"But since I came here felt the joy and the fear...

...finding myself making every possible mistake." New Soul by Yael Naim.

Hello lovelies!

Image via Free Pretty Things For You

Sorry (again!) for the extended absence! We made it safely to our new hometown - thanks for all your prayers and support!

I'm seven weeks out from baby Charlie's due date, and we're in the midst of buying a house, getting all the new insurance/car registration/choosing doctors/etc. that comes with a new move, and my sweet husband is working crazy hours with his new job and doing all the paperwork for the various things listed above (since if I did them at this point I may not even spell my name correctly. Helloooo, pregnancy brain!).

I've got a couple projects going on (ha.) beside the moving and baby stuff, so I'm afraid this blog may have to go on hold a little longer. Rest assured that I will bring you all up to speed once we get back into a regular schedule and a house of our own. :)

Thanks for sticking with me!

Love!

"I see Jesus riding on a white horse...

...hero calling from the sky." White Horse by Earthsuit.

As Christians we will not get a fair hearing in the public square - or anywhere. Every discipline, from Politics to Science to History to Literature will ignore, disparage, mock, and illogically refute any argument we put up, even in a “fair” debate. 

And that is ok. 

We must continue to speak truth and trust that the Word of the Lord will not return void. We must fight the good fight and realize that we probably won’t draw in swarms of adoring fans, hanging on our every word like the enemy does--though I hate to use the term “enemy;” I would prefer “opposition." Yet an enemy is what he makes of himself, the man who sets himself against Truth, Scripture, Virtue, and all the other things he mocks as irrelevance or ignorance. 

It is easy to be discouraged at this constant barrage. Don’t be.

Even our so-called friends and allies turn on anyone who dares speak out against the wrong and the evil and the lies, whether out of fear, or a desire to be inoffensive (which comes to the same thing) or being mislead or misinformed themselves. These “friends” attack their own without even the consideration they would give the opposition because they consider it housekeeping at best, or cutting out a cancer at worst. 

We try to respond gently, to form our arguments in a winsome and sweet way, and to speak “truth in love” as the saying goes. Our enemies have no such qualms, and the “friends” mentioned above lose any vestige of that when it is “one of our own.” And so we continue to lose the debate, be shoved out of sight, and told to keep our silly, foolish, old-fashioned, weak thoughts to ourselves. 

How comforting to know that God uses the foolish and weak things.

Remember, sons and daughters, we are pilgrims in an unholy land. We are not playing a game, we are not dabbling in an intellectual exercise. This is a battle, in a war, in enemy territory, and it is to the Death. We are not merely discussing hypotheticals and strategy. Though our enemies (and “frienemies”) deny even very struggle in which we are engaged, they lie, for we are in a fight, with real tactics of backstabbing and horror. 

But do not despair, and do not give up. Though there is terror and sorrow and treason and hurt--though we be maimed and torn apart and abandoned by our allies--there is also hope. There is courage. The sun will rise after the dark, and the Great Warrior himself, the Word, the Truth will be on a shining white horse and we will find that by Him we were never abandoned at all, and the battle will be won. 

Take heart and continue to speak truth despite the response. Hearts will be won, and the fight will end in victory. 

"I painted stripes on the family cat, broke two teeth only yesterday...

...I'm the angel in the Christmas play." Angel in the Christmas Play by Gayla Peevey.

Apparently our little baby face doesn't think so much of my Christmas list for him, so he wrote a letter to Santa to correct it. :)

Dear Santa
I'm sure you are aware that my mother has sent out "my" list of presents and while the intentions are good, I really am not interested in footy-sleepers or a lightweight travel stroller. I am 14 months old now, and I've been VERY good,  barring a few incidents when I was teething; but no one could hold that against me, right? There are the usual things I'd prefer - wrapping paper and boxes, naturally - but I have a few other things I would really like for Christmas this year which are listed below. Thank you so much, Santa, and Merry Christmas!

1. I would like quality time with THIS cat. She doesn't like me. I can have the other anytime I want, so naturally I am much more interested in this one. 

2. I would love a few of these refillable wall-mounted entertainment devices. For some reason, although there seem to be an endless supply of the white papery things, I am forever thwarted in my attempts to utilize this fascinating device. 

3. Time under here. It's obviously a doorway into Narnia, or my parents wouldn't be so desperate to keep me from it.

4. Open access to this drawer. Obviously it's full of candy.

5. This computer cord, to chew and play with to my heart's content.

6. A selection of these. Not sure what they are, but they are the perfect size to stick my little fingers in that hole. 

7. This Interactive Entertainment System (which is also self-cleaning!). All those little pieces and parts and things to take out and throw on the floor and sort! And yet my parents are forever hoarding the pleasures of this device for themselves. Rude.

8. These. They magically contain people sometimes, I've distinctly heard my dad talking in one and I often hear from a variety of Grandmas, Grandpas, and Aunts. I would like to have my own personal human miniaturization convenience device, but I would also like access to everyone else's whenever I happen to notice one.

9. A crate of these. Do you have any idea how fun it is to take all the separate tissues out and tear them up? Hours of wholesome family fun.

10. Access to this. Again, so many individual pieces, all so shiny, and with convenient cabinet doors that I can already open and close myself. And yet for some reason mom shrieks every time I come near it. 

11. These. Dad's "work" rattle. Not sure why it's so special to him, but you'd think he could share. 

12. Three words: Cords and buttons. Look at all the lovely buttons and delightful cords to push and pull! I know for a fact that some of them cause MOVIES to play on that big screen, and they make fun little beeping noises, too. Also, there's a cool little drawer that goes in and out. What's not to love?

13. This. It's not like anyone else wants it! I just want to go through it and maybe create some original art with whatever is in there. But my parents are forever stifling my creativity in this area. I don't know why. Half the stuff in there came from me anyway.

Thank you so much, Santa, and Merry Christmas!
Love,
James

So there you have it. :P

"When they return, may quiet fill their souls...

...dearest Lord, keep them safe within its walls." Prayer for Home by Fernando Ortega.

Hello, lovelies!

Apologies again for a somewhat lengthy absence; the baby is becoming more mobile and getting into everything! What a joy.

Babyface and I went to Post to eat lunch with Daddy the other day, and he had to run off to answer a call, so we were alone in the conference room for a little while as I finished eating. A detective and friend of ours was working on a case and he came in and started visiting.

We talked about how important it was to be near family, and he asked if we had any leads to possibly moving soon to be nearer ours (we don't presently, but you could pray for that!) and then he asked an interesting question.

"When you guys do move, do you think you'll get to go back to work?"

You have to understand, his wife works full time and they have a baby just three months younger than Jamesy. I know from previous conversations with his wife that they never even really considered her staying home. They have a house payment and she loves her career and they are well-connected to the community here--and it sounds like they have a great setup with daycare, etc. that they really like. I'm glad this works for them, but I can't even imagine it - and I'm inclined to make some self-deprecating comment about how I am not a tough enough woman to work and raise a kid (which I really do believe in a lot of cases--especially the ones where there's no other option--it does take a much stronger woman than me!)

And he made some remark about wasting my degree, to which I said I would consider working after the kids all go off to college, and he joked that there was an awful lot I could forget between now and then. The conversation turned to other channels, and eventually I finished eating and came home. But that part of the conversation stuck in my head.

In fact, the only two responses to those kinds of questions posed to "full-time housewives" that I usually hear are mine kind (a non-committal reference to career options I could have, were I so inclined) or a very righteous indignation at the implied belittling of the role of homemaker (which is how I actually feel when questioned thus, but I don't like getting into it with people who are just trying to make casual conversation.)

I wish I could communicate better a more middle ground - there are careers I am qualified for; I paid big bucks to get those qualifications; it would be entertaining and perhaps fulfilling to pursue those careers; my husband and I have chosen this path; staying full time with my son (and any future kids we may have) is a higher priority in our family than more money or my career; I consider educating my children from 0-18 an excellent and fulfilling utilization of my degree - I think career women are great, I'm proud of my friends who are doing that very thing. But it is not for me.

I could even go so far as to say that being a church lady and homemaker has been my dream all along - but then, I've had many dreams. Spy, actress, event planner, fashion designer, author, politician, adventurer...and some of those have or will come true yet, and some of them will not. And that is life.

But it also brought to mind a quote I've been seeing around lately that is attributed to C.S. Lewis:

The homemaker has the ultimate career. All other careers exist for one purpose only - and that is to support the ultimate career.

But of course, the internet being what it is, this quote is a loose replication of what Lewis actually said on the subject:

I think I can understand that feeling about a housewife's work being like that of Sisyphus (who was the stone rolling gentleman). But it is surely in reality the most important work in the world. What do ships, railways, miners, cars, government etc exist for except that people may be fed, warmed, and safe in their own homes? As Dr. Johnson said, "To be happy at home is the end of all human endeavour". (1st to be happy to prepare for being happy in our own real home hereafter: 2nd in the meantime to be happy in our houses.) We wage war in order to have peace, we work in order to have leisure, we produce food in order to eat it. So your job is the one for which all others exist..." (pg. 447, Letters of CS Lewis, 1988 ed.)

And I think that he puts it beautifully. For though there is deeper meaning in many jobs, that deeper meaning still yet goes back to that idea of home...home...home.

And I thought of one particular friend; a hard-working, delightful woman--and when she gets home from her job, she has a darling apartment with a fluffy cat. She cooks herself gourmet dinners and buys fresh flowers at the farmer's market. I just love that!

Anyhow, that's what I've been pondering of late.

Love!

"Sent from up above...

...you are the one I love." Endangered Love from Veggie Tales - Silly Songs with Larry.

Hello, lovelies!

The big news around here is, our old (um, only 2 years?!) blue-ray/dvd player died, so my sweet husband scoured sales and web deals and found us a new one! And this one is ever and ever so much better. One amazing upgrade...Youtube, straight to our TV!

But why do I care so much?

Because of this channel!

That's right, instead of exclusively watching classic Winnie-the-Pooh (which is still his favorite, by the way) James has branched out to Veggie Tales! So now when we're tired of rumblies in our tumblies, we can switch to water buffaloes, Barbara Manitee, and Kilts and Stilts. Previously, a computer was hooked up to the TV for this, but the full screen feature didn't carry through a playlist.

It is very heartwarming to see my 10-month old dancing and singing gibberish along to the Veggie Theme Song--his favorite.

Another exciting development with our little baby-face, is that he has stopped chewing on his board books and realizes that there is a story that goes with them. He brings me books to read him now, and sits and watches and turns pages. And he spends a good amount of time just flipping through them on his own, which completely delights me! He especially loves his "Touch and Feel" books (one Winnie the Pooh and one Beatrix Potter) and any of the Sandra Boyntons that have a song associated with them. (He just doesn't get tired of mom and dad singing Perfect Piggies.)

So that's fun. It's so exciting to see him comprehending more and more every day!

This isn't just impacting his playtime (but who am I kidding? It's all playtime). He's also developing in response to Mommy and Daddy telling him things. For several months now, when we would say "No!" He would freeze - pausing in what he was doing - and then we could get over to wherever he was and take the cord out of his hand, pull him away from the DVD player, pull the cat's tail out of his mouth, etc. Also, we'd taught him to not grab at the spoon when we fed him, roll on the changing table, and other simple things like that, and he reliably could be expected to obey.

But in the last few weeks, Jamesy was getting into EVERYTHING and doing all the stuff we'd so painstakingly taught him not to do! It was like he'd totally forgotten, and we started to question if he was really old enough to comprehend it anyway. But at the same time, his comprehension was rocketing up in other areas, so we decided to just consistently correct, explain, discipline--and the last few days have almost reverted back to his prior level of obedience. He's still prone to try to do things he knows he shouldn't...but I know he knows, because he watches me when he starts to reach for, say, an electrical outlet, and when I say no, he smiles and rolls away as if to say, "Yeah, I figured." So I suppose he's just testing us, bless his sinful little heart.

And now when we say, "Yay, good job!" he claps and says "Yay!" along with us. Which makes eating very cheerful, as I praise him frequently for eating well and neatly. And when that palls, we start singing Barbara Ann. It works for everybody, but let's just say we won't be going to any quite and fancy restaurants any time soon. Unless they have a special cheering section.

So that's the news from "Helm's Deep," as my mom calls our little estate.  ;)

Love!

"I am, I am, I am...

...the luckiest." Luckiest by Ben Folds.

Ok, I have about ten seconds before my weepy, clinging baby needs me again, so let's make this quick.

James has his first teeth! (Hense the weeps and clings)

He has requested no photographs till they're a little more visible, however, so I will respect his wishes. (Ok, he has refused to open his mouth for a picture, but I figure, he can't talk, so how else is he going to nicely request me not to take pictures?)

So here's some pictures of him with teeth hidden.

Gotta love that crazy hair!

Loves!

"The way we danced until three, the way you've changed my life...

..no, no, they can't take that away from me." They Can't Take That Away From Me performed by Frank Sinatra.

Hello lovelies!

All three of us have been sick lately - poor baby James has RSV (and so do I) and Ryan has some kind of ear infection, so we've been staying in and trying to sleep (except James, who seems to believe sleep is for the weak).

In the midst of this, if you follow us on Facebook, you may have noticed our entry in a Cincinnati's Cutest Couple Contest (and thanks for all of ya'll's support!). We didn't win, but it was so much fun to have this little thing with me and my sweet husband constantly posting pleas for votes, checking the site for updates, and talking about how cute we are together.

This reminded us of how important it is to maintain your marriage as your family grows - which my wonderful husband is especially good at remembering - and so we compiled this list of things we do to intentionally stay close as a couple, even with a new baby.

On our way to our Valentine's date!

1. Enter cutest couple contests - free, fun, and it tells the other that you find them attractive and you are proud of them!
2. Leave encouraging notes for them to find (on the pillow, on the mirror, in the car, lunchbox, computer...).
3. Bring surprise treats (cookies, lunch, sonic drink) to them at work or during the day.
4. Discuss awesome dates or adventures you had pre-baby
5. Plan fanciful future adventures (from going to the zoo to visiting Italy)
6. Make the extra effort to make a fancy meal once in a while with nice dishes, fancy dessert, and pretty centerpiece, like a party just for you!
7. Look for small acts of service that really serves the other, like setting up coffee for him or gassing up her car.
8. Be mindful of tone-like sounding cranky when you're just tired or like sounding accusatory when you're just asking.
9. Remember to communicate with each other--take time to talk when baby is asleep.
10. Give each other alone time to recharge (just cuz he wasn't babysitting all day doesn't mean he was relaxing...and just cuz she was home doesn't mean she rested)
11. Remember each other's physical limitations, both in terms of intimacy and in normal activity/sleep deprivation, etc. Guys-her body took a beating, some of which will never completely heal or go away (stretch marks, anyone?). Also, hormones make her certifiably crazy for a while yet, even if she doesn't get PPD, so be patient. Ladies, he can only handle so much. Don't dramatize your suffering unnecessarily and don't needlessly draw out your recovery--and don't let your new curves, scars, and tiredness keep you from being his sexy little thang!
12. Verbalize specific things about the other for which you are thankful. Not just, "I'm thankful for you," but, "I'm thankful for how you cleaned out the car without me even asking," or "I'm so thankful for how well you keep up with our bills."
13. Go on a real date with a baby sitter. Seriously. At least for Valentine's, anniversaries, etc., preferably at least once a month.
14. Pray together about both big and little things.
15. Allow for flexibility...sometimes when you get home from work, just take the baby. Sometimes just let him relax a while after work. 
16. Say "I love you." Lots. And, "thank you."
17. However much you think you serve your spouse, double it. Then double it again. 
18. Try to always be the one volunteering for baby duty...then thank the other when they do it.
19. .Brag about each other-to friends, on Twitter, Facebook, and to your families.
20. Never take your exhaustion and frustration with the new dynamic on you marriage outside your marriage. (You can seek support but do not whine)
21. Men: constantly reiterate to your wife that she is beautiful, losing baby weight, etc. Ladies: encourage him and do not criticize, especially in how he cares for the new baby. Remind him that he has your respect.
22. Be creative in keeping romance alive. It's easy to forget whose your main squeeze with the new little snuggle-bug.
23. Take lots of picture and video featuring not just the little one.
24. Play with the baby together. Bond not just as daddy-baby and mommy-baby, but as a whole family.
25. Pray for each other and with each other daily (and all the time!)

"I need some sleep...

...you can't go on like this." I Need Some Sleep by The Eels.

Hello, lovelies! We've been experiencing some of the joys of parenthood lately - like growth spurts, the four month regression, and teething - and with all the fun, I haven't had time to blog much lately. No, seriously, we have been enjoying joys - like smiles and real, deep belly laughs, and little baby gibberish as he tries to talk to us...but the last week or so has been, um, how should I put this? Awful. Terrible. The worst week we have yet had with him.

But before we go on, let me clarify. I love, love, love my son. I love being a mommy. I wouldn't trade it for anything - not money, not a social life, not even sleep. And I know that all of this will be terribly, terribly funny one of these days. So, yeah, that beings said...

Let me explain.

Actually, no. That will take too long. Let me sum up.

Jamesy has decided that he wants to wake up not once, not twice, not even three times in the night - no, he wants to wake up AT MINIMUM four times every night between his 7pm bedtime (any later than that and he has one big, long temper tantrum until we DO put him to bed) and his 7am "for real" wake up (any earlier or later than that and he is either still so sleepy that he can't fall asleep again for being so upset or he is so well-rested that he wants to skip his mid-morning nap, which is no good). And preferably at least one of these midnight wake-ups will last between two and three hours. The others range between 30 to 60 minutes. And naps during the day are generally a longer fight than the actual time spent sleeping (like say, 2 hour screaming and fighting for a 20 minute nap. That's about average). Bless his heart.

And these do not consist completely of eating, either. As the doctor tells us, he is "perfectly capable, metabolically, to make it through the night without eating." Yeah, thanks - that's helpful.

Apparently it's common during a four month regression for the baby to not want to fall asleep ever, because he's "forming emotional attachments" and he is afraid of the separation that happens when he sleeps. There may also be some mild headaches-teething-growth-spurt-acid-reflux-related triggers, but medication has little or no effect on his sleeping habits, so it doesn't seem to be that.

We have tried varying bedtimes, nap times, eating habits, ways we lull him to sleep, sleeping places, lighting, white noise...everything you can possibly adjust for an ideal sleeping environment has been tried and discarded. We have maintained a very predictable "ritual" for bedtime (which he seems to love and look forward to) and a less involved but no less predictable ritual for naps. I have read every possible view on sleep training, helping babies get past these rough patches, and growth spurt survival...and I have concluded that you get the baby you get, and if he's a good sleeper, by all means, take the credit and enjoy your sleep. If it's an "easy" baby, bask in the sweetness and simplicity that God has given you, because some of us don't get that lucky.

I made the mistake of reading this article that someone linked to from pinterest, and I'll admit it - it made me see red. The author criticizes the culture of women who she believes have a conspiracy of sorts to make motherhood seem to be nothing but suffering and who get mad at "honest" mothers who discuss how much they love it. She gives a little wave to women who are suffering PPD, but that seems to be her only exception to the rule, which in her mind is that motherhood is easy.

I disagree.

Motherhood is without a doubt, the single most difficult thing I have ever done, and I've only been at it four months (well, 13 months, if you count pregnancy). Every aspect so far - physical, psychological, emotional, spiritual - has been a struggle, full of questions and issues and decisions and efforts, some of which are easy and intuitive, and others which are difficult, painful, and tortuous. Let's take yesterday, for instance.

My sweet husband was busy doing some work-related paperwork and was unavailable to help me with our customary partnership for bed-prep, so James was bathed, medicated (acid reflux), clothed, fed, read-to, prayed-over, and tucked in solo. At which time he screamed for a very brief ten minutes before passing out mid-cry. (By the way, this was after an impromptu dinner party for some out-of-town friends who dropped by with only a few hours warning...just long enough that I SHOULD have the house clean and some kind of dinner ready. Especially since it was Valentine's day. Oh, and they have dietary restrictions, so it had to be a very specific meal plan...which actually worked out fine, but the point is, it wasn't a lovely relaxing day with our usual schedule).

I ran around, doing a load of dishes (since there were an abnormally large number due to our dinner party) laundry (since everything I own and the baby owns had puke on it), and trying to get to bed as soon as possible...only to be interrupted as I took out my contacts by the sound of tears in the nursery.

I went in, tried and failed to soothe him, and soon gave in and began feeding him, at which point he fell asleep in my arms. after four successive failures to transfer the baby without a tantrum from my arms to either his crib or swing, he finally stayed in his swing and cried himself to sleep. I jumped into bed to try to get the most sleep possible before he next awoke...which was less than an hour later. Repeat the preceding activities. My poor husband had to go to work at 5 in the morning that morning, so he was exhausted and after the second crying fit was settled, he fell asleep as well.

I lay in bed, now wide awake and unable to sleep. I drank a glass of milk, stretched, counted sheep...and then more crying ensued from the nursery. Repeat the paragraph above. Repeat the attempt at sleep. Forty minutes passed...and I dozed off. Five minutes later, the monitor erupted with flat out screams from the nursery.

I ran in, expecting to find him engulfed in flame or hanging by one leg from the side of his crib, but he was fine, just screaming for no apparent reason. Diaper...clean...anything causing pain...nothing...hungry...not at all. Rocking, feeding, cuddling, playing, cooing - nothing consoled him at all, so I finally set him in his crib and came back to Ryan, and told him I couldn't do anything with the baby, so he went in to try. Immediately there was silence, and I fell asleep. (I was told the next day that there wasn't actually "silence," just a much lower grade of displeasure, which took two hours until he really fell asleep.

Thankfully (and unlike the preceding two nights) he slept TWO FULL HOURS before he next awoke, and this time he was hungry. A mere hour later he was asleep again, and two hours after that he was ready to eat again. An hour after that, he was ready to really get up, and so our day "began".

And as soon as I saw sleepy signs, we went for a nap. It was earlier than usual, but after only an hour of screaming (and refusing to eat or be consoled in any way) he fell asleep in his swing, holding my hand. I decided that now was a good time  for a shower (a luxury I hadn't enjoyed for more days than I care to remember). I gently pulled my hand away and replaced the finger he'd been clutching with a sock monkey's arm, and I snuck out of the room. SCREAM. I turned down the baby monitor and sprinted for the other end of the house, hoping for the best.

The screaming faded after a few seconds, but it recurred throughout my very short shower, and intermittently continued as I ate a bowl of cereal, fed the cats and the fish, made my bed, straightened the house, and planned the menu for the upcoming week. There was probably a solid fifteen minutes of sleep when he finally woke up in earnest and was DONE napping. I went in and picked up my now-cheerful offspring, who cooed and chirped and talked to me happily as I changed his explosively dirty diaper and included him in what household tasks I can do one-handed. (We've tried a tasteful variety of slings and baby packs, but he despises them. His Bumbo is too small, his Boppy or high chair are only acceptable for brief periods of time. We use the stroller whenever possible, or when that gets old, a fluffy rug and blanket on the floor.)

After a charming interlude of blissful happiness on his part and a nagging weather-related (read: medicine-resistant) headache on mine, he began to show signs of sleepiness again. It was still three hours till my sweet husband got home from work, so I was still on my own with this one.

After a decided refusal to eat the normal way (which, of course, might lead to SLEEP), we engaged in a recently began ritual of spoon-feeding rice cereal, which has a high entertainment factor (though low in the nutrition department, since he refuses to actually swallow most of it). When that got old, we tried rocking for a few minutes (screaming) and then we went downstairs to see if watching the Piglet's Big Movie would be an acceptable transition to naptime. Five minutes later, we came back upstairs (screaming) and I settled him in his crib. As my baby drifted peacefully to sleep (just kidding, he was still screaming and kicking) I pondered whether they made earplugs that would actually cancel out the level and pitch of sound my son achieved. I wondered if there was a Guinness World Record for loudest baby scream (there is not; however, there is the most breastmilk donated)

If I left, he got so agitated that I was afraid he'd hurt himself, whaling against the side of the crib. I sat in a rocking chair, holding my son's hand as he wept and cried, apparently heartbroken. Tears dripped down the sides of his face, and he clung to the side of the crib where I was, looking into my eyes as if to see into my very soul, but screaming even more forcefully if I tried to move him, touch him, (other than his head resting against my arm and my finger in his grasp) or talk to him.

I pulled the tail on the musical dog great-granma gave him. It played it's little music-box melody and the screaming went down a pitch. At the end of the song, the screaming resumed it's full fervor. I pulled it again. A little less screaming. We repeated this, with variations, but for an eternity there was nothing outside of my one hand, asleep, held in place by his little grasping fingers, and my other hand pulling the dog's tail to restart the song every few seconds.

Finally, after an hour of this, he dozed off, only to awake every few seconds to check if I was still there. Gradually, over the next twenty minutes, his jerk-awake checks did not include him opening his eyes, but merely a cry a squeeze of the finger he was holding, and then a little sigh as he'd fall asleep again. I grabbed a tiger toy he loved, nestled it against his head, and tucked the tail in his hand and waited for his next check. Sure enough, without opening his eyes, he squeezed the tail, nuzzled what used to be my arm and was now a beanie baby tiger, and then dozed off again.

I snuck out of the room.

As I tried to close the door, Izzy - that darned cat  - slithered in the room, and I had to go back in and chase him out. Naturally, he ran under the crib where we were most likely to wake up James. After a few minutes of silently willing the cat to come out, speaking very stern commands with my mind and mouthing, "GET OUT," the cat finally meandered out, and I shut the door.

As I walked back to the other end of the house, I glanced at the monitor and was horrified to see Irony, both paws up on the edge of the crib and looking at James, almost nose to nose with him. She must have snuck in while I was dealing with Izzy.

I ran back in and scooped her up and shut the door again, double checking that Izzy stayed outside.

I sat on my bed and texted my sweet husband at work, who I had been giving a blow-by-blow.

"He's ASLEEEEEEEEEP!!!"

I hit send.

In the nursery, before the monitor registered it and played the sound to me, I heard a scream.

I thought, maybe he'll keep his eyes shut and squeeze the tiger and think it's me. But I looked in the monitor and saw James holding up the treacherous tiger, shaking it toward the monitor camera as if to say, "I saw what you did there and it DIDN'T FOOL ME." He threw it at the foot of the crib and I sighed and went back in to the nursery.

By this point it had been a full four hours since he'd eaten, so I though I'd try that again. It worked! He latched! He ate! He dozed off! Oh, blissful silence! Oh, sweet peaceful rest! Oh, is there anything more beautiful than a sleeping baby? A happy, peaceful, resting baby? A baby who is in his mother's arms, safe and ignorant of the cold cruel world outside?

No, there is nothing more beautiful, bless him.

And we stayed like that for a good forty minutes, and it was amazing.

Then he woke up, and pooped. Like, a lot. So I stood up to take him to the changing table. He was all smiles and coos, probably telling me all about what happened in his diaper.

"Aw, did you go poopy?" I asked, facing my little cherub as I carried him.

I immediately regretted this, as he promptly projectile vomited right into my mouth.

So yeah, I don't think being a mother is easy. Totally worth it, but definitely NOT easy.

And by the way, ten minutes later, my husband got home from work, and the day got significantly better.

So now, since he seems to be asleep (for the moment) I'm going to try to take a nap.

Love!

"Be vewy quiet...

...I'm hunting wabbits." What's Opera, Doc? from Looney Tunes by The Warner Bros.

James went out hunting today. He caught a wabbit (ok, a Jackalope).

He had a good haul - two bears, a jackalope, and a skunk!

Izzy and Irony don't seem overly bothered.

Such adventures!

"He's got the little bitty baby...

...in His hands." He's Got the Whole World performed by Laurie London.

Hello, lovelies!!!

In case any of you missed it on Facebook...James Alan Wolking arrived a week ago today, safe and sound and perfect!

Me and the cutie.

He is just zonked.

Shh! Baby is asleep! 

Bless his little heart!

What with one thing and another, I'll probably be out for a while still. I'll try to put up pictures often though as he changes every single day! What a sweetie.

Love!

"And I'm dreaming of a place...

...where I could see your face." If I Were A Painter by Norah Jones.

Hello, lovelies! Sorry for the prolonged absence (and prepare for more...) but it's been crazy the last month or two. Baby James is just about ready to arrive (37 weeks!) and we had an incredible opportunity come up in the last week or two to move to a great new house - so we did!

Our pretty new house! 

Irony sniffing the fall air.

We're just loving being out amongst the trees and fields as the season changes! It smells so fresh and yummy right now - I love fall! Irony and Izzy and I are spending this afternoon with the windows open so we can watch squirrels frolic and hear acorns fall in our front yard. :)

Anyhow, I'll let everybody know when the baby arrives, but till then, I'm going to be eating, sleeping, and keeping my poor swollen ankles up!

Much love!

"Can't you see that it's just raining...

...there ain't no need to go outside." Banana Pancakes by Jack Johnson.

Happy Monday, friends!

I have been absolutely abysmal about blogging lately - I'm afraid the computer screen gives me a headache so I just avoid it. I'll try to check in pretty often, but until after the baby comes...it may continue to be pretty spasmodic. (In the meantime, my I recommend my sister's blog? I've been just howling at some of her recent posts!)

But for today, here's the top ten things that have been on my mind:

1. Roses (my sweet husband brought home pink roses "just because." He is so sweet).
2. Pie, cookies, tomatoes on toast, and hot tea. Not necessarily in that order. 
3. Miss Marple really is my hero. And forget the movies; the books are so much better.
4. Building this.
5. I really need to reorganize most of the closets in our house. Sigh.
6. Did I mention cookies? And pie?
7. Hmm, probably ought to take maternity pictures soon...
8. Wow, we haven't cleaned house in like, a month. Maybe that should happen.
9. Thank the Lord for air conditioning.
10. Cookies. And Pie. And Tea. And maybe french fries.

Izzy admiring my "just because" roses.

Love!

Out of Town!

Hey, lovelies!

We're on a little trip to visit family. :) I'll be out for the week and possibly part of next week. Much love!

"Woke up this morning to the sound...

...of an alarm clock ringing in my ear." Alarm Clock by The W's.

So, fun activity we've spent the last few Saturday mornings doing:

Yard sales!

First my sweet husband took a picture of my baby bump...

...then we drove around and around looking for sales with good stuff...

Ryan's "yard sale hunting" face.

...then we were stuck behind this guy for a while. 

We decided his bales are decidedly droopy.

An Open Letter...

...to a certain dear person who has decided he is too old for birthday presents. 


I know this is a little random - a person who will remain nameless - you know who you are - emailed recently to say he thought that we should cut off birthday presents next year for everyone over 21 since we're really all too old for this silliness. This grown-up person is very dear to my husband and I, and while my husband (::GASP!::) wasn't particularly perturbed about the idea, I was, and this is my response. 


Dear Grown-Up Person,

So, I know you'll think I'm crazy for taking this so seriously, and maybe it's all these baby hormones that's making me react so strongly (or maybe I'm always like this), but I had quite a reaction when I heard about the suggestion that we cut off presents for everyone over 21. And, as my sweet husband pointed out, I know that I could just email you and say, "nah, I'd really like to keep going with the presents," and I know you would be perfectly gracious about it and it wouldn't be a big deal. But I over-think things, and I don't just want it known that I do like presents, but why I think they're important - not only to my delicate and frivolous feminine emotional well-being, but also to someone as world-wise and grown-up as you. 

"Haha," you may be saying, "She doesn't want to stop getting presents." That's true - I don't deny it. I have long known that one of my love languages is gifts (both giving and getting them!) and there is little in life I enjoy more than rattling a box and trying to guess what's in it, and then opening it and finding, to my delight, a gift selected especially for me! I am filled with this silly joy even as I approach 26 years (and as it happens, Mr. Grown-Up--man who is too old for birthday gifts--I am, in fact, older than you). 

It's not just the item itself that delights me (though I will get to that in a minute). I adore the game of guessing, and I love how everyone who loves me and thought of me (and remembered that I happened to be born on that specific day) sent or brought by a package. The way it's presented gives me a pleasant little reminder about the giver - the practical and busy people order their gifts and have them shipped directly to me, the familiar every-day people bring things by in person and add a nice little visit to the gift, and the fanciful and creative types wrap or otherwise display the present to add to the optimal gift-getting experience.

Regardless, there is nothing so pleasant in a virtual world as receiving not only a written word from loved ones, but also a small token of their feelings for me. Words are good, and important, but we are word-saturated with the internet these days, and I do like things I can touch and play with and see from various angles. Words, though useful and very important, are sadly one-dimensional. A box of chocolates, for example, are decidedly three-dimensional, and depending on the quality they may approach four dimensions of delicious reality.

If my opinion on gifts isn't enough, allow me to point to one of the greatest works in cinematic history which immortalized the concept of "brown paper packages tied up with string" as part of life's true simple pleasures. 5 Oscars, 11 other awards, and almost half-a-century later, The Sound of Music stands as a charming insight to life during one of recent history's most horrific events. Though one would think that in the midst of Nazi occupation and the shifting of world powers as we saw during that era, the population would look the the necessities and keep their heads down about silly nonsense like dressing up and presents and art. Yet even real-life victims of that era, such as Aleksander Kulisiewicz, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, and Victor Frankl recognized the importance of these things even when life was stripped down to bare survival in prison camps, declaring arts and frivolity to be necessary to the human spirit. 

Bold words to be typed on a Macbook from a comfortable air-conditioned kitchen in the 21st Century when one is merely considering the issue of birthday gifts for legal, drinking-age adults who could frankly afford most of these things themselves. (Most, but certainly not all.) But frivolity - for I do not deny birthday presents to be, at heart, anything more - is a crucial part staying in touch with something good and innocent and young in life, despite seriousness, maturity, and reality that comes with age. Reality is grim - gifts are fun. (I believe that gifts and surprises are a physical representation of the spirit of Christmas itself, and you know how I feel about Christmas--!)

While my life is, for the most part, simple and sweet and set in a calm backwater for now, I know that yours is as equally hectic and stressful and busy and crazy, and for all that, I feel like it's more important that YOU receive presents, for all your grown-up-ness than me, even though I'm the silly one who doesn't want to let go of this childish thing! I feel that for one day (that we share with only a very select group of other individuals as opposed to Christmas, which we share with everyone) every year we should be able to step back from the "keeping up with the Johnson's" mentality and the cutthroat give-and-take of business and politics and simply be told "You survived another year; good job; we just wanted you to know we're glad you're still around. Here is a small something to commemorate this moment."

And this is only if we are discussing gifts in the abstract. Consider the specifics:

Whether you want to give a list or not (I personally loathe giving gift lists but I recognize that not everyone enjoys the thrill of the chase for a perfect gift as I do so I finally sat down and wrote out every book I've ever wanted that I don't have and now I and the other young-at-heart relatives are competing for the "Longest-Wishlist Award") getting a present from someone shows that they know you and care about you. For example, I have one friend who consistently gives me candles, which I burn through at a steady rate; another sends me boxes of Cheezits (yes, the snack food); yet another sends gift cards to a favorite restaurant; Mamma and Dad add gorgeous pieces to my china collection and make sure we have things we actually need; My sister always sends quirky things (the most recent was a hand-made jewelry bag for travel, orange and turquoise-coloured, with a camel on the front) that are somehow perfectly right for me, though I would've never recognized it without her keen insight; my grandmother buys a specific line of perfume; and one church lady always gives a stack of carefully personalized coupons for things she knows we want/need/would like. 

All of these things (some more of an investment for the giver than others) are precious to me not because I am amassing things, but because they are symbolic of the relationship I have with those people. And guess what - when people don't take the time to get to know me for real, they frequently send stupid presents. And from that I can deduce that either I ought to take the time to keep up that relationship better (and possibly reap better presents) or that though they may care for me, they are simply too busy/gift-giving-challenged/distant to give that perfect gift. If it is the latter, I accept the gift with good grace and enjoy the intent behind it if not the actual thing itself - and if it's the former, and I don't care to maintain that relationship better, then I have no one to blame but myself. Though with very, very few exceptions, I can find a use and a perfect home in my life for almost every present I've ever received. 

In the same way, when I face a trial in the gift-giving department by needing to send a present to someone who is a virtual stranger to me, I can only hope they'll accept my attempt with the same grace that I (hopefully) give them. And when I give presents, I do hope they realize that the gesture, though perhaps weak, quirky, and often ridiculous (like, for example, republican elephant dishcloths) was a sincere tribute to their life and my role in it, and a wish for many happy returns. 

Now Mr. Grown-Up, I know that it is theoretically possible for a human to live a full and useful and virtuous life, a truly good life, without birthday presents as easily as he can do the same without fairy tales. But I would challenge you to find a better way to communicate some of the sweetness and true meaning in life without having the foundation of fairy tales much as I would challenge you to find a better way to communicate love and respect without ever giving or receiving gifts. Even Einstein harped about the importance of whimsey and fancy - and you can hardly get a brainer and more successful recommendation than Einstein! I would think a letter from him would open the door to just about anything.

So please allow, for all your maturity and serious grown up life rubbing shoulders with great men and being one such great man your self and married and successful and with  the whole world at your feet, this silly female in your life would be greatly offended at the denial of the opportunity to furnish you with inconsequential and frivolous presents every time you turn a year older. And while I understand if, for a variety of reasons you choose to follow this plan you put forth and do not send presents to us old people, you may be sure that barring lapses of memory, issues of tardiness, and other such things, you can expect to find a yearly present from me on your birthday unless I am actually asked to refrain. 

And it will probably have elephants on it. 

Love,

Me

P.S. Just to be clear, money is an issue I quite understand, and that's where the thoughtfulness comes in. If the budget is limited to a mere dollar store package of sticky-notes, so be it! But I'll know I'm really loved if they have a clever saying on them or come in my favorite sticky note color, construction barrel orange. :P