am. However, if one more person tells me how well I have it all together, I just may bite their head off.

Chocolate Lava Cake

So, what did you have for breakfast?

Therapist, anyone?

Mr. T: “Look, these are the kids. And they tied the Mom up. Now they’re going to shoot arrows at her and cut off her legs with the ax and KILL her.”

Little E: “That’s the Mom?”

Mr. T: “Yeah, and they tied up her mouth too so she can’t tell them what to do… and she can’t breathe and she’s going to DIE!”

Little E: “I don’t want the Mom to die. I’m going to save her.”

Mr. T: “You can’t save her. Maybe you can. You have to know how to play this song to save her, and you don’t know how to play piano cause you’re not four, so you can’t save her.”

Little E, very distraught: “Why do they want to kill the Mom? They NEED to untie her!”

Mr. T: “They’re bad children. They won’t untie her, but YOU can save her if you skidoo into the page. You just have to say, “Blue skiddood, and you can too”… watch, let’s do it and jump into the page to save her.”

Little E, walking away: “I’m just not going to look at it anymore. It’s WRONG. I’m making a good choice and just walking away from the wrong!”

Mr. T: "I'm going to sit right here and watch the Mom DIE!"

Ramblings on Monotony

I thrive on order, schedules and certainty. Then why is it that I can’t stand the repetitiveness of constantly having to make the same shopping lists, continually having to pick up and clean house and the utter exhaustion when I think about having to make three more meals – every single day? As I’ve washed dish after dish, or dusted the top of my armoire at the start of each new day, I’ve pondered the need for repetitiveness, the cycle of it all and the purpose which I presume I should be picking up on. I believe that God has sent us here not only to have experiences, but to learn and grow from them and inevitably to become better and bless the lives of those around us. When I mop my floor, I always question what I should be learning from this horrid experience (that I always seem to put off for much longer than is healthy, inevitably ever only cleaning a layer off each time). How can I improve at scrubbing the toilet – does insisting that my boys wipe up their misses and dribbles count as sharing my knowledge and inspiring others? What can I learn from the fact that there are forty little fingernails in my house that need to be clipped at least once a week?


And yet, as crazy as it all has driven me, I’ve found comfort in the monotony of it all. Waking up each day to a new morning is monotonous, yet a beautiful blessing. As I sit and read the same book over and over again to my children, I can see why repetition can write a sweet story. The rigidity of schedule inspires me to find more moments for spontaneity, but it also arouses me to improve and perfect those constants that must, and will for ever more need to, be done. If I can accept that diaper blow out and smile as I bathe my baby for the umpteenth time in a row, I have conquered. When I consistently write my daughter a special note for her to read while I reluctantly make another school lunch, I am not only enduring, but pressing forward. Seasons come and go, and this time in my life will never come again. One day when the repetitiveness in my day consists of taking out my teeth to clean, and trying to recall which pills I need to take, I will miss the many crumbs I now have to constantly sweep up off my floor. I hope that I can learn the lessons now, so that I can share with my children the joy of knowing that even though it has to be done, it can be done well, and we can find happiness in the doing. Monotony, repetitiveness, whatever you may call it - can create something beautiful. And a beautiful life is definately worth living day after day...

The 30-day Challenge

Bloggers everywhere are constantly participating in these 30-day challenges, as diverse as the bloggers themselves. Blog everyday for 30 days, post a picture of "tiny moments" for 30 days, don't eat chocolate for 30 days... the list goes on! I too, would like to acknowledge and entice you all in a different 30-day challenge I recently came across. Issued by a pastor, but for the religious and non-religious alike. Enjoy, and participate if you dare... and more importanly, if you care about your marriage.

Future Presidents

We were doing a little "President's Day" activity today, and the boys had to tell me 5 things they would do if they were president. Here's what they said:

Little E: *Tell everyone to clean up their toys.

*Have no else rules.

*Eat bananas.

*Everyone would eat their toys.

*Eat your bread before you go to bed. (Because that's good.)

Mr. T: *Tell people to fight in wars.

*Tell people to pay before you get something at the store.

*Tell people to pray before you go to bed.

*Tell people to pay money.

*Go on a boat to go teach some people.

And this is what Miss J, the first grader, has to offer if she were president:

*Save the country by helping people.
*Help free people.
*Help people who are slaves in other countries to not be slaves anymore.
*I would do extra homework.
*I would make sure that everyone is following the laws.

Snot Rockets

Yes... that is what you think it is! This boy sure can sneeze. I don't know where he is storing it all, but with every sneeze, snot goes shooting across the sky, inevitably landing somewhere. Today at church it literally went up over and down all over his sweater. Needless to say, he didn't stay for primary (since he'd already infected half the congregation!) His baby brother, seems to be following in his footsteps. And like their father (who thankfully doesn't produce such output) they love to sneeze... seriously love it; it makes them laugh and smile, all the while with snot dripping down their faces. Wishing you all good health for the rest of the sick season!

Happily Ever After

Our “sweetly condensed” love story.

I fell in love with my husband when I was ten years old. He sat behind me in primary and kicked my chair, and I wrote about him in my journal:

“Sunday December 8 1991: It all started some time ago. [Mr. Man] was sitting directly behind me in primary. All of a sudden he put his feet up on my chair, I felt like getting him in trouble (he was always bugging me) so I told Janeth, who was sitting beside me, who passed it down to our teacher (Sister Keen). She said, “Maybe he likes her!” It was talking time, and all around giggles went up. So much for getting [Mr. Man] in trouble, I thought to myself. Every single one of my friends turned around and asked [Mr. Man] if it was true that he liked me. His face turned bright red, his feet quietly came off my chair and deep down inside I secretly hoped his answer would be that marvelous word yes. I suddenly realized how much I cared for [Mr. Man], the new boy (friend) I liked. He opened his mouth to speak and my face went redder than his. My friends asked the question again. He answered immediately saying, “yeah, she’s cool!” I was so glad he hadn’t said no, I could have shouted for joy, I was so happy! After that he still bugged me but I didn’t care. It didn’t seem to matter anymore. I love his 1000 wat grins he gave me and try to reward him with mine. I was thinking about him all the time, even in my dreams. Tomorrow I will write more.”

I have pages where I practiced my new signature with his last name (misspelled, unfortunately). As imaginative and equally obsessed as I was, I dreamed that our wall heat registers transformed into secret tunnels that connected my house to his and that I could crawl through the dark abyss into his presence. I don’t know that I spoke two words to him. But who needed words, I was in love.

Like all good love stories, tragedy struck and his family moved away. Not just to another area in town, not even another province, but to another country, and a place called “Kansas”. I remember thinking that I didn’t think that Kansas was a real place, but nevertheless, he was gone. At age 12, my heart was broken.

Years passed, and while my heart healed, there was a part of it that would always be his. Working in a library, I spent countless hours shelf-reading. Imagining his smiling face appearing as he pushed aside books on the shelf kept me dreaming and surviving. But between the daydreams, in reality, life went on. My parents and friends had a running joke that I would marry Mr. Man. When I dated boys my parents didn’t approve of, they were comforted by the thought that I was practically already betrothed to Mr. Man.

His family came back year after year for visits and taking care of real estate, and one summer he was there and looking as handsome as ever. One of my friends claimed him as hers, but history held strong and everyone else informed her that he was, indeed, spoken for. He was mine. Rumor had it that he would be returning to our home town to go to university the following fall. Not that he would have noticed, but I never wore the outfit I wore the Sunday that he was visiting, again – for fear that he would happen to return on a day that I was again wearing it. Shallow, I know. But don’t you see the sweetness in it too? After all, that was the summer I turned sweet sixteen.

I waited, and yet he never came.

Soon I had pushed him to the back of my mind and determined to live my life without him in it. A couple of years later, a sweet Polynesian lady in our ward started to play matchmaker with several couples. As determined as I was to put him out of my mind, she was ever more determined to get him into my mind. She brought pictures of him weekly, talked about him and his family constantly, even brought me his email address. This went on for quite some time. He completed his freshman year, and I worked on completing high school. In no time he was serving a mission for our church and she brought me his mission address swearing me to write. I didn’t. It wasn’t until she threatened to write him the sappiest love letter ever and sign it from me, that I gave in and wrote him a letter. A nice friendly, support a missionary, here’s what’s going on in your home town letter. He claims he received two before he wrote back. But he did write back – asking for a picture because he wasn’t quite sure which one of my siblings I was! We wrote for almost a year and a half. Nothing mushy, no “I love yous”; but we formed a friendship and a special relationship that can only be formed through writing. He begged me to be at the airport for his arrival home from his mission. I declined, uncertain where our relationship would go, not wanting to get hurt and feeling that that time was really for his family.
So he came up to visit me. It didn’t take long for us to realize that this was the real thing. After nine days of “dating”, and just a few short days after I turned nineteen, he asked me to marry him. I’d been dreaming of that day for nine years, and of course I said yes. We belonged together and we were deeply in love. We were married during Christmas break as most students are, and we have shared over eight special years together.

It’s a fairy-tale really, and I still sometimes look over at him and can’t believe that he’s mine. Our song is, “I knew I loved you before I met you!” Happy Valentines Day babe, I love you now more than ever!

Tightwad Valentines

I enjoy getting crafty for the kids' valentines. This year however, I spent what pennies I had on my own valentine cards and then the kids were left with whatever we had in the house. We stole our first idea from Mrs. Creative Genius who "upcycled her crayons", and used all our old crayons and melted them into heart molds. Very cute indeed. I had wanted to attach them to hearts somehow, but didn't have something sticky enough, and not wanting to spend any more pennies, we used little ziplock bags that we had. (Mr. T insists that he will have to tell his friends that they can NOT eat them - though they should stay fresh!) Miss J also had fun with some cute valentine ribbons I had. She cut them to bracelet length and attached velcro, so all her little girlfriends can sport some heart homemade bracelets. We've had fun, and I'm excited for them to have something different to hand out - and something that isn't candy! (I'm sure we'll get enough of that good stuff as it is!)



Mr. Man and I have a long-standing tradition of giving something homemade for Valentines Day... so it's nice to start that with the kids too.

Six Months

20 lbs

29" long

100% adorable

My love for him will never stop growing!

It’s bittersweet to have a baby who is half a year old. Time flies, and yet it also feels like he has been a part of our little family for so much longer. I have loved seeing the kids interact with this cheerful little man. The boys would never have had the opportunity to really experience being an older sibling without him… and oh how they do it so well. Miss J adores him to pieces and at the end of the school day they are both squealing with delight to see each other again! Baby J is smiling and giggling all the time. At any sound of music, whether it’s the piano, someone singing or “Who Let the Dogs Out” blaring on sister’s cd player, he is dancing and grooving! I now get to practice piano daily, with him on my lap loving every minute of it. The boy goes nuts when he hears his Daddy serenade him (either in person or on the phone)! Not only is he cheerful and musical, he is also a future English major! The boy LOVES books. He will sit for so long for reading, but also, loves books over any toy. Place six random baby toys or items in front of him and one book, and he will grab the book first every time! I could go on and on about this sweet bundle. He keeps me busy, and loves to be loved, but my little meatball is such a joy!

(Thanks to Joy for the beautiful pictures she managed to capture! She took over 200 and it was hard to pick just one for you to enjoy… so you got several! I’m now dedicated to starting his one year scrapbook before it gets any closer to his one year!)

E-T-Q-R-S-X-Y-Z

One of Little E's goals is to learn to write his name. No small task for this three year old who can hardly sit still for a moment! Just when I thought he had the first few letters down (in writing) and could orally spell his whole name... this is what I get. It reminded me of my friend's recent spelling bee post, and so I pulled out the camera for entertainment purposes.

(I know he's been the center of most of my posts lately, but what can I say, I adore three year olds! They make me laugh almost constantly! Maybe he'll learn to write his name when he's four. At least for now he's definitely learned how to make me laugh! And I could always use that.)

Spring Break Council

Tonight at dinner, Mr. Man brought up the need to start planning our spring break:

Mr. Man: "I want to go to Mount Rushmore."

ME: "Right. With four kids and a 6 month old. How about nothing more than 5 hours away. Let's meet family halfway - at St. Louis and do some museums and the zoo. Or let's go south."

Mr. T: "I want to go to the hotel."

Mr. Man: "There are hotels in every city in the world."

Mr. T: "I just want to go to the hotel where you can go downstairs for breakfast, and there's a hot tub."

Miss J: "I want to go to the cabin."

Mr. Man: "No, not the cabin. We've been there too much now."

Miss J: "Okay. Let's go to Hawaii then."

Little E: "I have a great idea. Let's just stay home."

Can you say "homebody"? At least he's consistent.


And cute!

A Pretty Little Conversation

I got a call from Miss J’s first grade teacher a couple of weeks ago. “Nothing to worry about” – she informs my answering machine… yeah… right! It took a several calls and a couple of days for us to get a hold of each other and finally we were talking face to face in the school hallway. She wanted to inform me of a small cafeteria event that had taken place. Apparently when one of Miss J’s very good friends’ class was dismissed, my overly-affectionate daughter went up to her friend and kissed her good bye. I was informed it would be best for her to keep her kisses at home and not at school. I wasn’t overly concerned (since we are good friends the kiss-inflicted child and her family) but promised I would have a little chat with Miss J about her kisses. Mrs. First-Grade Teacher (whom I love, by the way) then proceeded to tell me the true cause of her concern. In that cafeteria filled with first through third graders, seeing my daughter kiss another girl in a friendly jester, caused a ruckus of sorts where Miss J was then teased and called “gay”. Can you imagine?! Mrs. First-Grade Teacher didn’t think it had affected Miss J much, as she simply thought she was getting a little attention, and wasn’t at all embarrassed by their comments, but that she worried that if it were to continue she may get a reputation and not be able to live it down. I was shocked. My little girl has no clue about gays or lesbians, and yet here she was being affronted by little kids in a situation her teacher thought may eventually cause a need to transfer schools! I have since talked to my sweet loving Miss J and she promised no more kissing her friends, and without going into too many details, she was completely oblivious to any malicious remarks that may have been thrown her way. Her innocence is maintained and her reputation intact. First grade people!

So after my little talk with the teacher I fetched the boys (who were by now soaked from playing in the water fountain) and we headed down to the evil cafeteria to say hello to big sister. Mr. T turns to me and asks why I was talking for so long with Mrs. First-Grade Teacher. I told him I like to talk to all my kids’ teachers. He then asked if she was my friend, to which I responded yes. Next came the “why is she your friend?” So I went through a series of good-friend characteristics that I felt fit Miss J’s teacher. Mr. T wasn’t impressed, “But do you think she’s pretty?” he wanted to know. “Do you?” I responded with a smile, catching on to his interest. He shrugged his shoulders with a shy smile on his face and then made a suggestion, “I think you should have your friend over to our house sometime.” Great. My first grader is facing homosexual taunting, and my preschooler is in love with a 30-something year old woman whom he has added to his valentine list. What happened to childhood?