New Spot

Hello, sweet friends! As you may know, I changed the platform for my blog in the last month and you can now find all new material at the following address: http://themodernmaiasaura.com. All of the archives from the Blogger version of The MM  have been transferred over, so you can still read as much of the background and older posts as you like; when you click on links on the new site, you'll be directed here to see them, and all new material (after this!) will appear there, not here.

Happy Reading, and, as always, much love for following along with our stories!

Forever and Never

I can't even tell you how long it has been since I have been to one of my favorite places in Nebraska, and no it is not a favorite because of the geography or the specific people there. It's a favorite for the atmosphere, the sheer number of hours I spent working, thinking, and writing here in my early 20's (because uttering a phrase like that doesn't instantly age a person or anything), and yes - for the coffee.

This morning, I got to spend a carefree morning, as much time as I wanted, at my beloved, The Coffee House in Lincoln.

I was so pleased! And also so surprised by how much has changed in the undeterminable amount of time since I was here last. The CoHo has seen numerable shifts in decor, seating, and paint colors (and even front doors) since I first started coming here as a sophomore in college (yes, friends and I would drive in from Crete just to spend evenings here working and studying; then, in grad school, I was also a frequent face but that makes more sense for a UNL student), but something about this morning feels quite different. Gone are the plethora of mismatched chairs and wild displays of local art (although based on hanging wires and hooks, that might still happen on occasion, just not currently), and the back of the coffee bar is exposed in new ways, to me, at least. Yet the same glass mugs (and super delicious mochas), eclectic music in the background, and unique cast of characters filling the tables and line at the counter as well as those behind it, are enough to tell me I am here. I am in one of my sacred spaces.

I get it. It's a coffee house (So not true. It is THE Coffee House, but I digress). Maybe it shouldn't be such a big deal; but being here, by myself, on a quiet and drizzle-filled Saturday morning, with nothing but time to think, write, and enjoy my coffee, is an extremely rare gift.

Although I've had time away from the home front in the last year, none of that has been terribly chill. In fact, the only time I've been away has been for weeks/weekends filled to the brim with trainings. One might think going to a yoga training would be a relaxed, Zen-ed out sort of vacation but those weeks/weekends are always super intense, physically and emotionally, so no. No down time away in a very long time.

But this weekend I am away, for the first time since Mr. Lincoln's arrival, with Ben, and since he is currently finishing up a morning of meetings at a conference he's attending before we get to ride off into the sunset of actual, honest-to-goodness adult time sans Littles for the rest of the afternoon and tonight, I have time and space and anywhere in downtown Lincoln I want to walk to spend my morning. Naturally I would come here.

How perfect that one of my favorite places, a place I consider to be part of myself even if I haven't been here since a child or two ago came into my life, can feel totally different and completely the same. I can't think of a better analogy for adulthood and parenthood and the growth we are sometimes blessed enough to experience in this life. Like my dear CoHo, I have changed since my last visit. I look different on the outside and some internal changes have been made, too. But at my center, like this place, I'm still me. Same heart, same core. Forever seeking, forever expanding but always striving to be my best, most authentic self. Embracing what is Now. Both forever and never still.

Life in flux. There really is no other way. And with good coffee, quiet spaces, and a little time every now and then to think, all is indeed well.

What about you? What places have become spaces where you can return, sometimes after years, and still find yourself in just the right spot?

No Such Thing as "Alone"

Many times, in many ways, I have found myself saying, of motherhood in particular, that isolation is the worst. To fall into a line of thinking that includes separation or apartness, to begin to believe that nobody else out there has ever been in your shoes, could possibly ever understand what you're going through, is a scary place to be - but it has nothing do with just parenthood. This is life; and for some, it is a struggle that they will carry more heavily and for more time than others.

The idea of isolation has been rattling around in my head for some time now. In the last year it has prompted me to write posts that have broken silences, shared my truths, and declared mottos. But here I am again, still ruminating, still itching in my brain and in my hands to write about this particular topic.

Why?

Because I continue to see instances of people who feel isolated and do not speak up and I want to encourage them to think differently. Because I also see others who share their pain or their shame and I want to commend them for their bravery. Because I have been at both ends of that spectrum. Because isolation is something that can creep in slowly or pop up suddenly, even when you think you have been down this road, fought this battle, buried this hatchet and any other possible cliche you can think of to express the act of moving on from the past and putting old hurts to rest. Because isolation is hurt. At least in my world. Nothing prompts me to feel more desolate or desperate than to feel like I have nowhere to turn and no one to listen. Or that I do not have the freedom to share certain parts of myself or my experiences. In other words, feeling cut off from others, introvert that I may be, cuts quickly to my core. Even when my rational, logical brain tells me, of course you have places to turn, isolation can still swoop in and take over. And it is still, always the worst.

Learning to see beyond these moments of "I'm the only one." and "Who can I talk to?" may in fact be a life-long process, but it is one I know, also down to my core, that is worth continuing. Again, finding those trusted advisors and the people who are YOUR people can take time as well as trial and error. Just because moments of doubt or hurt or aloneness suddenly appear (or reappear) does not mean all past work is wasted. There are people out there who will get it, who will listen, who will in fact give care to your heart just as you would do for theirs. There are people who have been before or currently are going through what you now face. Always. We just need to remember that speaking up and connecting with others are worthy causes, even when doing so is scary as hell.

If your heart is something you guard closely (I do not blame you one bit for this; I do the same), keep searching. Keep reaching out. Keep being brave as you dare to find those who will not isolate you because in no one thing are you ever truly alone.

And on that serious note, I leave you with this - giraffe friends. Because they make my heart happy and even in that, I'm guessing I'm not the only one.

My Sunshine

All week long, the whole house has been excited about HD's Kindergarten Orientation, scheduled for this evening. HD was pumped, ready to go see his new (to him - the building itself is quite established) school, and RL (and by association, LT) was excited to get to stay up past bedtime to hang with one of the kids' fave babysitters while B & I took HD to the hour-long program at the school.

On the calendar, totally cool, ready to go for it. So no problem, right?

In the car, driving the handful-plus of blocks to get there, HD told us that he was "excited" and walking the whole way in to the building and through the long halls, everything was still totally fine. He held my hand the whole way but nothing seemed out of sorts.

We entered the classroom where all the kids were gathering and parents were saying goodbye-for-now to head into the gym for our own informational meetings, got HD's name tag on, and then that was it. He crumbled.

In an instant, my smiling super-excited sweet boy started crying, and when I bent down to give him a hug and an "It's OK" he latched on to my neck and would not let go.

Have I mentioned my crazy pregnant lady hormones lately? Yea, I thought so, so you can about guess the two things I started doing instantly when this all went down: tearing up and sweating. The leakiness of motherhood, my friends, is real and it lives on...even when the babe you are dealing with is five-going-on-six and soon to start school.

Now, no one else was having quite the same meltdown trouble that we were, and thankfully Ben was there to help me because had I been solo, I would have been a sobbing mess just like my dear child. I felt terrible that my kiddo suddenly felt scared or nervous or whatever it was that was getting at him exactly, but try as I did, I couldn't get him to calm down; but then, I wasn't exactly feeling so calm myself either at the moment.

Fortunately, there were some friendly and familiar faces coming into the room with their own soon-to-be Kindergarteners and the teachers were also very chill about the whole thing, so after Ben continued to talk HD down and I got some quick hugs and "It's ok!"s from fellow mamas, we were eventually able to give actual last hugs and duck out the door. Talk about unexpected! But wouldn't you know, by the time some other friends got in to drop their kiddo off (we had debriefed just outside the classroom), Harrison was apparently no longer crying. Thank goodness for turn-arounds that come just as quickly as the meltdowns, eh?!

By the end of the night, after the kids came back to join us for a final presentation and sang a goodbye song, HD was smiling again, saying he had a great time, and was willing and able to pose for this picture outside his elementary school, while holding his beautiful creation from the night - a sunflower, which went along with the theme of the name tags, storybook, etc. that was part of tonight's program. Seeing as he is my bright, shining boy, my first sunshine when skies are gray, I found it oh-so-fitting for a night of, yes, rain (and tears), but also the promise of new beginnings.

To The Left (to the left)?!

OK, all you Lefties and Parents-of-Lefties...I need some advice. Since he was old enough for me to pop him up on my hip and haul him around as such, Lincoln has preferred to be on my right side. Always. If I tried to switch him to the left side to balance myself out, or heaven forbid, use my dominant hand to complete a task, he would completely freak out, acting like a little monkey suddenly in fear of being dropped by his mama, crying, yelling, and scrambling back to the right side of me as best he could.

In fact, he still does the exact same thing now, at age 20+ months. I give to you the progression of a typical Oh-NO-You-Didn't! Scramble (which includes, to my horror, but you know, for reality's sake - my own double chin):

This could almost be misconstrued for a smile
which is so not the truth!

On his way!

The D.C. and Linky's true feelings about me trying
to hold him in my left arm. 

So. To all of you with knowledge of Lefthandedness, I ask...is this common? Because Mr. Lincoln is indeed a Lefty, and someone brilliantly suggested to me recently that perhaps he does this because he wants to hold on with his dominant hand/arm (sorry I can't remember who said that and therefore can't give you a proper shout out for said brilliance), so could that be it? He likes right because he uses his left?? 

Pre-yoga, I don't think I would have ever paid attention to this sort of thing, so I have no frame of reference for HD or RL in terms of sidedness. It seems to me that my babies have all preferred the right side to some extent but I figured that was because I tend to that side because it is my stronger one. But hence the need now, post-yoga (wait - not post. what prefix am I looking for there? my brain cells escape me daily thanks to Bambino No.4) to get some darn balance, but no way, no sir, no how - Lincoln's not buying it. 

The glamour shots from above were taken tonight as I tried to make scrambled eggs for dinner and oh. my. You try making eggs using your non-dominant hand! Even of the scrambled variety, it was all just too much so I decided to finally document our little phenomenon and bring it to the people to ask...what is this?! I promise that I've never dropped a baby off my left hip, so why the great aversion to being there? Inquiring minds want to know! 

Field of Dreams?

Lately the hubs and I have been just terrible about staying up late at night. For him it is grading papers from school and the start of baseball season. For me it is the reading, reading, reading quest of my ever-present book list and, on some nights, the mountains of dishes and/or laundry that I've put off for days and finally have to deal with because, you know, people who don't live here are coming to my house the next day and that's about the only thing some weeks that gets me to attack said mountains.

In case you were wondering, the children still get up way too early every day. School also means B & HD have to be out the door bright and early, so why we think staying up late, for any reason, is a good idea is really lost on me. Especially today when I have a jam-packed schedule of teaching but we thought it would be wise to stay up past midnight last night at which point my brain was really on GO! Mode and I should have just kept reading my book because it had to have been close to 2 a.m. before I was finally asleep. Am I rambling? Am I awake? Can't be sure at this point in the day.

All of this is to say, I might be a little out of sorts right now. Ben, too. But we both agreed this morning that we'd have to dig deep today and not let our tiredness turn into pure crankiness, and certainly not directed at the children who would probably prefer us to be more well rested, too (although, if that were really the case, they could also try this fun thing called sleeping in on the weekends. I hear it is great.). Tired and potentially cranky-making factors all considered, we are still at so far, so good for the day. Granted, we've both been caffeinated and were probably counting down the hours until bedtime all day long, but even with self-inflicted sleep deprivation, the Welschies pulled out a pretty good day, in part because we've all been outside, enjoying the fresh, warm air that Spring seems to have (finally) brought for keeps.  Geez - the Faulknerian sentences again. It's like I'm back in Senior Sem at Doane again!

Of course, because this is Nebraska, it was windy again today which kept us close to home this morning, but this afternoon I decided to declare my own little Walk to Work Day which I decided would also be the jumpstart of regular walking that I hope to do from now until the end of my pregnancy. Yoga is awesome, as always, for my body and soul, but since I can't quite do everything I'd like to on the mat right now, I need another way to work and release tension from my physical and emotional states. After today's kick-off, I would say Mission Accomplished, on both accounts.

Since our house is a little over a mile-ish from the studio, I thought walking myself down prior to teaching my second class of the day (prenatal) would be a great idea; the bonus of there being Family Yoga today (i.e. B & the kids would be joining me later and I could catch a ride home) helped. Even with walking into a direct, sometimes rather strong wind, the whole way was enjoyable. It felt good to get moving like that and just be with the thoughts in my head. No music. No phone. No talking. (no books!) I need more of that.

After set up and prep for class, I settled in at the front desk only to realize ten minutes later that no one was coming to join me. This has happened once before since the start of my prenatal class and it just goes to show that even in a town the size of Hastings, getting the word out about a new opportunity can be tricky, especially when said opportunity is directed at such a niche, target audience. I waited a bit longer just to see if any mamas-to-be would breeze in late, but when it was clear I really was on my own for the day, I packed up my things and decided to walk home. If I'd had a book to read, I probably would have stayed there and waited for my next class to start but since The Bump and I enjoyed the walk down, I figured we'd enjoy the walk home, too.

About half-way back, I was trucking along thinking about all the things I could say after surprising my husband by turning up back at home already, some of which included a line of "What am I doing wrong? Why aren't people coming to class?" questions when I quickly realized I needed to stop. Not walking, but that kind of thinking, for sure.

Attendance at a class, whether it is full or a goose egg, is not all about me. There are so many reasons why individuals choose to go to a yoga class (or any fitness class) and while instructor preferences/styles may play a role for some, I know in the end I can only control myself and my actions; I am not powerful enough to control others. And that's a good thing. I don't want to carry that much weight on my shoulders or feel that sort of pressure. I do want to bring my best and strongest offering to each class I teach (yes, even on days after nights that were too late and too short), because that's what I can do - that's what I can control. I can also take ownership of my attitude and response to both full and goose egg days, knowing that so long as I keep showing up, so will others, and again, it is about them, not me.

It was a totally a If-You-Build-It-They-Will-Come-sort-of-pep-talk-to-myself moment.

Before I had gone another block, a helicopter suddenly came into view. It was headed for the helipad at Mary Lanning which I happened to be walking by at that exact time. Along with the intensity of sound that accompanied the chopper, came a huge wave of pregnant-lady-emotions that startled me more than anything. I'm always one to say a quick prayer in my head when I hear sirens (I figure that those at both ends, receiving and giving, need all the good thoughts and well wishes they can get and have been doing this for most of my adult life), and having lived near enough to ML for long enough, I now do the same whenever I hear helicopters, too. Today had to be a first, though, of having one come in to land directly over top of me. Among the rush of thoughts that went through my mind were: "Holy crap. That is scary-loud noise."; "What if that thing is flying in for somebody I know?!"; "I need to call everyone I love and tell them what they mean to me!" (which, for the record, I did not do).

OK. Laugh if you like, because those are some pretty dramatic reactions (may I refer you back to the aforementioned pregnant-lady emotions and lack of sleep???), but my eyes welled up with tears and my throat got super tight as watching the helicopter go over head instantly put everything about the day into perspective. I am blessed that my family has never needed such medical attention. I am blessed to live in a place where I can walk to work without constant fear of fights or gunfire. I am blessed to do work that fills my soul and continues to teach me about life, even when the days do not go as planned. I am blessed.

Thankfully I also had a handful more blocks to go so I could let my weepies and sniffles come and go before I had to take off my sunglasses and talk to other people. The walk gave me just the right amount of perspective, not to mention exercise, and big dose of gratitude. Not bad for a day of running on just four-ish hours of sleep.

Post Script: Day Two of Walking Mama

Day Two after a crappy night of sleep is usually my worst. I'm at my most sluggish, most cranky. Today should have been that day. It doubly should have been that day (wait, triple, because Hi, Monday) as Ben has been gone all evening/for part of the night yet for parent/teacher conferences. PTC nights always mean long days for me because not only am I running herd on the herd all day by myself, but I then have to do supper and bedtime for all three solo, too [to be a single parent? I cannot imagine.]. Because bedtime is so not my thing, these nights sometimes feel extra tedious, especially if I am on a Day Two of Tired.

In today's case, I am grateful for PTC and the rest of the busy week that lies ahead. Because of our hectic schedule this week, I looked in advance for a babysitter who could come today and relieve me for a bit so I could in fact charge through a long day/evening and still have something left for the rest of the week, too. That this foresight happened to help on a Day Two? Well, as Ben says, sometimes it is better to be lucky than good.

Luck also came my way with today's picture perfect spring day weather. Warm sun, gentle breeze, gorgeous smelling trees (although most are a bit overpowering for my pregnant super sense of smell) - the day was begging for a walk. And so, once the sitter arrived and was ready to take on the kids for a bit, I left to go for a walk around the park. Again, no music, no distractions. Just walking and enjoying and even running into a friend on the way home from picking up her own Little from school which was such a lovely bonus - it was all fabulous.

As for the rest of the evening? Well, we spent some time in the yard, ate supper, played a bit more outside (perhaps not the best idea for Lincoln who was super mad at me for then making him come in to get ready for bed), and then did the whole good night thing with very little drama. No one yelled, screamed, or cried. Not even me. ;) Once again, walking saves the day.

The Comeback Kid

I'm beginning to think that Harrison needs a theme song. I may be decent with words, but jingles? Not so much. As of right now, the best I can do is mimic the commercials for the "Priceline Negotiator" and really, we should probably just leave it at that because without a doubt, this kid keeps (and will continue to keep for many, many years) us on our toes at all times with his mad logical skills. I could also quote a Miley Cyrus song, however that would mean admitting to having ever heard sung along with such awfulness, but again, really? He can't stop. And he won't stop. His memory is just too big and his vocabulary seems to be surpassing it on a constant basis.

Classic examples of my little Negotiator who sometimes seems to be too big for his skinny-legged britches (another truth we must face? he's got his daddy's long legs and finding pants that fit is also going to be challenging in the years ahead)? Let me give you a couple gems from, I kid you not, the last 36 hours:

Post-egg hunt at my parents' house on Easter morning, during which the children discovered various outdoor toy goodies left for them by the Easter Bunny along with the plethora of plastic eggs (because, let's face it, the E.B. dropped the ball and so had to rely on some gifts from the grandparents presented in Hunt fashion as opposed to baskets but totally works when your littles are still little enough to believe in things like said E.B.), a bubble blowing machine that the kids found was having a tough time of blowing any bubbles. You can imagine the dismay of a 3 and 5 y/o at such a turn of events, no? The toy had actually been at my folks' for a while, but was still unopened which is why we added it to the morning's loot, so when it failed to work, and we were wondering about the quality of batteries found within, my mom chimed in, "They probably need to be changed. That thing is like three years old." Which instantly caused my dear sweet Harrison to whip his head super fast to look at her and ask (in a pretty accusatory tone for a preschooler, I might add) "How do you know?!?!" Whoops! You got us there, kid!

Fast forward a handful of hours and the Welschies were so close, SO close, to being back home in Hastings, but clearly not close enough as all 5.5 of us had a very long trip back after our long weekend spent in SoDak. B and I thought it would be good to travel post-Easter dinner in hopes that kiddos would nap and we would still get home in time for supper and bedtime and all would be well. Oh, how wrong you can be as a parent.

Nothing awful, exactly, happened on the drive home, but our hopes and dreams of some peace and quiet in the car thanks to snoozing children quickly disappeared not 30 minutes into the drive when HD and RL were having pillow and stuffed animal fights and therefore a grand giggle fest in the back seat of the van, egging each other on to ignore their books and any and all commands, demands, potential rewards and consequences (i.e. losing Kindle. And stuffed animals. And blankets.) coming from B and I at the front of the van, and of course, there was the whole not-sleeping thing. For two type-A/first-borns/planners, this particular defeat was a rough one.

Linky, bless his heart, did sleep on the way home, but only for 45 minutes because then Raegge's bladder, which was also still very much not napping peacefully just like the rest of her, decided we needed to stop which of course woke Lincoln instantly. And we still had well over half of our trip to go. Yay.

So clearly by now, this post has turned from quirky notes about Harrison into full-blown post-vacation tirade on my part, but you know, you needed some background to understand just how done we all were as we rolled back into town late yesterday afternoon....

As we were a mere ten blocks from the sanctuary of our own house, Ben all of the sudden realized that the oldest two were now (playfully, but still) messing around by tugging RL's blanket (which was returned in the acceptance of oh-eff-it-clearly-you-are-not-going-to-sleep) back and forth and saying something about cutting each other. Lovely, eh? So Ben calls out from the passenger seat for them to knock it off and "change their language!" and, without missing a single beat, HD replies, "You mean like change from English to Spanish or something like that?"

I tried. I really, really tried, not to bust out laughing at that, but really? Where does he come up with this stuff?! As I let a big burst of air out of my cheeks, Ben tried to talk over me so the kids wouldn't hear me laughing so hard, and then, finally, blessedly, we pulled into our driveway and moved on to other similarly entertaining but escaping me at the moment shenanigans with The Comeback Kid.

We love him (and his literal/figurative smart mouth) so! 

Everybody Knows My Name?

As a Jennifer born in the 1980s, I had no shortage of name sharing/confusion as a kid. Not that my name itself was confusing, but identifying which Jennifer I was always included my last initial which was fine. It was what it was and became exactly why 27 Jennifers by Mike Doughty has been a beloved song of mine for years:

Jenny M. That was me. Until 6th grade (or was it 5th? - c.r.a.p. I am getting old if I can't remember that detail) when a bunch of us Jennifers of Lincoln Elementary banded together and decided to take charge. We would all be a different version (spelling) of Jenny and it just so happened that I ended up with the "I" on the end of mine instead of the "Y" and my parents totally went with it (unlike some friends who tried for more, um, unique spellings and were totally denied by their parental units, or maybe just got sick of the change in time and went back to Jenny ___). Me? I ran with this new approach to my name and never looked back. And I know it is a wee bit silly because you can't hear a darn bit of difference when you say "Jenni" versus "Jenny" but I can definitely tell you which one looks like my name and which one does not when I see it written.

Perhaps this whole name game from my youth is adding to the confusion I feel now as a parent because I am extremely befuddled as to why my children have decided to call me by completely different names. Maybe other moms out there don't really care what their kids call them or don't care if the name is constantly changing. But to me, my mom name is Mama. Ben and I started calling me that from the very beginning with Harrison and while HD will throw a Mom my way every now and then, we're 5.5 years into knowing me as Mama. Except Raegan, for well over a year, has been calling me Mommy and I just don't get it. I never refer to myself this way and like Jenny-with-a-"y" it sounds funny to me to hear myself referenced as such. I won't even bother asking if my response to this whole situation is normal because my guess is no, it's not - I've just picked something weird to get hung up on, but actually, that's my point.

After months of (semi-passive-aggressive?) attempts to correct RL (never telling her she is wrong but referring to myself in third person a LOT in hopes of showing her the light but obviously failing), I've decided to let it go. If Baby Girl wants to call me Mommy nine times out of ten, then that is what she's going to call me. It probably makes sense, actually, that my kids would have different names for me because while I am a mother to all of them, our individual relationships are unique and what they need from me on a daily basis is never the same.

So Mama/Mommy/Ma (which is where Linky is currently with a name for me)? They all work. They all represent the role I so gratefully get to play in the lives of these growing, learning, always going individuals and I am honored to be that person to each of them, no matter what they call me. Well, not Hey, You!. That version (and life with teens) is probably coming sooner than I think, but whatever mom name(s) the children decide upon as they grow is going to have to start with an "M" - I'm too much of an English Major to let all rules and convention slide!

An oldie but a goodie: "Mommy" and her Mini. 

Forgetting Finland? Forget It.

Years ago I stumbled upon an adorable little notebook designed specifically to keep track of all the cute/funny/ridiculous/oh-please-never-let-me-forget-this things that kids say as they grow.

I've used it all of like, maaaaaaybe 10 times. *sigh*

It's not that I don't absolutely love the concept of the notebook, but the moments when I think "Oo! I should write that down!" are never the moments when I am actually near the notebook, pen-in-hand, ready to record the totes adorbs-ness of my wee ones. At times, I've written whole posts dedicated to toddler-isms and those are fun, but again, I just don't do it on a regular enough basis, so I know some of these funny phrases are going to fade out both from usage and my memory, and eventually Raegan will learn to say "Surprise!" instead of "Ka-Prize!", and I won't remember just how many times Lincoln really said "UP!" and "NO!!!" in one day (we'd be horrified if we'd actually count, especially the second one), or Harrison will no longer refer to events as happening "accidentally-maybe-on-purpose-actually" and so on.

In the spirit of keeping my Littles little, I want to do a bit more of so-called record keeping, documenting their budding personalities and passions, both in the words/phrases they use and in the totally-random-but-how-did-I-not-see-this-coming stories of raising my little future interrogators.

Today's entrainment stemmed from a conversation between HD and myself during lunch, after he was dropped off from preschool and while RL & LT were upstairs napping. This is our mid-day routine pretty much every day, and it is pretty much awesome because I get some one-on-one time with him right after he gets home from school and we get to chat and eat together before we both go our separate ways for screen time (or, in my case, a nap) (and P.S. you know I'm kidding right? I don't actually abandon him while he plays on the Kindle). Typically I don't get a whole lot of info out of him as he mows down his food, but this afternoon sparked a series of questions that I now fear is never going to end.

Because we know some friends planning a trip to Disney World, HD spent the first part of our lunch asking me about what Disney World actually is. And once he put two and two together to realize that it is basically a big playground populated by some of the characters most beloved by children in the history of children, it wasn't more than 15 seconds before he asked, "Is there an Angry Birds Land???" because, let's face it - that's where his heart is/was/and will perhaps forever be.

Being the tech-savvy mama that I am, I instantly took to Google-fu to find out that yes, yes there IS an Angry Birds Land, which I showed him via pictures on Google Images and a random video of a teenager reviewing some new rides on youtube (one of those parenting moments that could have been horrible because I did not view it prior to showing to my 5yo, but which fortunately turned out to be harmless except for that fact that it made my 5yo want to go to there even more so than before and sooner, too.). But for the life of me, I could not freaking figure out where on earth this said Land actually resides. The double dots (ha! I'm sure there is a proper term for those, but are you kidding me? this baby in my belly is taking brain cells by the second. I'm lucky I have any words in my own language left!) were a pretty good indicator, though, that we were screwed because there was no way that meant the Lower 48, you know?

After some more investigating, I finally figured out that the location is in fact Finland. I think. Again, see the above note about brain cells. But pretty sure it's something Scandinavian, which man, I would love to visit that part of the world, but are you kidding me?! Why does Angry Birds Land have to be in Scandinavia?!

In an attempt to explain to HD just how far away Finland is from Nebraska, I pulled up a world map next to show him that we would have to go over an ocean to get there and that would be hard because it would take a really long time and cost a LOT of money, which of course led to the questions of how long? and how much? which in turn lead to me pulling up Priceline and finding the answers: over a day of travel and a mere $1200 for one adult to get to Helsinki (which, for the record, I have no proof is actually even geographically close to ABL or not).

Of course none of my lesson in Internet research made a lick of difference in terms of actually getting said 5yo to accept that we probably aren't going to ABL any time soon/ever. In fact, the whole quest seemed to latch in his brain even more after seeing the images and I heard about very little else the rest of the day. I was thrilled - elated, I tell you! - for Ben to get home after school so I could go to my dentist appoint to have my teeth cleaned (not even kidding) and laughed myself out the door as I listened to HD tell B, "It's Fin-LIND not Fin-LAND, Daddy." Oh, the things a young boy can learn in an afternoon.

He wants to go next week, by the way, for my birthday, or for a Special Mama and Harrison Date, or maaaaaaaybe, he'll be okay with going on the 30th of the month. But really, that's probably too long to wait if you really ask him.

I would say, let's just hope The Next Big Thing comes along soon, but seeing how long he's been on the Angry Birds kick itself, I do not have high hopes of forgetting Finland any time soon.

Women Need Women

This morning at MOPS, our group heard ideas, answers, and advice from two of our Mentor Moms - women who have moved to the next stage of parenting (have adult children) and who can come to meetings to do any number of tasks which include listening, holding babies, and sharing their own wisdom from the Been There/Done That perspective. I've had the joy of being paired with women truly worthy of the title Mentor in the past and it was so good this morning to hear what they had to say about everything from how to handle tantrums to the Great Holiday Divide (totally a different subject/blog post, but wow. Good stuff and good discussion). But of everything that we talked about at this morning's meeting, it was these three words said by a member of the Mentor panel that jumped up and grabbed my heart: women need women. 

Have you ever heard anything more true? I don't know that I have, with the exception of a longer version of the very same concept that a friend shared online a few months ago. There's no way I can possibly paraphrase her and do her ideas justice, so I give to you the post itself:

"Ladies: Always surround yourself with women who let you be yourself. If you feel inferior around your people, they are not your people. If you dress differently, sit quit when you normally have something to say, feel bored, feel icky...You run like hell from these women. Although we are SUPPOSED to belong to each other, there are some who do not want you to belong. And my loves, it's not you. It's in their heart. Your women will tell you when you're wrong, they will hear your cries, they will shake you awake, they will call you beautiful. If you cannot share your deepest secrets with your women, they are not your women. If they laugh at you when you get a crazy idea, they are not your women. If they let you run around acting like a complete wench, they are not your women. Your best friends will see every part of you. They will invest in you, and you invest in them. A friendship deserves honesty and rawness and hurt and laughter. If you cannot tell your friend she hurt you, she's not your friend. If you pick up the phone and there's nothing to talk about, hang up the phone. She's not your woman. Our friendship to one another is important. Choose wisely. And when you get strong, you pull others in so they can belong, too." 

Isn't that spot on the best thing ever for a woman to write/believe/do? I think so, and I shared it on Facebook right after I originally read it because, seriously people, at some point we deserve to leave middle school. There is no reason we have to remain stuck in the hormonal hell of young adolescence, constantly trying to win the love and affection of others. Wondering if they like us. If we are good enough. We are good enough. But we need each other and if we can't be good to each other, we need to move on. That is the most simple and most pure way I can describe what it means to find your tribe, the women you need and who need you in return.

Two of my favorite writers, Glennon from Momastery and Patti Digh (of Life is a Verb fame), both write on this idea of tribes and what it means to have one. They both believe it is vital to have people in your life who can in fact, be your people. Your tribe might be members of your family or friends you have known forever, or maybe it is someone you just meet at the grocery store last week. Your tribe consists of those who know you, get you, and love you all the same. And sometimes it is really freaking hard to find these souls.

A few years ago, reading or having someone tell me I needed a tribe would have made me burst into tears. OK, it doesn't take much to do that, but this would have been the ugly cry sort of tears because in early motherhood I felt isolated and withdrawn way more than I felt connected, seen, or heard. It doesn't help that I am huge introvert (aren't most people who love to write?) and the thought of forcing myself to be social in order to meet women who could be my BFFs was terrifying. I mean, no pressure, right?!

Slowly but surely, though, I have made progress in the whole leave-your-house/make-some-friends journey.  This has meant I've had to both accept offers from others when given and extend invitations of my own to new people I meet or sometimes to old acquaintances I want to know better (and truth, all of the above can be out of my comfort zone). Over the last few years, I have met some interesting women. Some amazing. Some who came into my circle, my tribe, and stayed close. And some who came in for a time and then moved on, because let's face it,  once you get up the courage to put yourself out there to define your tribe, actually recognizing those who know, get, and love you all the same sometimes takes time. Being vulnerable and taking that time, though, are vital because women need women.

None of us were meant to go this road alone, whether we are SAHMs, working moms, pet parents, or "just" women (there is nothing "just" about being a woman or a person for that matter - it's all pretty freaking challenging from what I can see). We need each other to listen, see, accept, support, love, nurture, challenge, and need us. I believe you can be the most independent and confident person in the world and you will still need a tribe of a few who can be and do these things for you because without connection, what is the point? For some people, this support might take the shape of a spouse or significant other. I have an amazing one of those and I tell you honestly, I still need a tribe. My husband knows me, gets me, and loves me all the same, but without friends who can do the same, my heart is not as full as it could be. This is why I continue to put myself out there, to make connections with other women as I make my way (sometimes striding, sometimes stumbling) through this world. It is the grace and love I can give to these women and that which I receive in return that makes the trying and trying again so very much worth it.

No woman alone. There are those out there who deserve a spot in your tribe. Those who know, get, and love you all the same.

Backslide

Within six hours of my last post, at the start of last week, my Lenten Promise  was clearly shot. It's hard to commit to a daily yoga practice, even just for 10-15 minutes a day, when you can't breathe or stop blowing your nose for days, and have a fever for over 48 hours straight. Just getting through Tuesday through Thursday of last week was a challenge and that was without even leaving my house once in that time span. So no, no yoga for me last week (I even missed multiple days of teaching which has been very rare since I began last fall), because once I got my feet back on the ground, it was all I could do to keep up with getting my house back in functioning shape and food on the table and all that other maternal/spousal/adult stuff I am expected to do in this world.

Now it is Wednesday, two weeks beyond Ash Wednesday, and I haven't done any of my own practice in eight or nine days (Math. Blergh.) - not exactly a shinning start to 40 Days of Yoga. I can feel it, too, because whereas at the time of my last post I was feeling pretty good (was totally doing my best to ignore warning signs of impending doom in my sinuses), I am back to noticing the not-so-good in both my body and my mood. Back and hips? Stiff and creaky. Mind and attitude? Wee-bit sour and cranky.

At least I have an immediate answer and fix to this. I just have to step up and really recommit because this is a big week (big month, actually) of taking on some extra classes to teach and when you top that with the hubbub of activity we have going on this March, it's going to be April and Easter before we know it, and I do not want to get lost in the whirlwind. I know myself well enough to know that this much is true:

I cannot let my teaching schedule (or social calendar, etc.) get in the way here. Somehow I've also got to find a way to get past The Naps which is what I'm calling my No.1 pregnancy indicator (symptom seems like a poor word choice, but you get my drift) (and truth, it's probably No.2 because, let's face it, CrankyPants is my No.1) these days. I am so freaking tired all day long that I have been falling asleep on the couch even when the kids are playing - loudly - right in front of me. These bizarre cat naps do not actually result in great rest and often I wake up from them feeling super groggy and downright confused at times, but it's like I can't help it.

A baby in the belly means I don't sleep well at night and apparently my body has decided that it's going to make up for that deficit during the day, whether I intend to or not. And somedays this happens two or three times! Good practice for when Baby arrives? Maybe, except for that whole supposed-to-be-parenting-the-other-children gig I've got going on....

Unless I relinquish full control to PBS (and there's no way that works for a peanut LT's age), this current approach just isn't going to work. Here's hoping instead that the whole Second Trimester Energy Boost (it should totally be a proper noun) comes SOON!

Promises, Promises

On Ash Wednesday, a friend happened to ask in a group message if I (and the others in the convo, obviously) had any Lenten promises to share. I'll be honest, I was stumped. I mean, I knew Lent was beginning and all that but giving up something for Lent has never been a big part of my religious or spiritual life. Sure, I've given up stuff in the past in high school and college, but mainly because my friends were too, not because I was really committing it to anything higher. So when several of us responded that we in fact did not have any good ideas of what to give up this year, the friend who posed the original question then said the best thing - the exact right thing I needed to hear, actually - to explain her approach to Lent.

My wise friend explained that it doesn't have to be giving up something but rather a Lenten promise can be about changing something to help motivate that same change in behavior or attitude later, post-Lent. Of course this makes total sense and perhaps you already understand Lent in this way, but something about her description just clicked for me.

In fact, let's just say the whole exchange was a little Light Bulb moment for me.

Let me also be clear that lately I have been struggling. Struggling a lot, actually, with things like anger and parental patience and just my attitudes in general. Remember the recent "Regression" blog post? These are all things that I have made leaps and bounds with in terms of progress since I began therapy and yoga the fall after Linky was born. Not that I suddenly became this perfectly happy and eternally blissed out person, but major progress to a calmer, more realistic, and overall happier me? Yes. Yes. And YES.

And then I got pregnant. Laugh or scoff if you want, and while it is not entirely fair to attribute blame Baby No.4 for my backsliding as of late, said babe is going to bear some of the weight here. For one thing, pregnancy makes me not sleep. From the first trimester on, my sleep is a wreck and as a person who has dealt with some serious sleep deprivation over the years (and who just started to make progress during the second half of the previous year), being back in the land of little sleep is scary. I know what little-to-no sleep does to me and my general outlook on life, because my short fuse and quick mouth start to take over and it is no fun for anyone in my house. Fortunately, this time, I can look at my poor sleep as temporary. Yes, I am likely going to be tired from now until Baby arrives and then hella tired for some time after that, but eventually I'll get back on track. TiredCrankyMommy will not exist forever, or at least not for such an extended period of time.

Another thing Baby No.4 has contributed to, sort of/kind of, is my other coping skill beyond sleep which is, of course, my yoga practice. Now Baby's role here is really just in regards to my energy level. I haven't been to a regular class at the studio since early January because I just don't have the stamina to keep up with a mainstream 60-minute class right now. I also quit going because before people knew I was pregnant, I did not want to draw attention to the fact that I was making certain modifications that would look really strange for a capable teacher to be making. Not that I owe others an explanation, but it all felt weird, so I backed off the public class scene.

All of this leads me to the point where I take the rest of responsibility for losing touch with my yoga practice because I dropped the ball. Totally. Instead of hopping online to use a subscription site like yogaglo to support my home practice or putting on the prenatal yoga DVD I have or just applying the ding-dang knowledge I have as a certified prenatal yoga instructor (sheesh), I quit doing any practice outside of my teaching. For almost two months now I have chosen to go without the one activity that I know works. Not the best choice.

So yes, a light bulb pretty much exploded in my brain when my friend shared the idea of approaching Lent as a change in behavior/attitude. I needed both, and of course my answer to both was get.on.the.mat! Ever seen the hashtag #yogaeverydamnday ??  I sure have and it also popped in my head at the same time the light bulb blew up. 40 days of yoga. That became my Lenten promise. And nothing grand or super physical, either. I said if I could just do 10 minutes a day, I'd probably feel a lot better. And (yay, me!) I was right.

Since making my promise, I have done 10-15 minutes each day but not counting anything that includes when I'm teaching. That's teaching, not practicing. And the whole thing has been great. I feel like I have more space in my own body (always a bonus during pregnancy since the little peanut seems to instantly take up a lot of room) and I am dealing more appropriately with kid meltdowns and general shenanigans which keeps my head space in a much better place than TiredCrankyMommy's.

Now there was Saturday night when I got caught up reading a book and kind of forgot my yoga until I was in bed and instead of getting up opted to do some breathwork until I fell asleep, but I'm still counting it. Actually, breathwork and quieting my mind are probably even more important than a physical practice for me right now because the breath and the mind go hand in hand, so when one races, so too does the other, so yes - it totally counts and it's probably going to happen again. And that's OK! So long as I keep going, doing my little bits here and there every blessed day so I can keep clearing the fog in my brain and releasing the anger and frustration from my system (physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual) I'll be making such a positive step with my little Lenten promise. Because I know, for me, this works, and getting back to something that works for me - that allows me to stay me and stay the best version of me, is as crucial now as it has ever been.

Belly Up

Yesterday was an exciting day; it marked 12 weeks of Baby No.4 (who checked out wiggly - are you surprised?- and awesome at my OB appt. on Thursday) which in turn marked the start of said babe's Belly Watch. It is also the start of me doing some serious work on myself (attitudes/tendencies of thought) and being, in my own way, extremely brave when it comes to my issues with body/self perception.

I have been working on the body image stuff for a while now and have written about it from time to time on the blog, but right now everything feels heightened (probably because it is by all these crazy pregnancy hormones racing through my body right now). I want so very much to be okay with my size and shape, and you would think that being pregnant would be some sort of free pass on all that, but that's never been the case for me. I may have taken a stomach exposing picture of weeks 12-40(ish) of each baby but that does not mean it has been easy for me to do or share.

Last time, with Lincoln, I spent a lot of time feeling and being very self-critical of how I looked, and worse, very susceptible to the comments of others, which as we all know, come without invitation and usually without any sort of filter, either. I also felt a growing (pun intended) anxiety over potential comparison, both of my own belly to that of other mamas-to-be, and to myself as well. I was so busy wondering if people might think I looked fat or awful or waaaay bigger than ever before that I missed an opportunity to just enjoy the miracle of growing a person and all that physically accompanies such work.

So why do it again if it caused so much anguish in the past? It's not like Baby No.4 is really going to care if his/her bump was ever displayed on Mama's Facebook page, right? Well probably not, but right now this ventures feels as much about me as it does Baby. This is about finding that place of comfort and acceptance in my own skin, no matter how big my belly gets, and trust me, it's much bigger at 12 weeks than ever before, but see? There's that icky little comparison game again that I've got to stop doing. There are a handful (and more) reasons why I might be bigger at this point this time around than ever before. But much as I can rationalize it, it still doesn't matter if I can't accept it, and that's why I will be doing a fourth public belly watch - because I want public accountability of embracing and loving whatever comes. It doesn't mean I am fishing for compliments and it doesn't mean that people still won't say less-than-thoughtful comments; it means that I will continue to find positive things about myself and the pregnancy to share each week and will be brave in learning to detach from what, if anything, is said about the photos.

And on that note, I share with you, Week 12 of Baby No.4's Belly Watch: a bump that for the first time ever, has not lost weight in the first trimester because I have not been sick. Not even once! How could I not celebrate a belly like that?!

Regression

Holy mother of being a mother. This week, I tell ya, has been a bit of A Week. I'd love to credit blame the moon or the weather or anything other than myself, but the reality is, it is my short temper and edginess that is probably making everything seem worse/more intense.

OK, my kids deserve some credit blame, too. I won't name names but this week I've dealt with children bolting down the driveway/sidewalk (and laughing), screaming and crying because I let un-named child turn off the TV exactly as per said-un-named child's request, AND screaming and crying for 25 minutes because somehow I missed the telepathic request for peanut butter and jelly, not honey, on both sandwiches for lunch yesterday and how could un-named child possibly ever stop crying because it was my fault that said-un-named child was crying in the first place but said-un-named child also, apparently, needed me to keep talking to stop the crying. W.T.H.?! Are you exhausted yet? Patience lost? Yeah, me too.

It doesn't help that Cranky B* is a classic pregnancy "symptom" for me in part because I am run down and tired and not feeling well, and in part because of, you know, the raging hormones and all that. I am not ashamed to say that I don't always handle myself or my family in the best way when I am in the family way - it just is what it is. But this week has felt especially dispiriting because it feels like such a reversion to Angry Mommy of the past. Pre-therapy/pre-yoga/pre-better-coping skills (although I don't know anyone who could have handled the Great Sandwich Meltdown of 2015 - from their own kid anyway - without feeling despair, and, in my defense, I did not yell, WTF is your problem?! or call Bullshit! at any point in the 25 minutes. At least not out loud, so I'll call that a parenting win, especially during this challenging week).

After two extremely hard days in a row, of both kid behavior and my reactions/desperation, it occurred to me that a key part of my coping skills has been lacking totally missing lately - yoga. Yes, I know some of you might think I walk around thinking yoga is the wonder cure of all that ails ya (actually, that's pretty true), but that's because it is something that really does help most, if not all, of what ails me. It makes my physical body feel good, but more importantly it helps sooth my mental, spiritual, and emotional bodies, too. And lately I have not been getting on the mat other than to teach which is clearly a huge problem.

When I started teaching last fall, I immediately learned that preserving and protecting my own practice was going to be challenging but mandatory. After getting pregnant, those ideas did not change, but first trimester stuff has clearly gotten in my way the last two months and that is something I cannot credit blame my kids for - at least not the ones already out and running around my house like perfectly cute (and probably perfectly normal) hooligans. I know how important self-care and me time is and for me, that is best suited in yoga. I need to do the yoga! Not just teach it. So if I'm still not sure I have the energy level to do a full hr-long class at the studio, I need to do my own little practices here at home. Find something online or just make it up on own. It's not like I haven't had the training to handle this! Home practice is an area in which I have always struggled but seeing as how I am struggling so much right now without any yoga, even a less-than-stellar hop on the mat at home would be better than nothing. For all of us!

Listen

This past weekend found me in Omaha for one more (for now) yoga training, this one my final installment of prenatal training. In a beautifully (and symbolically appropriate) way, this closing module brought me such a sense of peace plus knowledge, which is great because the very first one stirred up a lot shtuff for me, and now that I've done the work and put in the time, energy, and tears that always seem to accompany my yoga trainings, I feel prepared and ecstatic to begin teaching my prenatal class this coming Sunday. It is going to be awesome! What turned out to be less than awesome, however, was my journey home from my Ommmazaing weekend in Ommmmaha.

As all of you in and around Nebraska know, this past weekend brought with it something we haven't seen much of this year, known in local circles as "Winter." Because we have had such little snow and within the last week, days of 60* temps, I don't know that any of us were quite ready for this so-called Winter (nor was it properly predicted which made the whole appearance of 6-8 inches of snow plus wind plus freezing-arse cold even worse). At least, I was not. When I left for Omaha on Friday afternoon, I actually had to come back in the house to get my winter coat, "just in case" and oh my, come Sunday when I was digging out my car in my friend's driveway (bless her heart and another friend's for digging out said driveway so I could leave), was I ever glad to have that coat (and hat, gloves, boots, and Smartwools!).

After going slow and taking twice as long as normal to get across town to the studio for our final of final days (and rewarding myself with Starbucks upon doing so), I attended a great birthing workshop lead by two doulas from Omaha (on Baby 4 and still learning amazing things about birth and labor and natural birth!), had a tasty late/working lunch with all my yoginis, and celebrated our group with a heartfelt closing ceremony that cracked my heart wide open, once again, in all the best ways.

At that point, it was time to finally decide what I would be doing with the rest of my day, which included calling and texting both my hubs and couple friends to see what they thought of travel. Since one of my dearest friends was in Lincoln with her family for the day, Ben thought it would work well if I left Omaha, met up with them as they were leaving Lincoln and we caravanned home. I agreed because, man, I wanted to get home so badly, even though I knew there had been some pretty serious accidents along I-80 throughout the day and that it would be slow going. Part of me hesitated though because I did not want to put myself at risk and was hemming and hawing for a fair chunk of time before I finally took the plunge and headed out into the frozen tundra.

Two indicators that I should have stayed overnight? The first was that I left my rings at my friend's house Sunday morning in my flurry to dig out my car, throw everything in it, and head for the studio. I don't know how I did that (or why I even had them since I normally don't wear them to yoga other than the fact that I wanted to feel connected to Ben and my family while I was away), but I knew I wasn't going to drive the opposite direction from home to get them unless I was staying again. The second was that when I was going back and forth on "Should I stay or should I go now??" I thought about calling my dad and then didn't because I knew he would tell me to stay put and apparently that wasn't what I wanted to hear so I didn't ask. Sorry, Dad; you were so right, even though you didn't say a darn word. So yes, the lesson learned is that when the Universe gives you a sign (leaving your wedding ring and great-grandma's mother's ring) at your friend's house and you want to be as stubborn as a toddler and ignore the good advice you know you'll get from you parents, LISTEN TO THOSE VOICES. Sheesh.

As it was, the first hour of my trip went really well, so I thought I had made a great choice. I made sure I had a full tank of gas and was driving cautiously, and I made it from Omaha to Lincoln much faster (but not actually fast, mind you!) than anticipated. I even manifested Katy Perry coming on the radio to inspire my inner-Durga (that's not going to make much sense to those who were not with me over the weekend at training, sorry) and all was well. Except that my phone started beeping "Low Battery" just as I went around Lincoln and I thought about pulling over to chill somewhere for 20 minutes and charge it, but then decided to just keep going because the roads were clear(ish) and there was still daylight. My friend and her hubs were not ready to leave Lincoln yet, so we chatted briefly on the phone, and decided maybe we'd meet up along the way home, maybe not. All was well. Until it was not.

While getting around Lincoln was no trouble, the roads started to get more snow-packed and slick as I got closer to the Crete exit. Traffic slowed down but kept moving and I thought, OK. This is still OK. After passing the Milford exit and shortly thereafter, the Seward exit, traffic slowed all the way to a stop. I bet I wasn't a 1/4 mile past the Seward exchange at that point but there was clearly no going back since, hi, that's not legal, and cars and trucks were packed in tight in both lanes. That was at 6:00 p.m. And although I did not know it at the time, it would not be until two-and-a-half HOURS later that I would make it the SIX miles down the Interstate to the next possible exit, at which point I felt like the biggest fool for even considering the idea of leaving Omaha yesterday, much less actually trying to do so!

During those two-and-a-half hours, I went through the full range of emotions. At first I was like, well, no big deal. I have plenty of gas and I am warm and I'm not in the ditch. All is well. Thankfully, all of those three things remained constant the entire time I was stuck either not moving or inching along the road. But then I started to panic and freak out a bit because my phone had been beeping low battery for so long and I had no way to charge it, so I was worried that it was going to go out on me and then no one could keep me updated on road conditions or know that I was OK and the whole thing was just panic-inducing, isolating, and kind of scary.

By some not-so-small miracle, though, my phone hung in there for the entire experience. And it allowed me to make multiple calls and send multiple texts which also had me experiencing the full range of emotions (bursting out in tears while taking to my dear friend who, after leaving Lincoln well over an hour after I went by, caught up to the Seward exit and was able to get off I-80 to drive on the highway instead whereas I was still stuck less than four miles in front of her) (getting really upset at my husband for telling me I should get off at Goehner - the next exit - and "find a bar" where I could charge my phone and hang out for a bit before heading on) (laughing out loud with my SiL, whose house, at that point, was my goal destination via the exit past Goehner, about the fact that her brother thought I should hang out at a bar when I couldn't even drink) (to relief when I heard from Ben that he'd found multiple places for me to stay if I did in fact get off at Goehner, including the house of a friend of his mom's who lives, literally, a 1/4 mile off the exit ramp there). Full range, people. Full range. All told, it was NUTS (and don't even ask about what my pregnant bladder thought of the whole debacle).

But yes. Six miles in two-and-a-half hours and I finally, blessedly, thankfully, safely made it off that damn road and to a landing spot for the night where I could plug in my little wonder-phone, let people know I was OK, eat some yummy SuperBowl food, and have a room and comfy bed all to myself. And all courtesy of gracious people whom I had never met before but were beyond happy to help. Thank goodness for good people!

Clearly exhausted from last night's proceedings, I slept in until almost 7:30 this morning and after breakfast and starting/loading the car, braved the end of my host's driveway and got back on the interstate at 8:30 this morning. Two hours after that (which is normally just shy of the time it takes me to get from Hastings all the way to Omaha), I made it home. The roads were clearly not great but traffic was at least moving, so I took my time and was in no-rush whatsoever to get anywhere. Except maybe Starbucks in York. I had already decided I was stopping there because that's what I do, but just outside of York, a truck went by me and found just enough melted junk on the road to cover my windshield in yuck, at which point I realized my driver side windshield-wiper-fluid-dispenser-thing-a-ma-bob was plugged with ice. The seven miles into York from there were less than fun, but I made it safe and sound and got my scrapper out after I parked at Starbucks to fix everything. However, the ice was especially stuck in the tiny little holes, so my scraper didn't quite do the trick and my windshield was still a mess, leaving me to wonder how I was actually going to get home if I couldn't see.

Fortunately I have some mad MacGyver skills and managed to use a Starbucks stir-stick to get it cleaned out so I could in fact make it all the way back to Hastings yet today. Have I said THANK GOODNESS yet in this post? Because I've been thinking it nonstop for the last few hours now that I am safe and sound (and bathed and showered) in my own cozy home.

A girl and her stick. Just another reason for
me to heart Starbucks. 

Of course hindsight is 20/20 and no one could have predicted running into that intense of a traffic jam when nothing about it was being reported at the time I left, and while my sanity and pride wish I had listened to those little voices that said STAY, ultimately it all worked out and in the safest, most pleasant (all things considered) way. And my lesson is totally learned - sometimes being a bada** means just staying the flip put and waiting for better conditions to travel!

Teaching Yoga Pregnant/Teaching Pregnant Yoga

In less than a week (actually, it's now TODAY!) I travel to Omaha to complete my final training module to become a prenatal yoga instructor and in two weeks (ONE!), I will step into that role in real time, holding my very first prenatal class at avani on Feb. 8. I have been reading and taking classes and observing classes and pinning away class ideas for months now and am so very darn excited to begin this amazing work. I am also humbled and honored by the auspicious timing of my fourth pregnancy that has aligned to allow me to grow right along with my prenatal students through the rest of the winter, spring and most of what will most likely be a really hot spent-inside-the-beautiful-AC summer. I honestly can't think of a better way to learn and grow as a new prenatal teacher than to be right there in the thick of it with my mamas-to-be, experiencing many of the same physical and emotional changes in, again, real time. Amazing.

As it stands, I have already been teaching yoga while pregnant for four weeks now. Actually, I was teaching yoga while pregnant before that, too, just unknowingly. Remember my Winter Solstice? How incredible it will be to tell this sweet babe one day that s/he once did 108 sun salutations inside my belly!

Teaching during this last month, though, has been interesting. Very few people knew about the pregnancy prior to my first OB appointment, so I can only imagine what my students thought of my unexplained windedness while cueing during class (oh.my.gosh! did that get bad and fast! within a week of discovering I was pregnant, I was already finding myself breathless at times during a class and that was when I was just walking around - not even demonstrating!) or my worse-than-when-I-started mix-ups of Left and Right. You trying mirroring your L/Rs with a fourth case of Mommy Brain. Trying stuff, I tell you! And then, of course, there are the demos. For my Basic class, especially, I tend to demonstrate much of what they do in their postures, but I've begun to (at least try to) show less, cue more, in part for the breathlessness but also because I don't want to do all of it. Some of that has to do with energy level, some with poses I want to begin avoiding because of my pregnancy (see? already putting my prenatal training to good use!). But since none of them knew my real reason for holding back, I can only guess what they might have been thinking.

In one case, I actually got called out during class by a jokingly asked question of, "Are you trying to tell us something, Jenni?" after having them do Rock the Baby and then Happy Baby poses back-to-back, and all I can say is, I am grateful they were on their backs and not looking at my face at the time because it totally would have given me away. Side note: it was eventually really great to share with the friend who asked the question because her reaction to finding out she was "right" was pretty funny.

Even though I am definitely starting to have moments/hours/days of constant queasiness, I am hoping that my yoga practice will sustain and carry me through the next six weeks especially. I have been doing more home practice as of late instead of at the studio, to avoid certain poses and questions about why I'm not doing them just yet, but when I've been teaching this last month, I actually tend to feel pretty good. Winded? Tired? Yes, at times. But the same joy I've always felt from my practice and from teaching are still there and it actually seems to make the nausea subside for a bit, either because I have something else to think about or because the practice just makes my body feel better. I have noticed, though, that while it feels great in the moment, I am starting to crash pretty hard after I get done - either hungry or nauseous (or both - how is that possible?) and tired for sure. So while it would be great to say, Yes! Add more classes!, in reality I need to remember to slow down and take care of myself, too.

Of course, as more people hear about the baby (and as my belly starts to grow!), it will be more easily apparent as to why I am teaching in a different manner in the coming months. And I am so grateful that my first foray into prenatal teaching will be such a meta experience, for I cannot think of a better way to learn than to be living, breathing, and doing it myself, too.

Now. Off to pack so I can hit the road, meet up with my Lotus lovelies, and embrace all that is to come in Module Three!!!

Like trees, we bend so we do not break. 

On Finding Out

Discovering that you are pregnant with Baby No.4 just 24 hours after suffering an awful, angry bout of the stomach flu is an interesting experience, mostly because of just how crazy my stomach felt at that point. 24-hrs-post-nasty-flu had me still feeling pretty weak and wiped, not to mention queasy, so although I was thrilled to see the word "pregnant" pop up on the test, I was slightly intimidated by my tummy, thinking Oh, No! I'm just finding out and I already feel this awful?!

If you've been with me and this blog for a few years (and a couple pregnancies), you may remember that my first trimester is never a kind one. I've never gone so far as to take anything for my "morning" sickness (such a ridiculous name for it, given how inaccurate the term is), but I've been close to doing so and for good reason. Weeks 8-14? They tend to be nothing short of the zombie-mommy-zone for me. But then Week 14 comes and goes and so too does the constant nausea, lack of appetite, and resulting weight loss. The second trimester and I are friends, to say the least. And let me be clear - I'm not saying I feel sorry for myself here, because while I obviously wish I felt better during those six weeks, I know it could be so much worse, like some of my dear friends who go at least halfway or all the way through (bless her sweet heart) with constant, terrible sickness. So while it may not be fun, at this point in my mamahood, I pretty much know what I have in for me, which is also my saving grace because I know I can handle it. [Note: those read a lot like famous last words, don't they? So much so that I should probably delete them, but they're already out there, so I guess I'll leave it. If Lincoln taught me anything, it is that every pregnancy is different, so perhaps I've not just condemned myself to two-trimester sick-period but rather none at all? That'd be nice!]

Anyway - rambling mommy-brain redirect - to feel so crappy so quickly after finding out the pregnancy alarmed me. It also sent me into instant action mode. I decided, what can I do to possibly combat or at the very least prepare for this? My first answer? Food. I made a vow to myself that day, even post-flu, that I would do my best to eat and keep eating. I realize that might sound silly to some, but I'm not kidding when I say first trimester weight loss. It has happened every single time, so I'm taking the next few weeks, until the nausea really hits, to eat. Not whatever I want, but as varied and as healthy as I can manage, because I know I'll need those calories to keep going in February and early March. Does that mean my belly might stick out a little sooner than ever before? Hi, this is Baby No.4 we're talking about - isn't that a given?! [post script: wrote this over three weeks ago and yes, the belly is definitely here already, but whether that is food-driven or just that my belly knows where to go, well, I'm not sure. let's just say, if we hadn't announced this week, I am pretty sure everyone who sees me now would have known anyway!]

My other food-related solution/inspiration centered on Freezer Meals. Prior to both RL and LT's arrivals, I made a couple handfuls of meals to stock our deep freeze so that I wouldn't have to worry about cooking post-baby as much. But since my cooking usually gets as exhausted as the rest of me in the first trimester, I decided to try something totally different this time by stocking up pre-morning-sickness, too. And thanks to the beauty of social media, I had people sharing ideas with me like crazy and managed to get eight recipes (some made double batches) done within a week of discovering I was pregnant. Pretty awesome, eh? This way, even I don't feel like eating, my family will have food and I won't even have to get off the couch to prepare it. Sounds like a win/win to me and even better if I actually feel up to eating some of it.

One of the other realizations post-discovery of Baby No.4's presence involved yoga clothes. Ha! I only need an ounce of inspiration to want more of those, but this preparatory move, although it included shopping for one of my favorite things - really was meant to be pragmatic. I have a couple of maternity yoga pants, of course, but hi, this is my job now, so I hit up Old Navy and Destination Maternity to see what else I could find and managed to score a couple pairs of pants as well as two tops from ON that yogis will be seeing on me later this spring/summer a LOT. The funny thing was, when the first package arrived and I took the items out of their bags and held them up for inspection, my first thought (after wondering Oh.my.gosh. Are these pants from Old Navy transparent?!) was, these look too big. And then I full-on laughed at myself because no, I'm sure they are not. Or at least they won't be. How quickly one forgets just how much one's body must change and grow to produce another human, tiny as they may be when they first arrive. Those pants and tanks? I'm sure they'll fit just fine in due time because, as I said, thankfully my morning sickness does not last forever!

As it stands, three-plus weeks after first writing this, I am feeling ok-ish. Tired and queasy and cranky due to not sleeping (and other fun hormones)? Yes. Ask my kids and they'll tell you YES. But hanging in there as best I can. And my OB appointment last week showed that Baby is doing well, too. But you guys, look at this ultrasound! Anyone else think the OB was trying to play a trick on my husband who couldn't stay for the actual ultrasound?! I promise, in real time, there was one happy little peanut, not two!

What the Funk?

This morning I made a slight parenting error by letting my children watch this viral video with me. I was hoping that since it was just the 3yo and the 1.5yo, they wouldn't pick up on any of the suspect lyrics and would instead just enjoy watching the kids dance in their school, which they totally did. But then, because it is a catchy song (I would know because I've found myself jamming out in the car to it more than once in recent weeks), the minute it was done and the computer was shut, Raegan was back to doodling on paper at the dining room table, but singing as she did so. No big deal, right? Well, sure, unless you take into consideration that her version of the word "funk" sounds nothing like how the word is actually pronounced, and it was the only word she was saying, in super-speed repetition, so it sounded like she was cussing a blue streak at record pace, just like that!

Honestly? I had to leave the room because I was having such a hard time not busting a gut over the whole thing and I knew if she saw me do that, she'd just keep saying it. So like any parent with wifi and funny kid anecdote, I took to Facebook to share, only to find out that kids really do say the darndest (and most innocently and wildly inappropriate) things! Again, always nice to know I'm not alone. So who is with me on complete nap debacles on top of botched song lyrics?

Remember when I said that my husband jinxed RL's naps a couple weeks ago? Well, it's gotten a lot more interesting this week as Raegan has taken to napping not in her bed, but her big brother's. It started over the weekend when we went to get the Littles up from nap and found her tucked in snug as a bug in HD's twin bed when she had clearly been put down in her very own toddler bed 2.5 hours prior.

Well, as long as she wasn't waking up LT, I didn't really care where she slept, so after finding her there again after Monday's nap, I decided yesterday and today to just put her to sleep there in hopes of cutting down on potential room wandering and noise while Linky was trying to get to sleep. Worked beautifully yesterday and seemed to be on target again today until an hour in to their nap when I heard definite ruckus coming from upstairs.

Side note: my pregnant lady hormones (more posts coming on all that soon, but I'm assuming that most of you have seen the photo announcement by now) are causing me all kinds of problems with my own sleep and it's been over a week, maybe closer to two, since I've slept all night. It seems that I keep waking sometime during the early-to-mid morning hours and then really struggle to get back to sleep (only to have crazy pregnant lady dreams if I do) before the day officially begins. It's been rough and I'm tired and cranky (and a wee bit constantly nauseous) as a result.

Today, of all days, I was told by one of my care providers that it would be really good if I took a nap this afternoon. I've been doing a bit of that anyway while the Littles nap and HD has his screen time, so when she said that, I thought (foolishly), no problem. But just as I was going to put myself down for nap, I heard what sounded like voices coming down the stairs, and this was after I was pretty sure I'd heard footsteps just a bit earlier. Cracking the door open to see if someone was sitting on the stairs, I noticed immediately that the freaking lights were on and could hear both kids talking/making noise. I flew up the stairs as fast as I could, barged into HD & RL's room, and found her just climbing back into her brother's bed with this in her hands:

An old college reader from the days when I had a full-time desk at which to keep such items. My first thought? What the (insert RL's pronunciation here) FUNK?! Seriously. I couldn't believe her.

I took the book, turned off all the lights (she'd gone into the bathroom to get the step stool so she could reach the hallway switch, naturally), and put her back in her bed, telling her that she had been very naughty to leave her room and wake Lincoln, etc. She started bawling, of course, wailing on and on because she wanted to be in Harrison's bed. Too bad, kid. You lost that privilege today with your shenanigans.

Then it was on to Lincoln's room to run through his lullaby and put-down routine again, and while he was fine while I was singing to him, he was very unhappy the minute I set him in the crib to go back to sleep. I realized as I reached in the dark to hand him his sleep friends that part of his discomfort was that his darling big sister had pitched four different books into his bed on her run around and I'd put him down on top of them. After fishing all of them out, I said goodnight and headed downstairs, where again, I wanted nothing more than to take my own little cat nap. Instead, I got to listen to both of them cry for over half an hour before they got quiet again at which point I was finally able to close my own eyes and pretend to sleep for a little bit before they were both awake again at their normal end-of-nap time.

*Oof* *Blergh* *Funk*

Mama just needs a little break in the afternoons, now more than ever. Here's hoping the children (Raegan. I totally mean Raegan) realize that for everyone's good, they should end these nap shenanigans immediately!