Because It's February

Once upon a time, BestestHusband was BestestBoyfriend, and he was trying to change that status. He had a ring and a big question, and he wanted me to relocate from sunny Austin to less-sunny Boston to wear that ring. Wearing the ring was an easy decision. Of course I'd marry him! But moving back to Boston? After giving away all of my sweaters and swearing I'd never return? So we made a deal. He agreed to take me somewhere warm and sunny every February if I never made him listen to NPR. It was a deal. 

Well, that first year of marriage, he realized the wisdom of making that deal. Well, other than just being able to spend his life with me... February is just not my month. It's really just not my month. February in Boston is when it's been dark for 3 months. The temps are at their yearly lowest, and the snow is at its deepest. Bostonians are miserable. Seasonal depression has set in. We're all vitamin D deficient. It's hard to go out and exercise in the snow and ice. Parking is a pain. Heating bills are high. It's all just bad Bad BAD. We all just want to hide in our beds under layers of warmth and wait for it all to go away. And it's really bad for me. There might be some moodiness and crying involved. This Texan does not do February.

So over the last 9+ years, I've come to just accept that some things will not happen - Because it's February. In my mind, that's a perfectly reasonable rationale for a lot of things. 

HurricaneDebbie is really interested in using the toilet. But we're not potty training right now. Because it's February. And I just can't manage the extra laundry and floor cleaning that potty training involves.

The pediatrician told me last week that HurricaneDebbie needs to give up the pacifier. I told her that I will do that in the spring. But not right now. Because it's February. And I just can't handle the extra whining and crying that will result from taking away the paci.

I want to really curb my diet and ramp up my exercise routine and lose a few pounds. But not right now. Because it's February. I just don't have the motivation or energy. And a bit of comfort eating is something I should allow for myself in February. 

I really need to clean the house and do some serious purging and reorg. But it's just not going to happen. I shouldn't even think about it yet. Because it's February. And I just don't have the energy.

I'm short-tempered. Because it's February.

I'm really not interested in doing much of anything. Because it's February.

Find a new job? No way. Because it's February.

Fun new craft projects? Not a chance. Because it's February.

Go outside? Heck no. Because it's February.

Even planning the Easter Egg Hunt feels like a huge burden. Because it's February. In March, it will sound like a lot more fun. In general, it's a highlight of my year. But there's no such thing as a highlight in February.

Every year, I start to get down on myself for feeling gross, tired, grouchy, and generally unpleasant. I ask, "What is wrong with me? Why does life suck?" And then I remember. Because it's February. 

February eventually passes. I have to remind myself that summer here doesn't really start until July, and I won't be truly WARM until then. But life starts to suck a lot less as soon as we can turn the calendar to March. Because it's no longer February. 

Thank you Lord for getting us to March. And for sending us only one February each year.

On and off the wagon

Hi. It's been awhile. Sorry about that. I'm not sure where all of my time goes, but it obviously hasn't gone towards blogging. 

Right now my time is spent at the crib side of an overtired, fretful baby. She should have gone to sleep over an hour ago. But she's too cranky to let herself do it. So here I blog, trying to keep her from freaking out because she's fretful and alone. 

I've been asked a lot lately about how the No Sugar diet is going. As I mentioned about 3 months ago, I've cut out added sugar from my diet. Well, I've almost cut out added sugar. The problem is that it's in almost every packaged food you get at the store:  bread, tortillas, hamburger buns, chips, crackers, cereal, etc. if you notice, those are not food items known for being sweet. Those are the "bland" and sometimes "salty " items. And they all have sugar in them. Pasta sauce does, as does ketchup, mustard, BBQ sauce, salad dressing, and most other sauces and condiments. It's everywhere. And it's scary. 

So, unlike a friend of mine who gets joint pain when consuming sugar, I haven't managed to cut it all out. Because I don't suffer when I eat takeout pizza. And many of the store-bought staples I listed above. Because I haven't committed yet to making my own mayo and ketchup. But maybe I should...

Occasionally I'll let myself have sugar. Because occasionally I crave something desperately. Like a Klondike bar. Or a brownie. So I let myself break my sugar fast. And it tastes so good. And then I want more sugar. So I have it. And I want more and more. Some of it tastes good. Some of it's pretty awful. And I feel nauseous. And my head feels a bit funny. And the first day of re-detox is tough again. And after all of that I'm glad to return to my new lower-sugar lifestyle. I've plateaued after losing 8 lbs. I haven't counted a calorie or cut back on anything other than the sugar. I've actually piled on the fat - butter, creamy cheeses, etc. It was the sugar that kept the baby weight on.

Here's the problem with a low-sugar life. It's really hard to do. Even just logistically hard. Want a summer cookout with burgers and fries? You have to make your own buns, ketchup, mustard, mayo, fries, and dressing for the pasta salad or potato salad. Let's not even get started on no-sugar snacks or desserts. 

Do you have time to make everything for every meal? Can you afford a chef to do it for you? 
What, no? Hmmm, what to do?

I've adjusted my habits and expectations quite a bit. The girls wanted cereal bars for a snack the other day. I ate matzo crackers with parsley pesto. And it was good. I don't have jelly on my toast any more. And I don't miss it. But filling convenience foods are hard to find. And pricey. And let's face it - most of us need convenience foods and snacks from time to time. Especially if you're trying to run multiple errands with small children.

I believe that I can continue with this lifestyle, especially if I allow myself occasional lapses. I just know that I'll suffer for them later, and I'll need to make sure the sugared food is worth it. I'm trying to figure out how to wean my children off of sugar. One of my girls can take-it-or-leave-it. One of the others demonstrates addictive tendencies, like me. How do I remove more from their diet without making them aware and reacting by eating more of it when they can? This is my challenge. 

Breaking Up Is Hard To Do

I cried today. I've been pacing. I've been cranky. I've been downright miserable. I know that breaking up was the right thing to do, but it's been really really hard.  

Our relationship was not a healthy one. It's what I turned to when I was stressed, frustrated, bored, or just hungry. And it always worked for a quick pick-me-up. But I became increasingly dependent on it. I was losing the ability to be "me" in the relationship. It was only "we". We were having a lot of ups and downs. And we weren't so happy anymore. 

So on Monday I broke up with Sugar. Yes, I know that sugar is in just about everything. But it's the Added Sugar that I love so much. Fruit is not my addiction. Sweet veggies were not my problem. No, it was just Added Sugar. It has an alias, Evaporated Cane Juice. They're one and the same. ECJ just hangs out in health food stores more. They had seduced me in an unhealthy way. 

So I said goodby. They're still hanging around the house. My kids love them, but their relationship is still controllable. I found myself reaching out to them today. I had to stop myself from accidental contact. I almost licked the jelly spoon. I almost ate MeToo's jelly bean. I'm thankful that I didn't. I want their control over me to end. I want to be a healthy me again. 

It's Day 3 and it's hard. But breakups are. And all of my past breakups led to happier futures. This is what I keep telling myself. It will be worth it. If I can just stop pacing and having the urge to cry.

What Not To Do

I'm going to tell you what not to do. I know you shouldn't do it, because I just did it. You don't need to learn this first-hand, my experience should be enough. 

When your kindergartener brings home the class pet for the weekend, and has a "journaling" assignment to chronicle the fun events of the weekend, do NOT get involved. Don't agree to take pictures of all of the fun they're having. Especially if the "pet" is a stuffed animal that can go everywhere with your child. 

Don't encourage her to type her journal entry on the computer. Don't agree to create a document with the text and pictures. Because your iPhoto might be wonky and refuse to save your photos on the computer. And then you might have trouble actually inserting those carefully taken photos into a Word document. So you might need to start all over with a Powerpoint document. And then you might feel the need to crop and edit the photos so that they neatly fit on a few pages. 

Just don't do it. 

It will take up your entire night - that Sunday night that you use to catch up and prepare for the upcoming week. You need that night. Desperately. You don't need the frustration of cropping and rotating. Of copying and pasting. Of trying to reconnect with your inner Powerpoint diva.

You should follow the example of the 7th child in the class who took the "pet" home - the one who wrote her entry in "kindergarten spelling" and drew pictures instead of taking them. The one whose family printed a few photos in black and white printer ink and just pasted them on. Her journal entry was lovely and charming. It was perfect. You should do that, too. It's a wonderful idea.

Trust me.

Scary Early

It's that spooky time of year. As much fun as I had making a sheltie costume (with its realistic shedding fur) for HeyMama, I sure am glad that Halloween is over. But daily life resumes, along with its daily terrors. Each morning dawns with the mild panic of getting everyone up, dressed, toiletted, fed, and out the door by 7:15am to take HeyMama to school. Ok, by "everyone" I mean myself and my three daughters. BestestHusband bikes to work later. And he can dress, toilet, and feed himself. One daughter can wake herself, toilet and dress herself, and feed herself, if we get out the food. One can toilet and feed herself, but needs help with waking and getting clothes to dress in. The third is absolutely dependent, and can't finish up her breakfast while I'm driving in the car. I've been doing it for almost 2 months, but it still terrifies me. 

I am not a morning person. Oh sure, there were those 4 years that I woke daily at 4:30am to row on a cold, dark, twisty river with 8 other people. I woke up on those mornings with the fear that those 8 other people would physically remove me from my bed if I didn't do it first. And sure, there was that time that I was training for a marathon, and had to do some runs before work in the summer, and had to get up crazy early. But I woke up on those mornings with the fear that I'd leave Melissa to run alone, or worse, get behind on our training schedule. It was fear that propelled me from bed both times. 

If my body had any say in the situation, it would happily stay tucked in bed until 10am. Just ask BestestHusband. He's seen it happen. Mostly before we had kids; I don't get to do it so often anymore. So imagine how my body feels when I ask it to get up 4 or more hours earlier than that. It is not a smooth-running machine. Not at all. 

So the 7:15am departure with my entourage is not an easy feat. There is always coffee in hand when I do it. It is truly "scary early" for me. 

But I'm coming to peace with it. Because the other morning, I drove to the next town to take HeyMama to school, then drove back past home to CVS to be there when it opened at 8am. We picked up a prescription and a few other things. I let MeToo play with toys. Then we tried on Halloween masks. We were out of there by 8:30. Given my preference, we'd still be at home in our jammies. But instead, I had an errand knocked off my list already.

And last week, before I got a cold and sinus infection, I dropped HeyMama off, drove to the gym, worked out, returned some things to the library, went to the far away grocery store, and were home before lunch time. Given my preference, we'd still be at home in our jammies. But instead, we had all of our errands done by noon. 

I don't love this early thing. But I'm willing to acknowledge that it's very good for me. Well, at least it's good for my productivity. My body thinks productivity is overrated. 

MeToo was actually laughing under the mask.

I think this one is my favorite.

The eyes lit up!

I'm not sure if it's the contrast of the face size with MeToo's body, the contrast of the pink fluffy Princess coat, or the giraffe-print leggings and light-up sneakers. But these pictures crack me up.

Hope your mornings are less painful!

Vanity. And Patience.

Vanity and patience - these are two words you don't hear together very often. One is definitely less-desirable than the other. But both have been on my mind this week. 

Vanity has been lurking under the surface for a few weeks now. I've noticed that, even before the presence of a newborn in the house (any day now, baby, we're happy to have you any day now!), I'm looking older. I've noticed more age spots, more fine lines, more "imperfections" in my skin. I suppose this isn't really that surprising. I AM getting older, and I've been outside more this summer. These things do happen. They should be expected, even. But now I'm obsessing about skincare products and makeup.

My last day of work for a while was yesterday. I went a day longer than my co-workers expected before I declared myself "all done." I really am uncomfortable and All Done. When I do eventually go back to work, it will be only a few short evenings a week, and a few weekend days a month. Even my per-diem pay can't cover 3 kids. So I'm transitioning even more to being a stay-at-home mom. This identity shift has been a gradual one over the last few years, and not always a smooth one. But one that is shifting again. 

So the vanity kicks in. I enjoy dressing up for work. I enjoy looking put-together. I know that a SAHM lifestyle is not always a given for looking put-together. Nor does the lifestyle finance a fun, put-together wardrobe. But I think that one of my top resistances to the change is actually a fear of becoming frumpy. Ok, I'm nowhere near a fashionista now. But I do have standards. I try not to look 5 years older than I do. I try not to dress 10 pounds heavier than I am. I try to look like I've shopped for new clothes in the past decade. I try to look like I at least TRY. I can't make any claims as to whether or not I succeed...

So then I start to feel guilty for my vanity. Really, does it matter what I look like? Aren't my actions more important than my appearance? Isn't my health more important than my looks? This is what I hope to teach the girls. A beautiful body is an healthy body, not a thin one. God gave us miraculous bodies to do His work here on Earth, not to adorn and flaunt them. What we know, feel, and do is far more illustrative of who we are than what we wear. Our appearance should not be our priority.

How do we demonstrate our priorities? Time and money are pretty good indicators. So if we spend money on our appearance, we are demonstrating our prioritization of it. So if, while only one parent is bringing home a regular paycheck, I prioritize spending some of that paycheck on skincare products and clothes, then I'm making a statement about my priorities. While working, this doesn't make me feel so guilty. One must keep up standards of appearance for professional purposes. Appearance DOES matter in the workplace. Investing in an appropriate work wardrobe IS an appropriate thing to do for one's career. And besides, I can spend some of MY paycheck to do it.

But what about when your career is being a SAHM? "Honey, can I have some of the money you earned to spend on makeup and clothes?" This just feels so... 1950's. Ok, so no, I don't have to ask BestestHusband's permission to spend money on things. But I do need to be able to justify them. And I realize that justifying them to myself is actually a bigger threshold than justifying them to him. But hey, that's a healthy thing, right? (Right honey?) But what is justifiable and what is just vanity?

What is vanity, anyway? I've been thinking of it lately as taking pride in one's appearance. But Sunday's Bible readings at church made me reframe the concept of "vanity". There is a long discourse on the topic of vanity in Ecclesiastes chapters 1 and 2. It discusses vanity as taking pride in accomplishments, not in appearance. I think most of us suffer from this version of vanity more often. We've worked hard for what we have:  our educations, our jobs, our comfy homes in expensive real estate markets, our 401Ks. They're OURS. We earned them. We're proud of them. They're part of who we are. But are they? 

Our homes will likely still stand when we die. Our diplomas will crumble and fade over the years. The money will get passed on to someone else. They are just things. Things that will go on without us. To take pride in possessions, to take pride in what we've done is true vanity. Our brains, our parents who made us go to school and get diplomas, our health to let us keep working, they're all from God. They were given to us, and they will eventually be taken away. This is the point of the Parable of the Rich Fool. To think that we deserve them is a conceit far greater than worrying about our gray hair and crows feet. This is the real vanity that many of us should strive to avoid. 

So I'm grappling with multiple versions of vanity now. I need to find a fine balance between maintaining my appearance and maintaining my perspective. It's not inherently sinful to want to look good. I certainly appreciate BestestHusband taking the time to keep up his appearance. I certainly owe him the same level of effort. I wouldn't want to be an embarrassment, and I don't want him to have to work too hard to find me attractive. But I do need to keep in mind that, like the grasses and lilies, my life will eventually fade and end. No amount of expensive potions will change that. This is the will of God. And likewise, my education and career, as well as my vocation as a mother, are gifts that I will use differently at different times of my life. And this, too, is the will of God. To cling too strongly to any of these is vanity. 

Well, one thing that I certainly can't be vain about is my patience. Because I don't have much of it. I know local moms whose mantra is "I'm an endless well of patience." They're proud of how patient they can be with their kids, and what good parents it makes them. I'm thankful I can't be vain in this arena. Because every day, I pray for enough strength and patience to make it through the day. And I keep getting it. Just barely enough of it. I know it's not because I have an endless well of it. I don't. 

My Mum likes to say it's never wise to pray for more patience, because it can backfire. It's our trials and tribulations in life that help us grow into more patient people. To pray for patience is to ask for more hardship. So I'm content just to have it doled out in barely-enough daily doses. I'm too much of a wuss to ask for the hard work to make me more patient. And God will always provide what we need. And having to turn to Him for our daily needs seems to be a good antidote to vanity. 

So after all of this, I still plan on celebrating my first day of not-working tomorrow by getting a hair cut and a pedicure, and shopping for new skincare and makeup products. Let's face it. I'll need all the help I can get after the baby's born, and we already paid for preschool for the girls. And I really can't reach my toes. It's my best chance to get these things done. But I'll keep in mind that this version of vanity is really the least of my worries. I'll need to continually battle the rest of it.

What vanities do you battle? 

No Medals for Martyrs.

Isn't it funny how the advice you dish out is sometimes the advice that you need the most?

While I was cooking dinner, HeyMama was outside, attempting to put the bikes away in the basement. Due to a heavy bike and some concrete steps, I doubted her ability to actually complete the task. But I gave her the go-ahead to try, and checked in on her after a few minutes. I peered off the upstairs deck to find her walking in circles on the patio, crying. When I asked what was wrong, she said she couldn't open the basement door. She'd been walking in circles and crying for a few minutes by the time I found her, poor kid. I asked my standard question:  "What would have been a faster way to get help?" She knew the answer: "Ask for it."

This is my third pregnancy. It's been 4 years since my last one, but I still remember a few things. And I've definitely learned a few things. Like the necessity of asking for and accepting help.

I've learned that there are no medals for martyrs when it comes to motherhood. There are things that you just need to do. You don't get bonus points for doing them the hard way. Oh, you can do things the hard way if it makes you happy. Like natural birth. Or breastfeeding despite thrush, bleeding nipples, and a ravenous baby that eats for 45 minutes every 2 hours. Or using cloth diapers despite having infants that poop prolifically 4 times a day. Hey, if you feel strongly about the benefits of doing things the hard way (as I did in the past), then go for it. Stick to your guns, let morals be your guide, and go for it. But don't expect a medal for doing it. 

In the past, I worked up until the day I gave birth or became too physically limited to work anymore. In the past, I declined offers of assistance, insisting that I was strong enough to do it all myself. "Use it or lose it!" was my mantra. I tried to do things the hard way. I didn't want to be weak. 

Not any more. I ask the employees at the pet store to get the 30 lb bags of dog food off the shelf for me. I let the baggers at the grocery store load groceries into my car. I asked my brother-in-law to haul watermelons up the stairs for me. I let my sister-in-law help with the laundry and cooking while they were visiting. I take the elevator up ONE FLOOR at work if I don't feel like taking the stairs. I ask BestestHusband to lift and move things for me around the house. Because, well, it's harder than it used to be, I really don't want to do it, and I'm 8+ months pregnant. I can accept a little help here and there. 

Trust me, this is a big deal that I'm willing to accept help. It's always been a challenge for me. It's been something that's been an active DETRIMENT to my personal and professional development. But I'm proud to say that I'm working on it. I'll let my friend take the girls to the zoo on Friday. Despite the fact that she has a preschooler and infant of her own. This imposition truly makes me cringe. But I want her to accept help from ME in the future. (HINT HINT, ANNE!) And people must give and take help to make the system work. I'll let my neighbor watch the girls next Wednesday while I go to an OB appt. I'll let her family host us for dinner that evening. Despite that fact that they have 3 kids already. (Stifling a cringe...) We're doing a potluck meal, so that automatically makes me feel better. But still, it's a stretch for me, and I'm going to stretch. Heck, if my last week of work is too painful, I'll start my leave early. And "cook" sandwiches for dinner. Or let Subway "cook" them for me. And if Little Miss decides to take a leisurely trip into the world, I would even consider pain relief for this delivery. Ok, maybe. This might still be a bit of a stretch for me. But I'm willing to stretch and CONSIDER it...

I keep reminding myself that there are no medals for martyrs. No medals. I am blessed by others when I accept their help, and I allow them to be a blessing when I do. So I need to do it. Wish me luck.

In what aspects of your life should you accept more help?

Spinach and Self-Righteousness

Spinach and self-righteousness. They don't really have much in common. 

Except that my day was full of them.

The day started with the self-righteousness. The Sundays in June are when our church does its yearly Vacation Bible School (VBS). We don't have enough stay at home moms and retired ladies to host a week of daily activities like we did in my church growing up. So we do it on Sunday mornings, in lieu of Sunday School. I'm helping in the craft room this year, following the instruction of a master crafter and helping young children produce her genius craft ideas. (This year, we're making a suit of armor. We did the belt last week and the breastplate today. It's pretty amazing to see what even the 3 year olds can do...)

We were in the middle of our largest class, when one of the little boys suddenly threw up all over the place. He hosed the floor, the table, and his brother. The room was full of mom helpers, so we were all over the situation. Except that we couldn't locate his parents. They dropped off the boys and left. (Sunday brunch perhaps?) And none of us actually knew his parents or how to call them. And the boys didn't know their phone numbers. 

"Busted." 

I know these parents to regularly drop off their kids and leave. They don't attend adult Bible study. They don't attend the church service. They take advantage of some free Bible-themed childcare and bolt. And now, they were caught in the act. With a miserably ill son who just wanted his parents to come and take him home. 

"Maybe this will teach them." 

I was feeling pretty smug about all of this. Meanwhile, their poor son was lying on the cool brick of the church courtyard, because it felt nicer than the benches. When the parents finally returned, we handed over one sick son, one healthy son, and a bag with a vomit-covered shirt. And shot daggers with our eyes. Ok, I did. I can't really accuse anyone else of doing so. But I shot enough daggers for all of us.

I was feeling pretty smug and outraged about the situation until late afternoon, when my attention was taken by spinach.

BestestHusband planted quite a bit of spinach for me, and it was ready to come in from the garden. Some of the plants were on the verge of bolting, and we have a warm sunny week coming up. So I brought in this lovely arrangement of spinach.

I was washing the dirt and bugs out in the sink when I realized how grimy I was, too. The smug self-righteousness ("Hmmph. I would never leave my sick kids at Sunday School and sneak off.") that I was actively entertaining throughout the day was like the bugs hiding in the spinach leaves. The bugs were small and few in-between, but until I expelled them from the bunch, the spinach was not fit for eating. And the self-righteous thoughts that filled my mind were polluting me, as well. 

One of my current favorite Facebook pages is Sanctimommy. It's a satire page devoted to laughing at the self-righteous parents out there who look down upon other parents who don't share their parenting philosophies. I derive a great deal of amusement from reading some of the ridiculous and judgemental statements made by other parents, most of them indirectly directed at people like me. (You know, a parent who doesn't slavishly follow the trendy new parenting habits like constant co-sleeping, nursing past toddlerhood, attachment parenting, serving only organic food on a paleo diet, etc.) I figure they deserve my laughing, because judgemental people suck, and if you think you can judge me, then I can laugh at you. 

Except I was the sanctimonious one today. I was the one doing the judging. I suck.

The kids today at VBS were learning about the concepts of Law and Gospel, as they pertain to our relationship with God and the world. "Law" is our mirror, our curb, our guide. It shows us a better God-designed way to live. It keeps us on a path designated by God. It shows us where we go wrong. And it tells us that we will never be perfect. "Gospel" is about grace. It is the reassurance that God loves us anyway, and that Christ washes away our bugs and dirt to make us clean. We will always be full of bugs and dirt, judgement and smugness. But Christ's death and resurrection provides us with the cleansing we need.

And so I'm thankful for smugness and bugs. It's a reminder that I'm not clean, and never will be on my own. And I'm thankful for the Gospel, and the knowledge that faith will be what I need. Because I'm sure tomorrow will bring its own version of bugs and smugs. And my grimy nature will get the best of me again.

Lost

I lost my ToDo list. It's on a big sheet of blue paper. It organizes my life. I'm lost without it.

I've tried using electronic systems on my iPhone and computer. For some reason, they never really work. I like the tactile aspect of the paper. I like writing out the entries longhand. I like the experience of crossing them out. Paper just works better for me. Until I lose it.

Being a mom has destroyed a lot of brain cells. If the girls grow up to be brilliant, you'll know that they got those brain cells from me. I used to have them. And now I apparently don't. So I commonly say, "If I don't write it down, it didn't happen." I also say, "Why bother trying to remember? I wrote it down?" This works well until I lose what I wrote down.

So I sat down this morning to try to re-compose my ToDo list. Certain things were easy to add. "Clean couch cushion." MeToo helped herself to my hand salve. Then shared some with the couch. How kind of her. Certain things always go on the list, like laundry and house chores. Yes, I know I need to do them, but I also need the satisfaction of crossing them out when I'm done.

I've found that a multi-column list works best for me. I create multiple small categories to help generate the list and feel like I'm covering all of the important aspects of life. Today's list included:  Home, Girls, Work, Church, Errands, Emails, Cooking. I have a lot of baking ingredients I want to use up before they go rancid, so I'm trying to be diligent about cooking more. And I have a baked sweet potato I don't want to go to waste. So planning out my cooking really helps with the waste department...

Once I create a big list, then I turn over the page and make a list of the things that will get done today. It's a bit redundant, but it helps me to self-organize after the myriad interruptions from the girls throughout the day. I need as much help as I can get.

In the end, I accept that my ambition is always greater than my ability to get things done. This is even a bigger issue now that I'm pregnant. The girls' nap time was traditionally a time for me to get housework done. Now it's a time for me to nap, too. The evenings were traditionally a time to finish up tasks from the day. Now it's a time to lay on the couch and groan about being nauseous. So my productivity is significantly diminished. But the list still helps. 

Until I lose it. And then I'm just lost.

I hope your week is a good and productive one, and I hope you don't get lost.

Pregnancy Dangers

I realize that my decision-making yesterday may not have been so great. In fact, what I did yesterday might have been pretty dangerous. I didn't mean to do anything bad, but I really needed a new bottle of Bac-Out.

I took the girls to Whole Foods. Around lunch time. While pregnant.

I know, what a rookie mistake! Oh yes, and I have the grocery bill to prove it. I really did go in for 1 thing. Ok, 4 things. I realized that I also needed almonds and raisins to complete the Mexican pork dish I was working on. And milk. And I really didn't want to drag the girls to yet ANOTHER store, albeit a cheaper one, to get them. The normal (non-organic, non-grass-fed) gallon of milk I bought was cheaper than I'd get at my normal store. But that's not the type of purchase that sucks me in at WF. That's the danger of Whole Foods. It's not what you plan to buy, but what you don't know that you need until you see it.

I'm out of the first trimester of pregnancy, and starting to feel better, but I still get pretty strong food cravings. Even more dangerous, I get strong drink cravings. For some reason, water does not sit well on my stomach. Even flavored with lemon or lime. Any mother knows this is a bad thing. Hydration is quite important while pregnant. Or anytime, actually. But flavored drinks sit just fine. Like lemonade. Or soda. Or organic locally-sourced chocolate milk. Or organic, made from 5 ingredients, honey-sweetened soda hand-made by a nice guy from Maine who offered us samples. It was yummy. And healthy! Well, for soda...

I was a sucker. But the baby NEEEEDDDED the chocolate milk. And the baby REEEAAALLLLYYYY NEEEEDDDED the honey-sweetened soda. And I just needed the hand-made chocolate toffees. The girls, of course, claimed to need them, too.

BestestHusband tried the soda last night. "Meh." He didn't need it nearly as badly as the baby did. I hope when he sees the grocery receipt and that the soda cost $7 for 4 bottles, he doesn't remember the taste of the soda. I hope he only remembers the taste of the amazing picadillo pork I made after visiting WF. I think the expensive beverages and tasty extras inspired me and the baby to cook. You have to admit, it's the first time I've been motivated to make something out of a cookbook since I became pregnant. Coincidence? I don't think so...

I only needed to get cleaner. Unfortunately, I think I got the wrong bottle, so I'll need to go back. DANGER DANGER!

Let's not discuss how many of these I've eaten already. The girls have helped...

Mmmmmm!

It really hit the spot.
Hey Jackie, tell your family to look for it. It's made in Brunswick, ME!

I couldn't help but pick up something for the girls. These are healthy and fun.

PS. Anyone want to watch Downton with me on Sunday? BestestHusband will be out of town, and I've heard this episode will be a doozy! And since I gave up Facebook for Lent, I have to advertise my loneliness here...

Preparation for Thanksgiving

I didn't take part in this year's Facebook challenge to list one thing every day in the month of November that I'm thankful for. It's not that I'm not thankful. It's more that I have poor followthrough.

In fact, by the time I finish this blog post, I will have gone off on at least two tangential google searches, gotten a drink of something, and certainly used the bathroom. And maybe sent an email or two. It's a marvel I get anything done in life, really.

See, by the time I got to THIS paragraph, I'd already gone off to find a recipe for mashed sweet potatoes. I think I've narrowed it down to ones with maple syrup instead of chipotles. I think I'm in charge of kid-friendly side dishes, and chipotles aren't always kid-friendly... Oooh, I just found a recipe with cardamom and orange liquor. That looks interesting too...

ANYWAY, my point was that I'd have more luck listing things that I'm thankful for if I actually sat down to do it all in one sitting. So, in not-a-consistently-hierarchical order, here's the beginning of my list. 

I'm thankful for:

1. A faith that provides hope, comfort, joy, and an internal compass to guide me through life's adventures and challenges.
2. A family that supports me, encourages me, challenges me, and gives me new reasons to be thankful every day.
3. An education that gave me bankable work skills, challenged my view of the world, and taught me to always keep my eyes and mind open to new views.
4. A vocation that challenges me emotionally, creatively, and sometimes intellectually. And allows me to help people. 
5. Enough confidence in myself as a clinician that I can rejoice when patients rejoice, and cry when patients cry. 
6. A group of friends that have become family.
7. A handsome, brilliant, and all-around-good husband.
8. Two adorable, entertaining, and loveable children. Most of the time.
9. A local Mommy community to answer questions and reassure me that I'm not completely insane. Most of the time.
10. The YMCA gym with babysitting, for when I am going insane.
11. Flannel sheets.
12. A down-filled duvet.
13. Forced air heat.
14. Heated tile bathroom floor.
15. Down coat.
16. Cashmere scarf.
17. Giant warm mittens. (can you tell it's gotten chilly here lately?)
18. A comfortable home that has room to grow into. This is not a common thing in our city.
19. A yard, with room for a garden.
20. A workplace within walking distance.
21. Another workplace that allows me to walk to a train through one of the most beautiful urban gardens in the world.
22. A safe neighborhood in a usually-safe city.
23. Guaranteed education for my girls.
24. Dogs. 
25. A preschool that provides excellent care and enrichment for my girls, and supports their growing faith lives.
26. Sunsets over our back yard.
27. A patio to eat on in the summer and watch the sunsets.
28. Woods behind our house that give shelter to deer, coyotes, foxes, and other fauna.
29. Rapid internet access to any information we need to find. Like sweet potato recipes.
30. The ability to walk to places, like parks, stores, libraries, and restaurants.
31. Freedom.
32. Dansko clogs. In marbled burgundy patent leather.
33. Plenty of weather-appropriate clothing for the girls and us.
34. Friends who hand a lot of it down to us.
35. An in-unit washer and dryer to keep it all clean. 
36. A spare bedroom to pile it all up in until I can fold and sort it all.
37. A palate that was expanded by persistent parents, travel, and adventurous friends and husband.
38. Cookbooks.
39. Booze.
40. Chocolate.
41. Chocolate-flavored booze.

I could keep going and going. 

The challenge is to find something to be thankful for every day, not just at Thanksgiving, and not just in November. But November is a nice opportunity to sit down and focus on the many things for which we can give thanks.

So tomorrow, as I'm trying my hand at pumpkin empanadas, I will give thanks for pumpkin. And a functional kitchen. And family who taught me to appreciate home-made things. And... may the list go on and on.

Airing Dirty Laundry

If you read some blogs, you might get the idea that the blogger lives in a world where the house is always clean, the food is always gourmet and organic, and the cute clothes on the children are always hand-made.

This is not that blog. You don't want to read those other blogs. You want to know that other people out there live lives that are more chaotic and disorganized than your own. You want to see other people's failures so that you can feel a bit better about your own.

Oh, you don't? Well, sometimes I do...

So I'm posting my week's laundry failure. It's not really a failure, I mean, I managed to get all of the clothes clean in a 36 hour span. But not necessarily sorted. Or folded. Or put away.

But I did manage to make a pretty menacing mountain of laundry.

In the beginning, there was a basket of clean laundry, and a collection of socks.

And then a dry rack of work clothes and some more clean laundry came along.

And then the laundry basket disappeared.

And the mountain continued to grow.

There's a quilt still in the dryer that will soon be added to the mountain. I plan on sending out an avalanche warning. I think the spare bedroom will be off-limits to children and pets until I can get this monster under control.

I hope you feel better about your own laundry habits. Happy Tuesday!

A New Obsession

I have a new toy obsession. Not a toy for me, but toys for the girls. I never thought toy-buying could be so complicated, but hey, most of us were pretty naive before we had kids.

I always figured we'd avoid Barbies. It's just the appropriate feminist thing to do, according to my liberal arts education. I figured we'd avoid "things that were too-thoroughly marketed". It seemed safer to just avoid TV character dolls that had their own music videos, breakfast cereals, and aisles at Target. Then there was the "avoiding the toys that contribute to poor body image or gender stereotypes". And the "toys that do too much of the work and don't foster creativity". And the "toys coated in toxic paint".  And the list goes on and on. Whew.

And one day, HeyMama and I went to a toy store to do a little lesson on the value of a dollar. The lesson didn't really get us too far, as nothing there was available for a dollar. But there was a little table set up with these little animal dolls. Their appendages and heads were moveable. They were fuzzy. They had tiny little clothes, furniture, and intricately detailed accessories. HeyMama sat herself down at that table and played for half an hour. I could not pull her away.

That was my first exposure to Calico Critters. They were cute pudgy little animals. The Mama and Daddy animals look alike, as do the siblings. No body image issues there... I had never seen them anywhere else before. No excessive marketing there... And while there are a lot of intricate pieces (great for fine motor skills!), none of them do the work for you. It's great for creative play. I found the perfect toy!!! And then I looked at the price tag... 
I would pay dearly for that perfection.

The price tag horrified me. Ok, so quality toys demand a quality price. You get what you pay for, yadda yadda. 
But still. The price!

An then I discovered a thriving secondhand market for Calico Critters. Because they cost so much, parents want to recoup their investment. They're still not free, but they're secondhand toys, so they can't cost an arm and a leg. So they sell them for about half price. This makes them reasonable. And the collection has been around at least since I was a little girl (I remember the commercials!), so there are a lot of pieces out there that are up for grabs.

This makes them perfect for becoming an obsession. It's something I can troll Craigslist for to find a great bargain. Or 7.

So if you see some at a yard sale with prices in the single digits, please snap them up for me. Or for yourself. Then you can have your own obsession.

Here's a teeny-tiny fridge with teeny-tiny groceries. Too cute.

Here's some teeny-tiny produce. With some dog fur thrown in for scale.

Here's Sister Panda in MeToo's little hand.

Here's Sister at her desk. With teeny-tiny desk accessories.
And MeToo's toes for scale.

MeToo holding Sister's globe. It actually spins. So cute!

Here's a Baby Guinea Pig on his/her playmat. Remember the gender neutral thing?
So dang cute.

Mama Guinea Pig and her twins come with a stroller. That really rolls.
And has an adjustable canopy. Seriously.
It's just all insanely cute.

Stewardship Every Day

Instead of doing my usual weekly check-in on my stewardship of my week's specific resources, I want to talk about stewardship from a larger parenting perspective. BestestHusband and I led a discussion on the topic at church on Sunday. It's not because we have the answers or are experts on the topic, but because it is a topic of great concern to us.

How do we teach our children to be good stewards of the gifts that God gives them - their time, their talents, and their possessions?

In the group discussion on Sunday, it was discussed that children pay more attention to what they see us do than what we say they should do. "Do as I say, not as I do" doesn't work.

This is much easier said than done.

When children see us being stingy with our time and money, they are more likely to be stingy with their time and money. When we are impatient and unforgiving of others, they are more likely to be impatient and unforgiving. When they see us act on faith, not our own self-serving interests, they are more likely to live their faith.

So in other words, if we want our children to follow a lifestyle that propagates God's love, we have to do it first.

Dang. That's hard.

This is going to require some figuring out. Are we being good stewards? What do our children see when they look at our lifestyle?

Now that the girls are getting old enough to have discussions with, we can start to explain the rationales behind our decisions. We can explain why we don't spend as much money on vacations as some others do, and don't have a giant flat screen TV as some others do. We can explain why we feel it's important to go to church every Sunday. We can help them connect the dots between our actions and our faith. We just have to keep talking about it.

But we have to be careful. Because if we aren't consistent, they'll notice. And we can talk all day long about our beliefs, but if our actions don't match our words, all is for naught.

This is a scary thing. A very scary thing...

Stewardship Sunday Again

It's Sunday again. Wow, that was quick.

This was a weekend of domesticity. I harvested lavender and mint. I made yogurt. I made bread. I made soup. I made a mess. I feel like I'm constantly cleaning something...

My Show is on Sunday nights. I haven't had my own show in so long. Ok, that's not exactly true, I do love Revenge. And Castle. And I do watch Dancing With The Stars. But that's mostly just to have a good excuse to spend more time sitting on the couch with BestestHusband... I've become a PBS junkie. There's a new show, Call the Midwife. I'm a sucker for period BBC drama. I've seen 3 episodes and I can't wait for more. Unfortunately, it's right through bedtime. But that's what repeats on the Pbs.org are for. I apparently need to live vicariously through a naive 1950's London nurse-midwife who lives in a convent. Maybe it's all the newborns. Or maybe it's the quiet of the convent that's so appealing...

I've been fighting a bad head cold this week. It was a great reminder that sometimes I don't appreciate something until it's gone. Like free airflow through my left nostril.

Fall arrived early this week, with a hard frost, coats and mittens. I resisted the temptation to turn on the heat, and turned on the oven and stove instead. It's that time of year again. The requests for baked goods are starting to come in from my family.

Ok, again, it's late, and I need to take my NyQuil and go to bed. So I'll report in on the week.

Time: I didn't give up Facebook, but have cut back. We spent a lot of time inside, and I tried to nap more this week. I'm not sure it helped much. I don't feel like I really used my time well, but I don't feel like I frittered it away so badly, either. I did watch a ton of full episodes of other BBC treats on pbs.org, but that was just because I needed to sleep and the meds wouldn't let me. I was resting, really.

M&Ms: when the Sudafed didn't kill my appetite, I indulged too much on the M&Ms. My taste buds may be dulled for healthy stuff, but still register M&Ms very well. Sigh.

Patience: The Patience Angel was my constant helper, but I still have difficulty when I'm not feeling well. I hope this week will be better. 

Money: I made some big grocery shopping trips this week. I'm going to try to coast on that for a few weeks and use what we've got. Wish me luck. Did I mention that I got good deals at the yard sale? But I mostly got them for other people. I still need to buy pants and other things for HeyMama. Wish me luck.

Food waste: I ended up throwing out some leftovers that were just leftover too long. Last week, BestestHusband, my usual waste-preventer, was at a conference and didn't need lunches. So my usual level of leftover-production was excessive without his lunch-taking. And I have a more active gag reflex than he does. So I threw out probably 3 lunches worth of food. Sigh. Tonight's dinner used up quite a few ingredients that needed to be used. Hopefully that trend will continue and I'll have a better report for next week. 

So the next week starts in about 40 minutes. I'm thankful for Sundays, and the regular time to gather with my church family and refocus on God and His unending grace. I'm thankful that we're given a blank slate to start over again. I'm thankful for forgiveness, and the knowledge that God gives strength where we need it the most. Because most days, I really feel like I need it!

Hope you have a great week! 

Monday: ...the Bad, and the Ugly.

So on the way to my shopping triumph yesterday, I had the chance to visit unfamiliar parts of town. My GPS completely failed me, insisting that I drive THROUGH a neighborhood park to get to a road that had no simple substitute. So I meandered through the winding neighborhood roads of Chestnut Hill.

As I drove through the genteel neighborhoods made of graceful single-family homes on well-manicured expanses of land, I felt a wave of envy sweep over me like I've never experienced before. I felt flush, and broke out in goose-bumps. Everything was lovely. The neighborhoods projected safety. Security. Permanence. Wealth. Impeccable schools. And I wanted it all. Verdant athletic fields. Rambling playgrounds. I wanted it. Badly.

And then I started passing the private schools. The palaces of education with every educational innovation and luxury. There were no barriers or inconveniences there. Just every extracurricular you can dream of. Lacrosse? Got it. Field hockey? Rowing? Fencing? Diving? Check, check, and check. Music? Check. Art? Check. Drama? Check.

It reminded me that Boston is flush with money. Well, the tony suburbs are. There is a standard of living here that we will never have. If we lived in Texas or Minnesota, we would have a single family home on a lush green lawn. If we lived somewhere else, we wouldn't be subjected to the vagaries of the BPS lottery. We wouldn't have to choose between schools with music and schools with art. We could get music, art, and athletics at the same school. One in our neighborhood.

Other people have it all. I wanted it all, too. I wanted everything that they had. I was nearly crying with envy.

It was bad. It was ugly.

And then I felt the shame.

I was driving my girls to go shopping. Sure, I'm always looking to get a bargain, but I never have to choose between buying food or clothing. Medicine or heat. Paying for opportunities for one child, but not the other. I don't have to make hard decisions about money. We are not poor. We have all that we need, and plenty to share.

To be envious is to be ungrateful for what we do have. And we have a lot. I forget that sometimes.

For shame.

I think it's ok to wish for better, especially when it's wishing for better for your family. That's what parents do. It's our job. But I wasn't wishing. I was coveting. And for that, I'm very ashamed.

I'm thankful for brief flashes of perspective. I pray that I can keep the perspective as the year goes forward. I'm going to a BPS meeting on Thursday night to hear about proposed rezoning to change the schools available for us in the lottery. It will bring up issues of educational disparity, money, race, class... All ugly topics.

I have to keep reminding myself that we have so much. We have so much. We don't have prep schools. We don't have an expansive verdant lawn topped by a multimillion dollar home. If God thought we needed one, we would. So I pray for contentedness. And I will continue to pray. And pray. And pray...

Mommy Confessions

Since becoming a mom nearly 4 years ago, I've found myself in the role of confessor to a lot of other moms. My favorite was the fellow dog-walker that I knew by appearance only that caught up to me as I made the daily Arb loop and confessed that her infant son had rolled out of her bed to the floor that morning. He was fine, of course. But she was traumatized. And she just HAD to tell me about it. This was just the beginning of my new job.

The confessions have continued since then:

• I cried hysterically for days when I found up I was pregnant with our second child.
• I don't really like my children after about 3 pm.
• She drives me crazy.
• We spank.
• Oh, my first son, he was HORRID!
• I think we spank too much.
• I don't feel like a good mom. I'm not sure we should bring other children into our family.
• I constantly question everything I do.
• I haven't taken pictures of the kids in months.
• Sometimes I just have to send them to their rooms for an hour to keep from going crazy.
• I worry about ruining my children.

Unlike my recent public confession, these admissions are done privately. In parks. In backyards. Over glasses of wine. And they're fueled by guilt. And insecurity. And they're made by good moms. Really great moms with really great kids. Moms who shouldn't have to carry such guilt and insecurity. Moms who shouldn't need to worry so much. But we do. We all worry about our mothering more than we should.

Why?

I know I'm not the only confessor out there. I make these confessions, too. I'm not surprised that these confessions are done quietly. And only around other moms. Because how could you explain it to people who aren't moms? Or people that don't remember the struggles of being a parent? Find a popular blog or an online article on the topic, and the public comments are horrifying:

• You don't deserve to have children if you don't adore them 24/7.
• Spanking will condemn your child to a life of crime. I'm calling child protective services on you right now.
• If you question your decisions, you must be doing it wrong.
• Co-sleeping will doom your child to a life of perpetual dependence. If you don't smother them in your sleep...

It's no wonder we say these things only in safe company. Being a mom opens yourself up to public criticism. As if our job wasn't challenging and wearying enough without it...

What do we do about it?

Perhaps we should reassemble the Sorority of Moms and agree to fight back against public criticism like this. Even if we secretly agree with the criticizer, we should remind them that criticism is not their right. We're never all going to agree on the best way to parent children. Can we agree on that much? And in parenting, we reap what we sow. Cosleep? Someone else is wetting your bed. Use formula? You pay a fortune for something that most moms can provide for free. Employ lenient discipline techniques? You're the one who has to live with the child's behaviors until they outgrow them. We all choose the consequences of our decisions. And we have to live with them, for better or for worse. The criticizer doesn't have to suffer at all. So why do they care so much?

I wish I knew the answer to that question. 

Do you?