First Class

Considering that we pretty much had no idea what we were doing, our first flights with kiddos went extremely well. With the holidays and snow and extra travelers and sickness (and morning sickness), there were a lot of factors working against us, but I have to say, Harrison and Raegan turned out to be top notch fliers!

Unfortunately, I don't have any pictures to highlight this story. I'm kind of a Type A Nutter when it comes to following the rules, even when I'm not sure something is a rule. And seeing as I didn't want some TSA official or flight attendant tackling me and taking my camera away, I kept it safely tucked away in my very large and very full shoulder bag (part of our success, I believe, was coming armed and ready for just about anything from snacks to toys to books to wipes to you name it, we were probably carrying it. I consider it my holiday gift to my chiropractor as I'm probably going to need an extra adjustment in my neck the next time I see him!). So please don't laugh at me for not knowing/thinking cameras are taboo in airports or planes; it is entirely possible that I was also a wee bit too busy keeping track of one husband, two kids, two carry ons, one very large and very full shoulder bag, one diaper bag, and one Angry Birds backpack to snap any photos!

Plus, I have to say, I wanted to do nothing to anger the TSA Fates because we had such amazing luck getting through security at both Omaha and O'Hare. Seriously. Both times it was quick and painless and without question. And that's even with me forgetting to take out our little plastic baggies of toiletries in Omaha and with my name being wrong on my tickets. Yes, that's right. When Ben ordered our tickets (back in July when we were very, very, very sleep deprived), he put my ticket in my maiden name. What the what?! So when he called United Airlines earlier this month to ask about it, he was told we needed to bring our marriage license and an old ID of mine that showed my maiden name because there was no way to change the name on the ticket. Well, done and done with the marriage license business, but an old ID? I certainly don't have a driver's license with Jennifer Moore on it sitting around anymore, so I just tossed up a hope and a prayer that they wouldn't actually ask for that. It didn't occur to me until we were in Chicago that I could have brought my old passport, but seeing as it was never an issue, it was never an issue!

Our first flight, last Saturday, went really well. So well, in fact, that we were in Chicago 15 minutes ahead of schedule which turned out to be the only real downfall of that leg of the trip; Harrison was not real cool with being back on the ground but still stuck in his seat (I know most adults can relate) for that extra 15 minutes it took for our gate to open. But, he persevered and we eventually got off the plane. Our return flight on Wednesday was a little less smooth. First, when we got to our gate shortly before boarding for our flight that had been on time when we arrived at the airport, there was no plane. Not really a good sign for leaving on time, you know? So we sat and we waited and watched the departure time slowly creep back on the screen, three minutes at a time. Finally a teeny tiny little plane (OK, not like a five-seater or anything, but still, it only had 13 rows which is not my favorite size of plane!), pulled up, unloaded, and was then ready for us. We got on probably half an hour after our original departure time, which was OK, but then we had to sit and wait for the de-icer to come and then the push crew to come and so on and so on, and so it was probably well over 45 minutes on the plane before we got in the air (which was NOT a smooth ride going up, either!). Did I mention that all of this was taking place after 5 p.m. and that my children are usually fed and in bed by 7?!

Even with the little snafu on Wednesday, Harrison and Raegan were airport rockstars. You would think they did this all the time, Harrison especially. He was jazzed to arrive, ride the shuttle, and go through security. He helped put his items in a little basket for the x-ray machine and walked through the metal detector all by himself, no problem. Walking through the tunnel to board the plane, getting situated in his seat, and drinking orange juice in the air were also all highlights for HD. And you wouldn't believe how happy he was that we got dropped off at the wrong terminal in Chicago which meant escalators ("eskalvators", in his words) and a tram ride to get to the correct one! And our teeny tiny plane? Well that was pretty sweet in his world, too, because it meant we got to go down the "restricted" stairs, walk outside, and then climb up in the aircraft. Top all that off with plenty of Campfire time during the flights, and the kid was in seventh heaven!

Thankfully, neither HD nor RL had tummy or ear issues on either flight. Raegan got a little squirmy at times seeing as she didn't have an actual seat to call her own, but she did an amazing job for a wiggly little one-year-old on her first plane ride. A bottle during take-offs helped with her ears, I think, and other than that it was snacks and books and whatever else we could think of to entertain her to pass the time. She did a fair amount of smiling and people watching, too, which probably helped all of us.

While we may have had a few people cringe when they saw us get on their flight or sit down behind them, we really did pretty well and I don't think we ruined anyone else's flight with crying or whining or what-have-yous. Our stay with family in Chicago went really well, too, so altogether, even though it has kicked us in the behind on our return, it was very worth all the hubbub to see how much our babies love to travel and explore.

Flat on the Couch

While I still need to write about our holiday travel adventures, it has been our homecoming the last two days that is on my mind currently. In short, our trip was pretty darn successful, but the reality since returning to Hastings late Wednesday night is that it also took a lot out of all of us.

Although I was only sick on Christmas morning while we were gone, the last 36 hours have been interesting. I went 25+ hours without being able to keep down any food or drink, but again, it was just morning sickness, not the flu. I was on the couch essentially all of yesterday, last night, and then to start this morning. Then, miraculously, some cereal and some Gatoraid stayed in my system. I felt much less like a zombie as the day continued, but still wasn't good for anything besides being on the couch (the 10 minutes it took to make myself some Ramen this afternoon about did me in). While I'm doing a little better tonight, my head is still pounding and I'm definitely doing bedtime early tonight.

Thank Goodness Ben is home on Christmas Break right now because I would have been lost without him the last couple days. He's had to do everything for the kids and around the house because I've been so out of it. And speaking of the kids, they too are pretty well worn after our excursion. Raegan went in to the doctor this afternoon because of a nasty, persistent cough and while we're happy to learn she doesn't have strep, RSV, or the flu, she is still on an antibiotic for five days and nebulizer treatments until her cough improves.

And Harrison? Well, I thought he was doing perfectly fine, but then this happened:

I was resting while Ben started lunch early with RL; HD was just sort of circling around the house, saying his tummy didn't feel good. Ben told him he could sit with them at the table or go join Mama on the couch. So just like that, he came over, crawled up next to me, put his head on the pillow, and fell asleep. At 11:35 a.m.! The child who has never volunteered for a nap in his life, came and snuggled up with me on the couch and then stayed that way for 1 hour and 40 minutes! Part way in, we shifted and spent the rest of the time like this:

I didn't get much actual sleeping in, but did doze a little. For the most part I laid there thinking about my babies and my belly and my sweet, sweet boy, sleeping in my arms. I've never napped with my kids and today made me realize I've missed out a little because it is so peaceful (not to mention, warm).

But, wonderful as the nap was, I should have known something was amiss. Not long after HD got up, he got sick. And then got sick again an hour or so later. He wouldn't drink or eat anything, either. No fever, though, so we don't really know what's going on. The other crazy part? He's already in bed for the night - well before 7 p.m. which never happens if he happens to catch a nap during the day. So I'm hoping the sleep does his body some serious good (and the same for the rest of us, too), because clearly we all need a little recovery right now!

When it Thunder Snows...

As an English teacher, I'm supposed to avoid cliches, but remember the old gem, When it rains, it pours? Well, yesterday we had our first snow of the winter and based on everything going on lately, it felt appropriate that it gave us not only a foot of the white stuff, but that it also came with thunder and lightning and big ol' Nebraska wind. I'm not sure how to end When it Thunder Snows, it... but I'm thinking "dumps" might be the best because that is exactly where my body put me in my own little storm yesterday - the dumps.

After a few weeks of just feeling queasy and tired exhausted, Saturday found me totally wiped out by morning sickness (that came back in the afternoon) and a head cold that was quickly turning into more serious sinus crud. I got through the day, though, and felt better-ish for the next couple days. And by better-ish I mean, not sick to my stomach, just moving slow and going through full boxes of Puffs for my stuffy, aching head.

It's a good thing I was functioning those days because I only had about 1,000 items to check off my To Do list to wrap up the semester and get ready for our upcoming holiday trip to visit family. With the help of my parents and Ben, I was able to get my papers graded, final grades entered, laundry done, bags packed, Christmas letters mailed, Harrison's preschool program attended, and Early Christmas with my folks celebrated. Ben's parents also came for the preK program (and to collect our luggage since we're flying and they're driving), and after everyone left, I did my best to just sit.

Flash forward to 3 a.m. Wednesday morning when I woke up and instantly knew I was going to be sick. And sick I was, every half hour for the next four hours. I knew it wasn't the flu because I had no other flu symptoms; it was "just" morning sickness deciding to royally kick my ass for the day. Although I haven't had as many days with this pregnancy of actually being sick, the days I have been have been brutal. And yesterday was the worst. 

Because of end-of-the-semester work, Ben had to go to school, so I contacted one of our wonderful old neighbors (who really is still a neighbor since we didn't exactly go far when we moved), and she agreed to take Harrison for the morning so I could rest while Raegan napped. Good and good. Except then, at 10:30, it was not good. Not good at all.

I was still in bed downstairs then and RL was still napping up in her crib. I don't know if I rolled over or coughed or what but all of the sudden (Warning - TMI on bodily functions coming), I thought I had wet my pants. Not normal or good for a 30-yr-old, you know? So I got to the bathroom and discovered, much to my shock and horror, blood. And not just spotting. Full on blood. Seeing as I have never so much as spotted a drop with either other baby, I was terrified.

I called my doctor's office and got an appointment for as soon as I could. Then I frantically started calling Ben, trying to figure out what to do with the kids so I could get to the much needed appointment. He finally returned my call and we got all the details worked out so the kids would be covered and he could come with me to see the doctor.

Thanks to getting most of my scared-out-of-my-mind tears out during phone calls to our parents, I was able to talk to my doctor in a fairly calm manner (i.e. only mild voice wavering and nose sniffling). I was honest with her and told her I was very nervous. But then we did the ultrasound and, Thank God, everything was fine. Actually, everything was great (OK, I still felt like poo and was still bleeding, but the baby was amazing)! S/he is growing right on target and has a strong little heartbeat. Actually, we had a wee bit of trouble getting the heartbeat measured because Baby Welsch No. 3 was moving so much. Those of you who know my children are probably laughing right now (I am!) because that is clearly just how we grow them!

So even though we don't know what caused the bleeding, I am feeling much better about everything. The rest of yesterday was still pretty tough for me, though, and I wasn't good for anything other than being flat on a bed or a couch. Thankfully Ben could be here and did a wonderful job of doing everything for the kids. We also made the decision to cut off nursing with Raegan because being so sick yesterday meant I didn't have enough fluids for myself, much less for her. She took a bottle before bed and again this morning and seems to be doing fine with that. We made it 13 1/2 months, so I'm going to be proud of that and pray she makes the transition smoothly.

As for today, I'm now on an antibiotic to help the head junk which should help the stomach junk and hopefully the bleeding junk will just go away on its own. We still have our plans to travel for the holiday and while I'm nervous about getting through the actual travel portion this weekend, I'm hoping that once we get there, all will be well. I hope to take it as slow and steady as possible the next two days, even if I am feeling better because I need to recoup and recover.

It feels like there has been so much heaviness and sadness in the world in the last week, and my heart has been hurting for those who have lost loved ones or can't be with family this holiday season. After yesterday, my heart also feels great relief and thankfulness and gratitude that my little family is still growing and still going. May we and you and everyone else continue through these storms, clinging to what matters most - our love for each other.

Up All Night (or half of it, anyway)

It is 4:30 in the morning. I should be sleeping. I was sleeping. Quite soundly and quite peacefully. For four hours. Then, Ben decides to go and have an I-ate-a-McDonald's burger-at-9:45 p.m. induced nightmare at 2:45 this morning and cry out, loudly and more than once, in his sleep. Scared the bejesus out of me and woke me UP. And now, here I sit. Awake and churning.

Now I will admit, the McDonald's is sort of my fault. Not much sounds good to me in terms of food right now beyond potatoes, so I have been requesting spuds in various formats for the last week or so. Last night, I settled for a large fry picked up on his way home from watching a basketball game (did I mention our eating out budget always takes a hit in my first trimester? I get tired and lazy and hungry for fries. Fast food is way too convenient to cover all of these bases). But I am not the one who ate the nasty burger and caused all the commotion. Oh, no. And I am also not the one who mumbled "What's going on?" after getting elbowed out of a bad dream and then proceeded to roll over, go back to sleep, and start snoring. Oh, no. Not me. By the way - is that a guy thing? The whole head hits the pillow and out thing? How annoying.

Me? I tossed and turned for over an hour upstairs and then decided I needed a glass of chocolate milk, the only other thing that really sounds good to me these days. So I crept downstairs, got my milk, and decided to camp out on the couch in hopes that a change of scenery would help my shut my brain back off and get some more sleep. But instead I'm still just tossing and turning and being completely and irrationally mad at my poor husband who 1) didn't mean to do it and 2) has no idea I'm even down here. Plus I'm also thinking about Christmas travel, Christmas presents, craft projects, end of the semester grading, food, how much my stomach hurts, how tired I am, how whiny I sound, and how I wish, wish, wish I was sleeping right now.

See, the timing is SO unfair because this is a night when I should be sleeping well and all through the night because we are down one kid for the weekend. Mr. Harrison is off to Grandma and Grandpa's for a final farm visit before the holidays and that should mean lots of rest for Mama. Not that HD is ruining our sleep all the time; most nights he does just fine. But he is our one kid able to have free range in the dark and that means every morning starts by 5:45 (or sometimes earlier) thanks to a potty break, even though he comes in our room and then insists, loudly, when Ben gets up to help him, "I DON'T NEED TO POTTY." OK......Then why are you in here?! is what I say in my head each time this happens. Sure, Raegan occasionally makes noise in the night and wakes me, but she's contained to the crib and typically goes right back to sleep. But let me tell you, there's nothing like having the 3-yr-old barge into your room and then yell that he doesn't want to pee, all well before dawn, to really get the day going. I try, most days, to wake up and choose awesome. But seriously. Every girl's got her limit and my awesome would very much like to start at 6:30, thank you. And while I know that it is ultimately a good thing that HD doesn't want to wet his diaper that we still put on him for bed (hello - that IS the goal of potty training), at 3 or 5 or 6 AM on any given day, I really wish he would just take advantage of the flipping Pamper.

My consolation in all of this? It's now Saturday. Ben is home all day and he can run herd on Raegan for me while I nap all morning. Because eventually my brain will shut down and I will sleep again. It must! 

Belly Watch

Wow. Sometimes, when you're 26, a friend suggests an idea in passing and you think, "That's cute. I should do that." For me, that idea was taking weekly photos of my then first-time-growing-baby-belly. Each Sunday I put on the same clothes, stood in the same spot, and had Ben take a picture of my ever-protruding stomach. Then, I posted each picture to an album on facebook, creating a flipbook of sorts, of my pregnancy.

My poor mother. She was appalled at first, that I was baring my midriff online like that. But then she, like some others, sort of got hooked on the whole thing. I have to admit; I couldn't wait for Sundays when we could take the photo and post it for folks to see the changes. Many of you followed along, posting encouraging comments that helped me adjust to the (many) changes of my pregnant body.

When it was all said and done, and Baby Boy Harrison joined us 12 days before his due date, I took a final picture for the album with him in front of my belly. It was just perfect, really.

Then, 18ish months later, when I was just about to turn 29, I got pregnant for the second time. Of course, one of my first thoughts was, "We have to do the Belly Watch again!" I'm sure that if the first round didn't make some people think, "What is she doing?!", the second one did. Did you all really need to see my ever-growing (and growing even faster) belly every week? Well, no; I know that. But I also knew some of you would get a kick out of it, so I got a new top to wear in my weekly photos, pulled out the black pants again, and started down the road of Baby Welsch Belly Watch Round Two. I wondered, throughout the course of my pregnancy, how many people were trying to compare the size/height/etc. of my bumps between the two albums like I was. I have to say, though, that the thrill was gone some weeks when I realized that taking the photo meant I would actually have to shower and look semi-presentable that day instead of just vegging around the house with my boys.

This time, Baby Girl Raegan decided to take her sweet arse time on arriving, so the Belly Watch continued right up until my due date. Then, five days later, she was finally born and I was able to post the next (and final) week's photo with my adorable little peanut. Again, perfect.

Now I'm 30. I've had two children. Somehow this whole show your tummy thing sounds a little less appealing than it did four years ago. But, because I'm an equal opportunity mama, I'm going to do it again.

Baby Welsch Belly Watch - Round Three? Well, I' at 9 weeks right now and already have a little pooch going (which is quite normal, I would imagine, with Baby No.3 and no abs after No.2), but we'll wait until the traditional 12 Week mark. That gives me a few more weeks to find a new top and new spot for the photos since we no longer live in our little house. Good thing, eh?!

Chocolate Turkey Fail

Every so often at MOPS, we all work on a craft together during our meeting. Sometimes it is just something for us and others it is something we could do at home with our kids. Normally I find these activities quite easy and enjoyable. In fact, none of them have ever been anything but pleasant until yesterday (and by "yesterday" I mean almost three weeks ago). Yesterday we made Chocolate Turkeys and I wanted to curl up on the floor and cry.

Actually, I wanted to hurl.

Sorry. I know that is too much for some of you, but I am still reeling at not only the tiny little chocolate terrors but also the insanity of food aversions during pregnancy. But that is what I experienced yesterday morning and because no one at MOPS knows yet that I'm pregnant, I had to just play along and play nice and make the Chocolate Turkeys.

Side note: So actually, when you read this, you all will know I'm pregnant (or you'll know now!) and some of my verb tenses won't make sense in this story, but I also have a pretty severe case of Mommy Brain these days, so I really can't be bothered to work out all those technical writing rules at the moment. Forgive me!

So. The Turkeys. Here they are:

Nothing really that offensive. Normally I would probably think they were cute and tasty (although I probably wouldn't make them with Harrison because holy-melted-chocolate-mess, Batman, and he probably doesn't need the sugar buzz to give him even more energy than he's already got!). But the very sight of the sample plate they first showed us at the start of the meeting made my stomach flip flop and my skin crawl. I didn't want to touch it or smell it or taste it. NO thank you! But how do you politely refuse or decline an activity when you can't give a good reason for doing so?

They only wanted us to make six turkeys in the first place, so it wasn't like I could feign being on a diet or something like that. Instead, I got up with my table, went into the church kitchen to listen to the instructions and I made my Chocolate Turkeys. Except I could only stomach making four of them (for which people later teased me, but again - what could I say? Or do?!). I was proud of myself for getting that many on my plate.

Carrying them at arm's length, I brought them home after our meeting and tossed them on the counter. The closest I got to them again was to take pictures to help highlight the sheer hilarity of all this. I then told Ben, when he got home from school, that he needed to eat all of them, immediately, but not so much while in my sight. That's really how bad it was for me. And, because he's a good man, he took care of them for me.

Whew. Crisis averted. Stomach saved.

Constant queasiness? Still going strong. Please, please, please, let there be no more chocolate birds in my near future! 

Also? I had no idea Nebraskans used the term "gobbler" for the red fleshy throat thing on a turkey (that I've always called a "wattle"). But that was the word on our instructions for the red icing, and, when I later asked Ben, "What's the red thing on a turkey called?" he responded, "You mean the gobbler?" so I guess that really is a thing here!

"Perfect" Body

It's no secret that music fuels my soul and my life. I love so many forms of it and prefer to be surrounded by it all the time. Lately, though, a particular line from a Regina Spektor song keeps running through my brain:

"I've got a perfect body. But sometimes I forget. I've got a perfect body, because my eyelashes catch my sweat. Yes, they do. They do."(you have to hear Reggie's inflections on the final "do" - this is why I love her stuff)

I keep humming this, not because I'm running around sweating profusely these days (although I do get short winded a LOT and awfully fast), but because when I think about what my body is sustaining right now, I am in flat out awe of Mother Nature and the abilities of the female form.

I realize, with our second and third babies being less than two years apart, some people are going to ask, "Did you guys mean to do that? Were you trying to get pregnant?" I don't know why people feel the need to ask others this question, but it must come from the same place that makes everybody and their crazy uncle think it is OK to 1) comment on a pregnant woman's size and 2) tell a pregnant woman horror stories from their own, or someone they know who knew someone who had, horrific pregnancy experiences. Seriously. Why does the world work like that? But, since it does, I feel like a few people are going to look at me and my growing bump and start to think "Dang, Baby Factory. Slow down."

But here's the thing. We are elated. And it doesn't matter what other people think or sometimes have the gall to say. My reacting to it here is a premptive move, I guess; a steeling of myself against the world. I recognize that comments might come. People may question and wonder what we are doing, but we are building the life we have always wanted, even if it is currently coming at us in rapid motion. Obviously we know where babies come from, so it's not a huge surprise to us that I am pregnant.

Except that IS a huge surprise because last time, when trying to get pregnant for the second time, it took so much longer than anticipated and I thought that nursing was holding me back. It wasn't until several months after being done completely with HD that we were able to get pregnant again. This time, like before, my cycle had returned, so we knew there was a possibility of pregnancy, but based on previous experience, we thought that we wouldn't really be in business until I finished nursing Raegan. And, based on how she eats, we thought that might be quite some time from now. But, it's funny how life works, and apparently Mother Nature decided that I was ready and able to take care of not just myself and my Raegge, but a whole new baby, too. Holy Moly Cow.

All of this takes me back to my dear Regina and her infectious lyrics. I've had a lot of ups and downs in terms of acceptance of my body in my lifetime, and sometimes I forget just how freaking amazing I am. But right now there is no denying how blown away I am by the idea that I can sustain three of us simultaneously. I apologize if that sounds like gloating or bragging; I am not saying my body is any better than that of anyone else. Not at all. I'm just marveling at the fact that this feat is even possible, much less something I am actually experiencing. Just two years ago, when we were trying, trying, trying to get pregnant for the second time, I wasn't even sure my back would allow me to carry another pregnancy (much less the four I'd ultimately like to have). But with time, care, and one amazing chiropractor, I am feeling great in that department, which is such a wonderful blessing.

Now, about the tandem nursing...can't say it is my favorite thing ever, especially as my morning/day/night sickness continues to increase, but for now, we're hanging in there. Because Raegan's only nursing three times a day, I'm going to keep with her for as long as I can because I figure she's really not asking too much of me. In a few weeks or months? Hard to say. I can't say I see us getting to 16 months like I did with Harrison, but I guess you never know. I also thought I would never be in the position to make such a decision, but here I am, singing praises for my "perfect" body.

And what this body is telling me, these days, is that I need to slow the flip diddle down. This week I went from being queasy to full-on sick which was not a fun transition. But what I've noticed is that I feel the worst the day after I try to do too much. Last weekend, after we got back from Thanksgiving travel, I was worthless. Friday, after two very long days and late nights on Wednesday and Thursday, I was so sick that I was out of commission as a human being, much less a parent. Except I was here by myself, trying to take care of my other two babies, so out of commission wasn't really an option. I will say, though, that I did as much couch time as I could and prayed that the day would go swiftly so I would make it until Ben got home, which I did. Barely.

This weekend, I am feeling a little better. But I'm learning pretty quickly that I'm going to have to let some things go. I can't go and do everything I want to right now because I need to slow down. I need to sit. I need to respect everything my body is doing, for the messages it is sending are so very important. Perfect, even.

While it Lasts

For as rough and tumble as he can be, Harrison always seems to want to be quite close quite often. When I curl up on the couch to watch PBS with him, he wants to be sitting on top of me and my blankets. When I give him time to play CampFire, he wants me to play with him, or better yet, he just wants to play while sitting in my lap. Yesterday, I was sitting on the floor with Raegan while he played Angry Birds and before I knew it, he was climbing up, over, and through my arms that were resting on my bent knees, pile driving his way into my space.

Something I read the other day talked about boys and their tackling hugs and overenthusiastic physical contact and I thought, "Oh, my! Oh, yes!" That's my boy! As a little, little one, he was always giving big hugs to other kids. Now he is the kid who comes running at 100 mph to wrap his arms around my legs for a squeeze (and does the same thing to his dad and his grandparents). This is all well and good except it usually means his big ol' noggin is usually crashing into my hip or stomach at the same time. But he means well and I know these moments aren't going to last forever, as the book Let Me Hold You Longer reminds me. 

I can't remember now if my mom gave me this book before or after Raegan was born, but I do remember the first time I read it. I sobbed and sobbed and could hardly read the type by the time I got to the last page. The whole concept is the story of a mother watching her little boy who grows up oh so quickly, and her wishes to hold him longer each step of the way. Sheesh. I can't even write about it without getting misty-eyed because it is so stinking true. How did my little 7 lb. 5 oz. baby boy suddenly become a preschooler who loves solving mysteries and playing Angry Birds?!

So lately I've been embracing all of those too hard, too fast embraces from Harrison. Like I told Ben last night, it's likely that in ten years or less, HD isn't going to want to be anywhere near me, so I might as well take advantage of every time he does right now. Truth is, I love that I am someone he wants to be near. I don't mind the often sticky and often hot little hands that sit on mine when I read to him or play CampFire with him, or the not-so-little feet that wiggle in next to me when we sit on the couch. It doesn't matter how big he gets; he will always be my sweet baby boy and I will always be asking for one more (tackling) hug.

Little Peanut

People ask or make comments about Raegan, quite often, that always go a little something like this: "She's little. Is she little? She seems little." And the reason I hear that stuff all the time is because it's true. Raegan is such a little peanut.

At 9 months, she weighed a little over 18 lbs. A week and a half ago, when I took her in for her 12 month Well Baby visit, she weighed 18 lbs., 7 oz. As you can probably imagine, that's not great weight gain for three months time. And whereas everything else at the exam was great, our doctor was visibly concerned about this. There are no nutritional or developmental concerns at this point, but still, she went from the 50th percentile of weight down to the 12th. In three months. Now I don't think our doc thinks I'm not feeding her, but he did ask, straight away, how she's been eating because that is clearly a big drop.

Well, let me tell you....

Feeding Raegan is not easy. This does not mean I don't try. We do three meals, two snacks, and three nursing sessions a day, but each one is an exercise or workout (of both the body and spirit, some days). But, for whatever reason, she just gets in these moods, quite often, where she doesn't want to eat.

A few months ago we were still nursing probably 5-6 times a day. About a month or two ago, that trimmed down to a solid four feedings from me. Some moms I know talk about how they miss nursing or hate it when the baby starts to wean; they miss that sweet connection time with their littles. Now, I will stand by my previous claims that Raegge is the happiest, smiliest, sweetest baby I know, but nursing her is rarely happy, smiley, or sweet. She is just too darn wiggly. And squirmy. And grabby. Seriously. When I sit down in the rocker and place her on the boppy, I have to prepare myself for moving hands and feet and, before long, her entire body. These days, she barely nurses for 5-8 minutes and then she's twisting off my lap, ready to go again. We haven't started any whole milk yet, but I'm thisclose to trying it. Part of me hates to give up nursing her because I think she still needs nutrients from my milk, but the rest of me will not miss the thrice-daily wrestling match.

Although we were a little late to start (maybe 6 1/2 or 7 months old?), we began introducing solids a while ago and followed much the same path that we did with Harrison. And Harrison is a wonderful eater; always has been. But I do have to admit, I have sucked big time at making baby food this time around. With HD, I barely bought any baby food from the store. With Raegan, it's been pretty much the opposite; most of her stuff has been jarred. I don't know if that has made the difference or if it is their personalities or preferences or what, but different they are. By this age, Harrison was eating all kind of food and certainly not all pureed. Raegan, as much as we keep trying and offering, doesn't seem to want anything to do with "real" food. She like yogurt and sometimes does cheese. And, of course, crunchy things like crackers and Cherrios, etc. But even bananas and ripe pears have been slow going, and steamed or chunked veggies or meats or pasta? Nope. Not having it.  You would not believe how much food ends up on our floor at each meal thanks to this little girl!

As an added bonus, Raegan is a noisy little squawker at the table. I mean, this girl is LOUD. We've taught her the signs for "more" and "please" but there is far more lunging at the table and squawking going on than polite little baby signs. Or she makes the signs and then yells anyway. I mean, whatever...it's just that I apparently gave birth to a child who is part pterodactyl. The real problem is that even when we give her whatever she's hollering for, she often just chucks it on the floor. So why is she yelling in the first place? I have no clue. And, because she's the baby, she gets away with it, which is terribly confusing, as you might imagine, for her 3-yr-old big brother who is not supposed to be dumping food on the floor.

As I often find myself saying (now that I have children and no longer try to swear so much): Goodness Graciousness.

We go back in three months for RL's next Well Baby. Hopefully we'll have made some progress with the eating and the weight gain by then, but I don't know. Right now Raegan is on the verge of walking and, as you know, she climbs all the time, so she is going to have start eating a LOT to actually get some calories to stick on her little bod. I think that's the other thing our doctor doesn't fully understand. When I say my children are active, I mean they move all the time, never sit still for a second. So how on earth are they ever going to get big? Even Harrison, my good eater, has never been a brute; it took him until age 15 months to cross the 20 lb. mark, and it looks like Little Sis might be taking more like 18+ to get there!

Noise and mess and frustration aside, we will keep trying. I'm really hoping she isn't going to have a big aversion to textures or anything like that. I guess at this point, we can't really know. We just have to keep offering (and plugging our ears and sweeping our floors!).

Letter of the Week

When we attended Harrison's Open House for preschool in August, one of the very first things they explained to the group of parents was Sharing Time. Each week, or most weeks, I guess, would be assigned a letter. On Tuesday of that week, each child would be able to bring in a sharing item that began with the week's assigned letter. Simple, cute, and easy peasy, or so I thought then.

Actually, the first week really was easy. It probably won't take you long guess to what Harrison chose (hint: it rhymes with Schmangry Nerd). And the next few weeks weren't too terrible, either, although I realized by Week D that we don't really have very many "big kid" toys in our house. We have dinosaurs, of course, which is what HD took for that day, but they aren't real or scary looking by any means. Not that I think those are appropriate for a 3-yr-old to be taking to school...but it seems that a lot of our toys lean toward the younger, babyish, book, or educational sets (a.k.a. not always cool for school). Perhaps this is my subconscious helicopter trying to shield my son from dark and scary? I don't know. But now, with each new week and letter, I find myself scratching my head and wondering if I should go to the store and buy some flipping new toy that would meet the letter and age requirements for preschool.

Of course I have not done that. We always find something that works, even if it takes two or three of us scouring the house to find an appropriate Sharing Time item. But somehow, Sharing Time has become quite the growing process for us...

The dinosaur was a great pick, but ended up in semi-disaster because we forgot to get it out of his back pack that day. I always walk in with Harrison to help him get his coat and bag off before RL & I make a mad dash back to the house for her morning nap. D Day happened to be the day picture orders were due, so I was far more concerned about handing off that paperwork and didn't think to help Harrison get his dinosaur out of his bag before we left. When I came to pick him up later that morning, he was in tears by the time we got to the van because he didn't get to share his item during Sharing Time. Apparently the kids all put their items in a box in the classroom and then the teacher pulls them out and asks the owner to share. Because HD tells me nothing about school, I had no idea this was the protocol. No idea it was his job (or, in his head, my job to help him) to get his item from his bag to the box. So we did an impromptu sharing there in the van where I held up the toy, asked who it belonged to and then listened as he told me about it. Whew for thinking on my feet. Crisis averted!

We spent the next week talking about how we would help each other remember to get his next sharing item from his bag. Seriously - all week we discussed it and obviously we did just that the following Tuesday, even though I cannot for the life of me remember now what he took for "E" that week. It was the week after that that caused us more heartache. On Letter "F"'s day, when I came back to collect him, his teacher was carrying his firetruck. I thought nothing of it until she handed it to me, explaining that he did not get to share it that day because he wouldn't sit down during sharing time. Alright then. Totally understand and appreciate the rule and her adherence to it. But you can probably imagine what we spent that next week talking about!

Letter G and Letter H, no problems...a gorilla and a hat and we were good. But now tomorrow is Letter I and I have hit another wall. Honestly. The only things I could think of (because let's face it - because I am part helicpoter, this is more my assignment than it is his) were ice cream, instant coffee, and Isotoners. I don't even own Isotoners any more and didn't really think the other two were great options for putting in his school bag, you know? Then I thought of igloo and instrument but yeah right on either of those. We love music but have no toy instruments beyond some baby toys that I knew he would instantly reject (because, I promise, he does have final say in the picking, even if I do a lot of the finding).

My next option? Google. I kid you not. This morning I typed "preschool sharing item I" into the almighty Google. And even if it failed! Well, not really, but it did not give me the magical list of Letter I items appropriate for a 3-yr-old to take to preschool for Sharing Time for which I was hoping. Really Google? Thanks a lot. But it did lead me to a list of preschool crafts for the Letter I which is where I discovered Insect. Even as I type this, I am laughing at myself because of just how Idiotic and Insane this makes me sound (which the laughing at myself probably doesn't help). But there you have it - a tired, frazzle-brained mama's desperate attempt to keep from leaving her young son once again traumatized by the Sharing Time box. 

INSECT! I thought. Perfect! But then I realized, once again, as Harrison and I searched the playroom, that we have no little toy bugs or anything that isn't babyish besides a little board book about insects and an insect catching Melissa and Doug puzzle. *Sigh*

So what is the final verdict for tomorrow's item? Well, it is entirely possible that he will be taking the foam letter "I" from our playmat in the living room which he discovered after we gave up on the playroom search. At this point, I'm just glad we made it until November before we had to resort to such measures!

================================================

Thanks to the pure genius and creativity of friends and family reading and responding to this post, we were able to come up with an entire list of I items (eat that, Google!). Harrison's ultimate choice was an ice cube tray, which took some time to locate, but locate we did and it is safely at school with him now and even out of his backpack. Score, Welschies! Never before had it occurred to me that household items were OK; this opens a whole new world of possibilities for the weeks to come! 

And also thanks to the beauty of the Internets, a friend reading this post suggested keeping a list of these items so we don't lose our minds when we go through this again next year. Brilliant, my dear! I have thought more than once, "How are we am I going to do this every week for a whole second time?!?!" But I had never thought to keep track of what we already brought. Since I can't think of a place where I can write a list and keep it for a whole year without losing it, I will just continue to update this page. And, to my relief, I remembered our "E" item last night. Again, whew!

A = Angry Bird
B = B Block
C = Clock (Fisher Price old school cool)
D = Dinosaur
E = Engine (Percy flashlight)
F = Fire truck
G = Gorilla
H = Hat (of the chef variety)
I = Ice cube tray
J = Jenni (picture of Mama)
K = Keys on a Keychain 
L = Lego Light Man (lego dude that doubles as a headlamp)
M = Monkey
N = Napkin
O = Owl hat (this felt like cheating, but so be it)
P = Piggie (from Angry Birds, of course)
Q = Quarters
R = Remote
S = Stripey Guy (stuffed animal thing with stripes)
T = Thomas the Train
U = Uncle John (or a picture of him, anyway; but saving this one for next year b/c HD was sick and missed this day)
V = Vegetable (of the plastic variety)
W = Watermelon (also plastic)
X = Xray
Y = missed this week due to illness - Yellow Bird would be my guess for what he would have picked had he gone to school this day
Z = Zebra (duh?!)

The Extras:
Something Thankful For: Book (I'll Teach My Dog 100 Words, I believe)
Ornament: Two homemade ones from Grandma Deb's little Christmas tree
Something Loved: Moo Cow (of course)

Get Out the Vote

Today, like the rest of this election cycle, I focused on my children. Harrison had preschool this morning and, thanks to the time change over the weekend, we were up bright and early and breakfasted and ready to go well before school began. Since we had the time, I asked him if he wanted to come with me to vote before school. Originally I had planned to go before picking him up when all I had to do was carry Raegan on my hip and not worry about lines or waiting or any of that jazz.

Of course, because he's an enthusiastic kid in general, HD was pumped. "Vote? We get to vote?! Yay!!!!!!!" was his response. So after brushing teeth and shimmying into shoes and coats and hats, we were out the door. [Full disclosure, though? Daniel Tiger's Neighborhood is Harrison's all-time newest and most favoritest show on PBS and last week or so, they ran an episode about voting; otherwise, I don't think he'd have a clue as to what it is or means....]

My polling location changed this year, so I didn't quite know what to expect for parking and crowds. Compared to any city or metropolitan area, I know I still had it quite easy in both regards, but the fact that I had to turn around twice before finding a parking spot and then walked in to a line of 15ish people caught me off guard. We only had thismuch time before school started and I didn't know if we'd make it in time with the wait.

I thought about bailing, but Harrison was so darn excited about the whole experience, that I decided to just stick it out. We got in line and began our wait.

In total, the whole experience from arrival to departure only took about 20 minutes. Again, nothing compared to those who wait hours or half a day or don't get to vote because of some silly error or ID issue. I am a proud citizen, always happy to exercise my right to vote, and this morning I was proud to be there with my children.

Harrison was fantastic. He stayed right by my side the entire time. Granted, a couple times he was crawling through my legs as if they were a tunnel, but he was quiet and calm and very, very, very patient for a 3-yr-old who is supposed to be on his way to preschool. Raegan also did very well, snuggling up on my shoulder and making eyes at a few of the others also waiting in line. We all chit-chatted about the new polling spot, not knowing why our line had so many and the other had none, and, of course, the weather. One man even commented on how patient Harrison was being; he was, of course, my new favoritest person of the day.

Then, magically, it was my turn to vote. I signed in, got my ballot, and then tried to figure out how I was going to quickly read and fill out my choices, all while holding a baby and keeping an eye on said 3-yr-old. I realized pretty quickly, after she tried to grab my pencil three times, that Raegan had to go to the floor. That also gave Harrison something to do, as he followed her over to the table she crawled to, and together, they played and made peekaboo faces at the older ladies working our precinct. I went as fast as I could and then it was time for stickers and a mad dash to the van so we could get to school (which we managed and only a few minutes late).

Harrison and I wore our stickers all day.

Then it was time for Daddy and Harrison to go vote this evening after haircuts. Again, HD got very excited, asking, "Can I vote?!" We had to explain that he still wasn't old enough, but I promised him that I would have voting waiting for him when he got home.

Here is what I came up with while the boys were gone:

Good thing, too, because it was the first thing he asked about as soon as they walked back in the door.

I read the ballot to him, handed him a pen, and let him vote for which stickers he wanted to make art with tomorrow morning.

His choice? (even though he later changed it to Ocean) Sports!

Four years ago, before children, I was far more vocal about my political stance. While I certainly don't care any less now (in fact, I probably care more), I made a conscious choice to stay out of the political fray this year, especially on facebook. I've been insulted and called names and poo-poo'ed, all indirectly, by friends and family members sharing their opinions online and I decided I just didn't want to go there this time. Like I said, I am a proud citizen and always happy to vote. Today, I was also a proud mama, happy to be sharing this great privilege and great responsibility with my two greatest accomplishments in this world. I want them to know that everyone has a voice and deserves to be able to make that voice heard; voting is how we do that.

While part of me wishes that our choices could be as simple as Harrison's ballot, the rest of me understands that just isn't our world or our political climate. Today feels like a big day. Come what may and no matter if we agree or disagree, I hope you also made your voice heard.

Raegan Leigh

This last year has been, in some ways, a beautiful blur.

How did we go so quickly from this:

 

 To this:

Then this:

And, one week ago, this:

How is it even possible that my sweet surprise baby girl is already one year old?!

For the last week or so, I've been thinking a lot about what life was like a year ago...when I was pregnant up to my eyeballs and wondering with each new day if Baby Welsch No. 2 was ever going to make his/her appearance.

Well, appear she did, and amazing she is.

From the very first moment, Raegan has impressed me with her strength and her happiness and her pure joy and enthusiasm for life. She is such a love. As a family unit we've gone through some major successes and some major bumps (hello - sleep?!) in the last year, but through it all, this little girl with her infectious grin kept me smiling and kept me going. I will never be able to repay her for all the wonder and cheer she has brought me, but you can sure bet I will spend the rest of my days trying to make my gratitude known in hugs and kisses and snuggles and encouraging words, for she deserves and inspires all of those things.

Lately Raegan has been my girl. As in, we've entered a little bit of a clingy stage, but more specifically, clingy-to-mama stage. Although it is sometimes frustrating to have her whine or cry out when I try to step away for a minute, it is also so sweet to be needed and loved so deeply. I know it won't be long before she's able to do so much more all by herself, so I'm choosing to enjoy the fact that, for the moment, she still very much needs me. With each day, though, she gets better at taking steps, communicating, and connecting with people. I cannot wait to see where in the world this great big heart in this teeny little girl will go. Or what it will do. Pretty sure she'll be spreading smiles and love no matter where the path leads.

Happy First Birthday, Raegan Leigh! You are such a loved Love.

Something Small

There have been several days/nights recently where it has been the All Mama All the Time show again at our house. Ben has been involved with some meetings/groups at school that have had him hopping after school and in the evenings, so it has been up to me to run the kids all day, evening, and night on more than one occasion. Plenty of mamas do this all the time or for far longer stints, and for that, I give them great credit. For me, some days, doing that is a stretch; either my patience or energy runs low and I snap. At least, that is certainly how it was several months ago when we were in the dark place of no sleep.

Currently we're sleeping pretty well (amazingly well by our own standards, actually), minus the fact that RL just refused to take an afternoon nap today (what the what?). Perhaps that is why I've been able to handle these All Day All Me stints with more grace and less yelling. Perhaps the few small changes I've made to my mindset are beginning to take hold. I don't know. But I do know I've been able to slow down a bit more and experience my time with my kids instead of just survive it, and for that, I am most grateful.

All that being said, I was happy to sneak away from the house for 40 minutes yesterday afternoon while Ben was between meetings. He had one break in the day and I gladly took his availability to stay with the kids to take a break for myself. Well, sort of for myself. I used that time to run to the grocery store to get things for our family. Does that count as me time? I think it does because I got to be in public in broad daylight without children which is obviously rare.

After grabbing my list and hopping in the car, I buzzed up to Walmart. On my way, though, I noticed a couple with their dog(s?) at the corner of the access road that leads to the store. We don't have many homeless people that I see all that often in Hastings (although I know they exist), but this is one spot where, every-so-often, you'll find someone with a sign asking for food or work or whatever.

Although I always take note of the person (or people), I have never done anything to help them. We're not in the habit of carrying cash (even though we love Dave Ramsey) and it seems that I always forget to pick up any extras when I'm in Walmart, so it never fails that when I drive by them on my way home, I have nothing to offer by means of help. Yesterday, thanks to the lack of distraction in the form of my two small cuties, I decided I would definitely do something for this couple.

Several weeks ago, I found an idea on Pinterest called Blessings Bags; essentially they were Ziploc bags filled with granola bars, toiletries, and other small items that could be made in bulk and then handed out as needed when out and about. I stuck it under my ideas for Wee Ones, thinking it was something we could do to teach our kids about compassion for others, plus they could also work as donations to our local shelter since, like I said, we don't often run across folks that are obviously homeless. Yesterday, though, I decided I would skip the Ziploc and just round up a few items to put together in a sack from the store that I could hand out the window on my return trip.

My trip through the store was a bit rushed. I didn't have much time since Ben had another meeting to get to, plus I kept thinking, what if they leave?, but I did manage to grab a few extra items along with all those on my grocery list. I got protein bars, toothbrush/floss/toothpaste travel kits, hand sanitizer, and even a bag of treats for the dog(s?). I knew that last one was not essential, but I wanted them to know that I really saw them (even if today I can't remember if it was one or two dogs); just because people are struggling doesn't meant they don't deserve the love of an animal in their lives.

I felt compelled to do something, even a small something, because I know I have been so blessed. Any sort of blessing I can share with another, in a bag, or through an act of kindness, or a smile or whatever, is something that allows me to give back to the world in thanks for what I have received. Ben and I have to make careful choices with our money in order for me to be able to stay home with our kids. One choice we've always made, though, is a giving column in our budget that allows us to give to a church or a social group or school fundraisers or public programs or anyone that just flat out needs it. It is proportiante to our income, so we can't always give as much as we'd like, but we are always happy to give. In turn, I was happy to know that without even running it by him, my husband would fully support the small donation that I made to that couple yesterday afternoon. In total it probably added up to about $15.00 worth of goods, so nothing much in the grand scheme of things, but hopefully it was something they could find sustaining, helpful, or at least thoughtful.

Because I tend to get a little worked up about things (OK, life in general), I was practically shaking when I pulled up to the corner. At first I think they were expecting me, like all the other cars, to just keep rolling past them. Instead, I rolled down my window and leaned forward so the man could see my face. I lifted the bag up from the front seat as he came over to collect it and told him that I hoped he had a nice day. Without even knowing what was in the bag, his face lit up and he thanked me, saying, "Oh, wow. Wow. Thank you. You have a good day, too."

Window up. Stop sign observed. Car rolling forward. That was it. That and the tears I felt welling up in my eyes because, again, I know how very blessed I am in this life.

So here's to loving well, living fully, and making a difference, even when it it is small. I can't wait to do this again, and hopefully the kids will be with me next time; I think that we teach so much by example, and I'm excited for the opportunity to teach Harrison (and his baby sis) about reaching out to others.

Celebrations! (The Best/Worst Idea)

At the end of last week and over last weekend, Harrison experienced some regression on potty training. That's as far as I'll go into the details, though, in hopes of sparing you the fun and hilarity that Ben and I got to experience in regards to cleaning up that regression. We had no idea what brought on the sudden relapse, but we knew we needed something to get HD back on track. Because really, he's been doing so well, especially considering how long we waited to start and how little time we had between the end of daytime diapers and the start of school.

We are what, seven weeks into preschool now? Not once has Harrison come home in different clothes than what he wore to school. Call me crazy, but I celebrate that every time I go to pick him up on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Not out loud, mind you....but in my head, I do a little proud mama happy dance because that's exactly what I am.

So when it came time to devise Motivation, we picked two "prizes" if Harrison could go all day with no accidents. The first was listening to his No.1 favorite music which is currently a CD from VBS that Grandma Deb gave him last year; he hasn't listened to it in a long time but recently rediscovered it and he wants to hear track one on that CD all. the. time. So, that one was easy peasy; no accidents equals listening to Pandamania before supper.

The second reward also came pretty naturally, thanks to Project 137. One of our recent prompts was to always carry birthday candles with us, for one never knows when one might need to celebrate. Fair enough, right? Well, I must confess, I didn't exactly toss a package of candles into my already full diaper bag or purse when I first read this prompt. But I did dig them out of the cupboard Monday night just before supper because I thought that Harrison would love the idea of lighting and blowing out a blue candle stuck in a muffin as part of a dinner celebration of no accidents that day. Side note: if you don't already know this, my son is a huge fan of muffins (and the color blue). Pretty much any day we have muffins is a good day, as far as he is concerned.

Turns out, if you combine muffins and a birthday candle, Harrison is one happy, happy boy! His face was glowing and he clapped and wiggled in his seat while we cheered him on and congratulated him on being accident free for the day. He was so excited that we were celebrating him. And his success. With a muffin! AND a candle!! Best prompt/inspiration ever.

So flash forward to tonight. We've had a good week, especially in terms of potty training. Harrison has made it through every day this week, including through Quiet Time (which is notoriously dangerous territory) and a playdate at our house (which is usually when he gets so distracted with play that he forgets to remember the bathroom in time) with no accidents. Fantastic! Another accident-free day in the books meant our fifth dinner celebration tonight via the candle in the muffin trick. And, because it's been a while since my last post, I decided I wanted to write about Harrison's celebrations and illustrate it with pictures, of course. So I grabbed the camera and got ready to document.

Here is his celebration:

Fun, right?


Well, I also thought it would be fun to get a picture of him with his celebration. So I helped him get into his seat at the table and then set this in front of him. Then I started to fiddle fart with the camera, trying to change the setting so I could get a good shot, all the while telling him to, "Wait, Honey! Just wait. Don't blow it out yet! Waaaaiiiiiiit!"

Hello. The kid is three. Three-year-olds are not well known for their patience or attention spans. So while I was still messing with my camera (why did I change the function to macro to take the dang picture of the muffin?!), he leaned in to investigate the celebration burning brightly in front of him, and before I knew it (or got the 'effin picture that was so darn pressing), he starts hollering, grabbing his face, and crying.

Yep, just when I thought I was going to get my nomination for Mama of the Year (or at least Clever Mama Moment of the Week), I was demoted to Mama Reject (or at least Mama Ditz) for putting a burning candle in front of my preschooler and then expecting him to sit and wait patiently with the ignited flame while I took his picture with said fire. Brilliant, huh?

Thankfully, Harrison was not seriously hurt or burnt. Ben swooped in to grab and blow out the candle and I got an ice pack to help cool off HD's face. I think he just got too close, realized how dang hot the thing was, and freaked out. Now that I think about it, the reaction might have had something to do with their preschool field trip from yesterday to the fire station...but that's OK; I would like my son to be fearful of some things and fire is definitely one thing to be cautious around.

Besides completely failing and freaking out my child, I thought I probably just ruined half of my potty reward program. As he was trying to calm down, Harrison was wiping tears from his face and saying, "I don't want to blow out the candle. I don't want the candle!" almost as if he thought we were going to force him to try it again. Poor kid!

No, Honey....Mama will not stick any more flaming celebrations in your face against your will and then demand you sit with it for a photo opp.

But, the beauty of a three-year-old's attention span may be my saving grace here. In a classic moment of preschooler flip-flop, Harrison then said he wanted the candle again for his celebration. So we lit it one more time, and instead of setting it directly in front of Little Man, Ben held it up and away from him; then, together, the three of us did our best Big Bad Wolf impression and blew it out from a nice, safe distance.

Whew. 

If You're Happy and You Know It...

As part of Project 137, one of our constant reminders to is to come at life, people, and the world-at-large from a place of love. And then assume that all others are doing the same...even the prickly ones. This is hard for a person like me who often takes life and all its moments quite personally, but I am trying and I think I'm even improving. Between P137 and my MOPS book club where we are reading the Power of a Positive Mom, and, let's be honest, some better nights of sleep, I feel my overall attitude and approach lifting.

So imagine my surprise last night when I arrived on campus early to get ready to teach and a woman who works in my building greeted me, in the entryway, with a sarcastic and worried, "Well, you sure look ready for class. Are you OK for class tonight? Do you feel up to it? Are you sure?" Or something along those lines. I honestly can't remember her exact words, but that was the gist of it and the gist is what bothered me.

As she started, I really thought the "You sure look" was going to end with a "ready for Fall" because I had on one of my favorite scarves. Or maybe a "sleek" or "great" or "nice" because I actually had time to straighten and do my hair yesterday. But no, no compliment came and instead I found myself trying to smile, laugh and then defend my overall attitude and demeanor to this person who is pretty much a stranger but felt compelled to ask me such personal questions. "Oh, yes. I'm great. Fully caffeinated, even!" was my response as I tried to just keep moving and get to my classroom so I could get away from her and shake off the whole thing.

This is the same woman who told me, "You look sad" one night last spring when my class was taking a ten minute break. Geez, Lady! Really?! I guess I shouldn't have been surprised by last night's comment based on her previous track record, but why does anyone feel compelled to say such things?

And why does it bother me so much?

Well, last spring, it probably bothered me because it was true. Or at least partly true. I was sad. Or at least very, very tired and very, very stressed which probably equals sad in some way or another. I didn't like that she could see that on my face because, like so many of us, I try to keep that stuff to myself (except for when I write, of course, and then it all comes pouring out).

Last night, it bothered me because I felt I had done nothing "wrong" or "negative".  I couldn't understand why she would say this two seconds after I entered the building. Clearly she had watched me walk in from my car by myself, and no, I was not skipping or singing or laughing as I did so, but that makes me look like I'm not happy to be there? Not ready to face the world? In fact, I was pretty darn thrilled to be on campus so early because I had much to do and was grateful to have the time to do it. Plus, just sayin'... my hair looked awesome.

But here's what I realized as I thought about the whole encounter: I am not a goofy-grinned-not-a-care-in-the-world kind of girl. I'm just not. And that's OK. I am a happy person, even if I'm not slapstick about it. I am working on becoming a more positive one, too, which is why I'm going to assume that this woman's misplaced questions come from a place of compassion, not ridicule. The seriousness that people might see in me does not make me broken. It is just a part of me that is lovely as the other parts. My serious side is a reflection of the dedication and purpose I feel in my life. It is part of my drive and my determination.

Last time I checked, those are good attributes to have.

Should I have to defend those attributes to her or you or myself? No. But apparently she's bound and determined to keep pushing me on it, so I will have to keep thinking so I can respond to and approach her in a way that is kind, not reactive. I will also have to keep reminding my (sensitive) self that other people (and especially this woman) neither define me nor determine my outlook on the world. I do.

Even if I don't go around clapping my hands, stomping my feet, or shouting "Hooray!" all the time, I've still got a heart full of love and hope for great things to come. And they do. Every day.

So take that, Miss You Sure Look! (OK - that's neither kind nor nonreactive...see! I told you I needed to keep thinking about that!)

My Little Mountain Goat

For all the run-around that Harrison gave me as a baby and toddler, I must say - he was never a climber or a jumper. Of course he could get up on things, but he was just more content to stay on one level for his daily (I mean day-long) activity. And the lack of jumping? I was honestly beginning to wonder if we had a problem at age two because he still wasn't doing much of it, but now he leaps and hops and flops with the best of them. No worries!

Enter Raegan. While she's still too little for jumping (I should knock on wood, otherwise she'll start doing it tomorrow), she is a climbing machine. Seriously. The child is either part monkey or part mountain goat or perhaps both.

As soon as she was mobile (which was what - six months or before?!), she's been taking the high road. Literally. If she can find a route that includes pulling herself up and over something, she's much happier than to have a wide open path. Pillows, blankets, toys, books, people - doesn't matter. Just give the girl something to climb over and she's good.

And while I'm shocked to report that we still don't have actual walking, I think I understand why. This kid is just a climber. Yes, she's still pulling herself up on things and turning non-walker-toys into walkers on a regular basis. But lately, this is her favorite thing to do:

Notice the pattern? Not only does she love chairs, she loves to get up on them all by herself. Not only does she like to get up on them, she likes to stand on them. See?! She has to be part mountain goat! And of course she is the cutest little mountain goat I've ever seen, but still. She is going to give me heart failure.

My mother-in-law has this famous story about Ben that relates (and also allows me to officially call Raegan His Child as I do whenever the children do something for which I don't want to take credit). Apparently, when Mr. Ben was a mere 18 months old, he climbed a ladder. To the roof! They were outside with him, doing a project and all of the sudden, there he wasn't. Turns out, the little stinker just scooted himself right up on and right on up a ladder that was leaning against their house. Heaven help me! At least he waited until he was 18 months; I have a feeling Raegan's going to end up in the most precarious places well before then....

This is our play constructure. We've had it since June. It was intended to be for Harrison, at least for the first year or so. A couple weeks ago, Ben discovered that Little Miss could navigate the ladder pretty much all on her own. He stands there as a spotter, but she really doesn't need it (well, of course she does, but in her mind, I think she's all, "I GOT this."). Check it out:

See how easy that is for her?!

And then, she pushed a chair over to the wall/little bookcase the other day, to do this:

I guess we had better be pretty darn careful about leaving any ladders up against the house, huh? Otherwise she'll be up on the rooftop, just like her daddy in no time. Did I ever mention that Ben and I come from some highly competitive families? It would so be like our kids to want to beat our records, especially of the really important stuff like rooftop ascension age. ;) Actually, I think we better be pretty darn careful about leaving any sort of climbing leverage anywhere...no surface is going to be safe with this little monkey in the house!

In the Woods

So it has almost been two months since we did the whole Sleep Shuffle thing with Raegan. I have to say, in two months, we've come a long way in improving our quality of sleep and quality of life. That being said, I'm beginning to wonder if my house/family is just always going to be running a little bit on Tired....

The Shuffle itself took about two weeks. After that, Raegan was an absolute Rock Star putting herself to bed at night AND at nap time as well. ROCK STAR. We still had night wakenings there for a while, but those rapidly diminished in frequency and intensity, which was great.

Now Raegan did lose some weight during that time which kind of freaked out one of our local lactation consultants, but really, it makes sense. 1) I wasn't nursing every 2-3 hours all night, every night (which, I refuse to feel bad about considering RL was a 10-mo-old at the time, not a newborn!) 2) She moves All. The. Time. It was remarkable that she gained any weight this summer; losing a little bit hasn't seemed to bothered her at all. We've since stepped up the solids and she appears to be just fine.

The real problem, after sleep training RL to put herself to sleep (and back to sleep during the night) was that she started waking up really freaking early every morning. Like 5:00 a.m. early. And did I mention she was screaming as soon as she awoke? All the books say not to get the kiddo up before 6:00 at the very earliest, so there were some mornings we endured a lot of unhappy baby before "officially" starting our day. Not fun. Harrison would often get up during this time, too, so once again we all started walking around a bit like zombies. We tried putting her down later but no dice. She would still wake early and pissed, and then she was running on even less sleep the next day because of the later bed time which made her day sleep harder to figure out as well. And so on and so on for a few weeks. Not a fun cycle.

Then, a couple weeks ago, Raegen started stretching closer to rising at 6:00. Brilliant! We were loving it. A couple days she even made it to our magic goal time of 6:30. Even more Brilliant! Even more loving it!

Around this same time, though, Harrison decided to revisit his old Jack-in-the-box habits from shortly after Baby Sis was born and started coming in our room at all hours of the night. As in, we are now back to the two, sometimes three, visits from him on a lot of nights. Sometime Ben can just walk him back and be done with it. Other times HD wants to go to the bathroom (Side Note: for the life of him, he will not pee in his diaper at night. I know this is a good thing. I know this is the ultimate goal of potty training. But for the Love of Pete, please just stay asleep in your bed and pee in your diaper so I can stay asleep, too!). And then on the other-other times, he wants to get really upset and have a mid-night-melt-down for reasons we really can't determine.

Ugh. Once again, I am SO tired. Whereas Ben can often just fall back to sleep after any and all of these little incidents, I often get woken up completely and have to do all of the (for me, rather hard) work of falling back asleep. So at best I'm back to getting two-to-three-to-sometimes-four hours of sleep in a row. Mama needs MORE!

To top of the sleep mayhem, Raegan has quit being a happy-go-to-sleep-er. Just in the last week she has decided that she needs to be mad Mad MAD before bed, especially, and often before nap as well. I have no idea why this changed. Before she was honestly going down often without a peep. Sometimes the "peeps" now last as long as 25 or 30 minutes which is longer than when we first started sleep training.

Again, Ugh.

I apologize. I don't mean to complain and really I'm not trying to do that here. I wanted to update those of you who have been with us through our sleep struggles and let you know that while we've made progress, we're not out of the woods yet. Something tells me one never leaves the woods - they just keep changing. But isn't that parenthood in general? Just when you think you've got something figured out, the kid changes and it is once again, Day One.

These Hands

Baby feet (and in particular, baby toes) get a lot of attention. They are so little, so sweet, and so soft. Endless and countless games of This Little Piggy happen because baby feet are wonderful.

I am not arguing this notion at all. I too am a big fan of Little Piggies and all the joys that accompany them. But here is what I really love....

That would be Miss Raegan's hand. And let me tell you, baby hands are also the best thing in the whole world.

A friend once called them starfish hands, and while I would not want actual starfish stuck to me in any way, shape, or form, I do love having the so little, so sweet, and so soft fingers of a little one glommed onto me. And that is exactly what Raegan's been doing lately. Did you notice? Those little fingers are holding my very own thumb.

Here is another view:

Although Raegan did take her first steps a week or so ago (Yay! and WOW!), she is not walking. She has also entered that 9-12 month clingy stage, so she really wants to be right there with me a lot. That means that, like many mamas in the world, I swing my baby girl up on my hip when we move from room to room or place to place. And this thumb grabbing has been her response. It is like my finger is a handle for her to grasp and every time I notice her doing it, I have to smile.

Yes, the thumb handle is great. Much better than the armpit pinching she does every time we sit down to nurse. Apparently Little Miss thinks I'm going to drop her when I'm shifting her around on the Boppy before we settle in to nurse, because whichever hand is closest to my arm inevitably ends up grabbing on (a.k.a pinching!) for dear life. And while I have never dropped her, I guess I can understand her concern in these moments and can't really blame her for hanging on (and for getting my attention each and every time with the pinch to say, "Hey, Lady! Don't drop me!").

Truth is, she's always finding ways to express herself. Much like her brother (and my brother), Raegan has very expressive eyebrows. She wiggles and waggles and raises them, telling us all kinds of stories with her face. But her hands are also wonderful, expressive tools. She claps all the time and loves to point (mostly to herself in mirrors when I am carrying her around the house). Her latest and most favorite trick, though, is waving.

In the last few weeks, Raegan has begun waving all the time. She clearly already knows what "hello" and "goodbye" mean because she starts opening and closing her fingers and/or moving her wrist back and forth whenever she hears someone extend one of these greetings. When Daddy leaves for school each morning and says, "Goodbye!" from the door, she waves. When I come in from the next room to find her playing and say, "Hi!" to her, she waves. But the best is her greeting her adoring public each time I open the door to go outside. 80% of the time we don't actually see any other people, but she leaves the house smiling and waving almost every time. Such a Love, this girl!

Yes, these hands are precious and full of life. They are also feisty and quick and have already learned how to get into all sorts of mischief (can we say, "Hello, Too Tall with the Stretching and Reaching?!" She attacked the toilet paper roll in the bathroom yesterday!). But they are so, so dear. And because I know those little fingers (and toes) are just going to keep growing and growing, I'm taking a minute to appreciate them exactly as they are right now.

Inquiring Minds

So a funny thing has been happening in our house lately. Harrison has been walking around singing songs and telling stories that I know absolutely nothing about. Not the words, not their authors...nothing! 

This morning, after breakfast, he started doing a dance in the dining room, while giving out these instructions: "Two steps to the right. Two steps to the left. Clap your knees. Ugh. That's really hard. I can't do that. Now three steps forward." OK, so that's both instruction and commentary (not to mention hilarious, if you ask me), but such is life with a preschooler. 

We've got two weeks of preschool under our belts now and as far as I can tell, it's going great. The honest truth, though? I really don't know much about how it's actually going!

I've dropped Harrison off each morning and picked him up three of the four times. He's always excited to hang up his bag and go into his classroom; I usually have to ask for a hug or kiss goodbye and then I leave without him (or me) having any fuss. When I go back get him three hours later, he's excited to see me and comes running (or walking as fast as his "walking feet" will allow), a big smile on his face and greeting me with a happy, "Mama!"

And while he loves having anything - papers, crafts, book orders, anything! - in his backpack to show me, I might as well already have a fifteen-year-old male living in my house because I canNOT get details out him about what he's doing when he's at school.

If I ask if he sang songs or read books or played a game, he'll tell me, "Yes" but nothing else. He also has yet to tell me any of the other kids' names and if I ask what so-and-so brought for snack (because I can see on our calendar who brought snack that day), Harrison will look at me for a second and say, "I don't know. What was it?" as if I'm playing some guessing game where I'm playing dumb with him. Not the case, Kiddo! Mama really has no idea and would love to know so much more!

Being the helicopter that I am, I have to resist the urge to ask for song and book titles and a list of activities and everything else that would quickly put me on his teachers' radar as a complete nut job and control freak. I can't help it; there is just a part of me that just wants to know and then implement all of it at home, which IS crazy because it's not like I run a real structured house or day-to-day curriculum. I guess I just want to know what he's doing because it seems like such a long time for him to be gone (three whole hours? without me?) and he comes home bigger every time (just like he does when he visits his grandparents for a few days).  

What I'm quickly learning is that his world is quickly becoming less about me. And while it's a little hard to swallow, that's not a snarky comment or even a sad or sappy one. I'm glad he's getting this opportunity to be with and learn from others. I think it's a wonderful thing for him. And really, if he's already absorbing songs and stories (and dance moves!) and processing them, that's great; it shows me how ready he is to learn and grow and do. All good things, my friends!

And since I can't seem to get a whole lot out of him on the day of (my best guess is that those dance instructions are from last week), I am measuring the success of each day by the standard we set on Day One. Did he come home in the same clothes he wore to school? So far, that would be a resounding YES! Potty training and glue and snack and play are all factors in that, yet he's been in the Win category every day. I'll take it!