WE'VE MOVED!

Check us out at our new location!

http://www.splendidjourney.wordpress.com

Peace out Blogger. You've been good to us.

xoxo

I. Am. So. Tired.

I have four unpublished posts that have been waiting for their moment of approval. In the past two weeks several things have gained priority:

1) travel

2) Christmas

3) sick baby

These are in no particular order, however all are making me completely whiny and exhausted. Just ask my husband.

Last weekend {maybe two weekends ago, who knows} the family headed to Florida for a friend's wedding. First time Addie saw the ocean. More to come. Needless to say it was beyond adorable and I have the video to prove it. {Look for Travel:Day Uno}. In two weeks we will be heading up to Chicago for a very important business transaction: Alex is finally getting a gun safe. {My thoughts and highly valued opinion will follow after... Travel: Part Deux}

Christmas is coming! Tree is up. Stocking are hung. No lights as Alex is a wimp and won't climb up the roof. Sure it may be a 60 degree incline and mostly covered in icy slush. But it's Christmas dang-it! I shall instead live vicariously through others:

{Imagine: nightly hot cocoa, toasty fire and foot-rub from my husband turned mountain man ... yes please!}

{If I had the desire to spend Addie's college fund on lights}

{Hello gingerbread goodness!}

Now I believe in giving credit where it's due. And although the treacherous exterior of the home was too much for my darling, he did help me decorate:

{much to our shepherd's chagrin}

Last, but never least, the toddler. My snotty, drooling, lung-hacking-up toddler. The perfect thing about a toddler not feeling well is this: there is no remedy. There are few medications they are allowed, they don't know how to blow their own nose and restful sleep is all but a memory. Which leaves many parents grasping at straws. Spoonful after spoonful of honey, Vicks vapor humidifiers, the dreaded snot-sucking bulb. Ugh, my nightmares are filled with the noise that contraption makes.

Oh and I forgot the best part. We are in the process of learning to cover our mouth when we cough. As a mother you must channel your inner teacher, lest you be covered in the phlegm that flies out of your two-year-olds mouth as you're holding her.

Hopefully life will subside long enough to reflect on it. Until then, I am going to re-apply the hand sanitizer and continue wrapping gifts.

Book Review

I just finished "This is Where I Leave You" by Jonathan Tropper.

Synopsis: The Foxman family has just lost their father to cancer. This completely dysfunctional group of characters must come together amidst their own personal struggles and sit shiva for seven days. The long-standing unspoken feuds that have existed between them for years are heartbreakingly hilarious. I laughed out loud. I loved this book for its wit, sarcasm and honest look at life.

It did leave me searching for a bit more closure, however. The ending was equivalent to a "well the book has to finish at some point let's stop here". I suppose one could argue that's life as well. Abrupt, unexpected, loose ends flying everywhere. Yet it's frustrating nonetheless.

In book world, as in movie world, I need finality. One way or another, someone needs to make a decision, wrap it all up and move on. Take for instance, the completely ridiculous last minute love profession that ends in years of happily ever after. Or the one-armed six-bullets-left hero who somehow manages to take down the entire onslaught of bad guys {whether or not they're armed with RPGs and tanks}. These endings, although far-fetched and unrealistic, leave me with one less thing I have to worry about.

Now I'm left curious as to what happens to Judd Foxman and I know there won't be a sequel! But I still recommend it for an easy read that makes you thankful you're not "that family".

{image courtesy of www.jonathantropper.com}

Dr. White Coat vs Dr. Hemp Coat

With my knee on the fritz I decided it was time to visit someone with an actual medical degree from a respected university. As much as I would like, being a master of the College of Google and a WebMD honoree doesn't count as a valid medical license.

As most of you may know, I am slightly granola. A fan of the au natural, if you will. Natural food, cleaning products, basically our entire life style... to include medicine. I question the vaccinations, let my child ''tough out the cough" and offer a glass of water for a headache.

Needless to say, in my search for my own doctor I was shopping in the holistic market. My search was short and sweet {as only ONE doctor in our town practices natural medicine}. I was sure this was just the answer I need and strode willingly into the office. It was vastly different from any doctor I have EVER been to. Top 3 Reasons Why:

Within the first five minutes I was told to lay on a table, listen to some soundscapes and breath. The medical function of this was lost on me. I'm sure the little electrode attached to my ear was measuring something, but all I could think of was sandy beaches and a cool margarita. Waves roll in, waves roll out.

Eventually the nurse came back in, led me into a different room and had me fill out a 42-page questionnaire. Not exactly as relaxing as the previous test and much more invasive. List everything you eat, your breathing habits, sleeping habits, give us a play-by-play of your bathroom activities. Really?

The doc finally came in and asked me the same questions that I just answered on his form. This annoys me for one simple reason: If you give me the form and I take the time to fill it out, then you should take the time to READ it. Why give it to me if you are going to ask me the questions anyway? After the most intense personal interview I've ever encountered, some mild pushing and pulling on my leg {ouch} his insightful medical opinion - inflammation. What. The. Hell.

I need a medical degree.

But, here's where he inserts his holistic-magic-witchcraft-trickery. My inflammation can be cured by a new approach to eating. Because, according to Dr. Advanced-Control-Settings-of-WebMD inflammation is caused by unhealthy intestines. Clear up your intestines and your inflammation is solved. Same with arthritis, upset stomachs, cramping, etc. Luckily I only had one thing to worry about.

His solution was to put me on a diet that consists mainly of dandelion greens and unsalted water to clear my system. Then, I introduce the evil inflammation carriers {i.e. food} one by one until I find the one that starts to cause pain. And obviously obliterate this food group from my diet.

Lord, you'd be one sarcastic Alpha & Omega if you make it chocolate. Please don't let it be the Almond Joy!

Crazy Train

To ensure the sanity of a household, it is necessary to have one parent who maintains a calm, reserved, level-headed composure during times of stress.

On Black Friday, I assumed this role. Alex played The Crazy.

In his defense, there comes a time when every parent lets out The Crazy. As said individual, nothing you say or do makes sense but by-God a point must be proven so you push forward and teach your child a lesson... no matter how many people begin to stare.

Around 10:00am on the busiest shopping day of the year Alex and I decided to take our 23-month old daughter to Toys R Us. There have been many {MANY} stupid decisions I have made in my life.

None compare to this.

We toss ourselves into the wave of bodies flooding the store. I hear myself promising to grab "one thing" and we'll be out in "just a minute". Honestly I thought "one thing" and "just a minute" were going to be true statements. Did I accidentally stuff hallucinogenic drugs into my turkey the night before? What was I thinking?

Our first clue should have been the big blue arrows taped to the floor. These arrows indicated the direction the check-out line would follow.... and they began at the front door. Not to be discouraged we quickly navigated through the front half of the store and retrieved our intended purchase. Yet somehow our cart had already become full. Several other items had crept into our blue buggy because the term "sale" is synonymous with "sub-consciously-grab-whatever-you-can-and-throw-it-in-the-cart". Alex and I glanced at each other sheepishly and put back the extra toys.

It was at this moment a giant box of hula hoops became visible. To our surprise Addie reached out and shouted, "Loo-Loop! Please!" This is a child who rarely ever gets new toys. Birthday. Christmas. Garage-sale bargains. That's it. She's fine with it, since she knows no different. With Christmas only a few weeks away, we figured 'Why not?'. It's a $5 piece of circular joy. I took it out of the box and handed it to her. She toddled away happily, carrying the toy at just the right height so that she ran into everything.

By this time Alex was done shopping. He wanted the fastest route to the shortest line, no passing go, no picking up an extra game of Monopoly. So what does he do? Grabs the hula-hoop tosses it and Addie into the cart and sprints to the register. The next few moments are a blur. Hula hoops and hands began to fly. An ear-splitting scream silenced all of aisles 3, 4 and 5. In the middle of it all lay my daughter kicking wildly, salivating like a rabid animal, and my husband insisting Addie stop crying "this instant". He even had the shaking finger point stance going on.

Mortified that I had to admit I was related to this, I walked up to the scene to offer assistance. Addie quickly settled down and agreed to keep her hula hoop in the cart. I asked Alex if he could retrieve the hula-hoop he'd flung clear across the store. Begrudgingly he complied and brought back the toy. But wouldn't let Addie touch it.

Side note: Is it written into the DNA of men that as soon as they have a child they become children themselves? You just saw this kid have a nuclear meltdown over this hunk of BPA-infested plastic. You're really going to tease her now? Another deafening shriek ensued. {where did she learn that?!} He insisted "See? She's being a brat. We're not buying the toy". His intention was to teach her that just because she screams does not mean she gets what she wants. Little did he know I was about to start my own round of screaming too.

But like I said earlier, one of you has got to be the cool cucumber. I gathered my two children plus one hula hoop and ushered everyone through the line and to the car. I smiled as people passing glanced at us, silently thankful that their child {and husband} were not The Crazies.

Confession Sunday

I called in sick to church. Bad. I was supposed to teach Sunday school. Even worse. My co-teacher, my husband, also faked illness. Oh Lord.

Who does that?!

We have no {good} excuse. Boils and lightning and all sorts of plague are going to rain down on our street now, I just know it.

But in my defense, it's been a long time coming. (The calling in sick not the pestilence)

We have been struggling with our church. Mainly because we don't speak to any other members of the congregation. It's a small piece that creates a big impact. The fault lies on both sides {theirs and ours}. My husband can't see himself drinking a beer with anyone {the most basic of his human interaction levels} and therefore has no desire to attempt friendship. I find the odd sense of cattiness between the women disturbing and not at all appealing. Our love of the sermons, the message, and the challenge we leave with every Sunday to become better Christians can't erase the basic fellowship that's severely lacking.

I am not alone in my distaste. Others are facing similar struggles at their own place of worship. More often it's the people, not the pulpit, with whom they find grievance. Of course this solid evidence and research comes from coffee talks with friends, magazine articles, blogs and some good ol fashion Facebook spying.

To me, it boils down to this - the reason a church not only survives but thrives is the congregation. You can go anywhere for a sermon. You can hear a sermon online, read it in a book, there's even an app for that. People go to church because they want the human connection. Therefore a church needs to be a place of open hearts and acceptance. I don't want to play the "Judge Thee Up and Down Game" upon walking in the front door.

I am not concerned that we have moved back to square one. We'll find our place and it will be at the perfect moment. Until then I will enjoy my blessings: an extra 30 minutes of sleep and warm cup of coffee on a cold Sunday morning that will be thoroughly enjoyed in my slippers and flannel pants.

Gender Neutral is a Positive Thing

I will keep this short because I am afraid I might get a bit out of control. I do have a tendency to get on my wee lil soapbox after all.

My drive home from work takes less than ten minutes. But in those 15 miles I had to drive past two gruesome sites where a car had taken the life of a dog. There are so many things I want to say but I will boil it down to three major bullet points:

1) SPAY AND NEUTER YOUR PETS! Unless you are a) an experienced breeder or b) the only inhabitant of a deserted island, then your animal should be fixed. Done. End of story.

2) Microchip your pet. Yes, you may have a fence. Sure, you have indoor dogs/cats. It doesn't matter. Anything can happen and your pet could get out at any time. By having the microchip (and keeping it up-to-date) you are insuring you and your furry baby are just one step closer to being reunited should your pet get out.

3) If you have to give up your pet for some reason, do so humanely and responsibly. This last point is mainly for people in the armed services, since this seems to be a phenomenon so common to these individuals. There is no reason a deployment should equate to opening your front door and just letting your animal loose. There are shelters, foster programs, family or friends who can care for these animals. AND FURTHERMORE, if you are in a career that requires you to leave the country for months at a time, don't be a dumb-ass and buy another living being without having a proper caretaker in place when you're away.

There. I feel better. Although my heart still hurts for those dogs. My public service announcement is over and I leave you with my stray turned rescue who only sucks sometimes.

"Shia" aka "Pain-in-the-Ass" aka "Chitty-Moo-Moo"

Pillow Talk

Alex and I have started something new in the bedroom. After nearly 10 years together, five as husband and wife, we’re trying things we’ve never done before. And it’s all because our bodies are falling apart.

{Background}

For the past two weeks I have been suffering from a serious case of runner’s knee. {I think. This is more of a WebMD diagnosis because I don’t want to see a real doctor. Let’s hope it’s not some flesh eating bacteria or something equally clinic visit worthy.} I’m hobbling around wincing in pain every time I have to squat down. It’s wretched and if my legs weren’t my favorite body part, I consider amputation.

My poor husband fell asleep in our armchair and woke up with a knot in his back. The bulk of his Sunday afternoon equated to hobbling around, sighing heavily every time he bent over and muttering the occasional “oomph”. Pitiful.

Am I exaggerating? Let’s just say Addie found great enjoyment in following us around. Holding her lower back, dragging her leg behind her, she even perfected the deflating balloon noise as she bent over. Funny.

{Fast-forward to Sunday night, 10:00pm}

We migrate into the bedroom. Alex splays himself across the bed, cursing the evil armchair, making empty threats that he will bring said chair to Goodwill. Like a good life partner I offer some assistance and spend the next 30 minutes testing my amateur chiropractic skills. I’m pushing, pulling and cracking all the while spouting my random knowledge of Icy-Hot, Flexall and heating pads.

He returns the favor by massaging my soon-to-be-a-prosthetic knee and attempting to stretch my hamstring by hauling my feet up and over my head. {amidst my whimpers of “ow quit it OW”} True to form he offers his {unsolicited} advice of healthcare practitioners and athletic equipment.

Exhausted after all the commotion, we pass out. It’s 10:35pm.

At this point ya’ll are probably expecting my “Where did the magic go?” soapbox.

Honey, let me tell you …

When you find a man that will pull your big toe over your head and rub your hammie only expecting you to crack his back and apply some Bengay in return… that’s a man worth keeping.

Cuteness Overload

I read an article the other day stating that after the age of 25 women gain an average of 1 to 3 pounds every year.

Crap.

Since Addie's arrival I have been much more aware of those illusive 5 {okay maybe 10} extra pounds. Mostly because they all seemed to make a mass migration around my middle. They chose the weakest spot on my body {because my mediocre abs gave up around month 5 of my pregnancy} and set up shop. Now it's impossible not to notice their existence. And we are not friends.

When Addie was an infant I would occasionally find the energy for some yoga, pilates, really any activity that I could consider "active" while still lying on the floor. Let's face it, that first year you're exhausted. But after a year I had no more excuses, so I began to run.

Now, this act in itself is astonishing. To give you some insight, when I was in HS my gym teacher once told me the kid in the wheelchair ran faster than me. Even though she was a bitch, I had to agree with her. I hated running.

A year later I have run in eight 5ks, two 5-mile races and a half marathon. I have not even come CLOSE to winning any of them. But I haven't come in last either. And I have yet to fall down dead prior to the finish line... so that's a plus.

To increase my speed and performance my husband offered his {unsolicited} advice and insisted I needed some strength training.

Enter Neno Mora. Yep. Neno {knee-NO} Mora {More-ah}. My first thought, "I won't neno no mora after a workout with him". And this is the entire reason I signed up for the classes... because of my nerdy play on words. Luckily its been a good choice.

I only have three classes left. Then I have to come up with a new game plan. Hmmm... Oh and the pictures scattered throughout - that's just because she's so freakin cute.

The Jealous Type

Envy has brought me back to the blogosphere. Pure and unadulterated envy.

I thought when Alex came home I would find the time to blog more, design more, relax... no never really considered the last one would be an option. But I did think I would get a break once in awhile and find time to keep up with the crafting and the writing.

Since he's been back however we've been busier than ever. I love it. Truly. Wouldn't change a thing. Until I stumble upon this alternate universe and desperately want a life-makeover.

You see, I have been silently stalking {and admiring} a group of women who have managed to attain my Holy Grail of life status. #1 They {most likely} work from home... their charming, perfectly manicured, magazine-decorated homes. #2 The manage to keep their plethora of children always smiling, sans snotty noses, well dressed and willing to pose for a camera (and somehow they are all prodigies in the realm of photography). #3 They somehow find the time (and income) to shop constantly, find wicked bargains and create insanely awesome crafts/blogs/websites/graphic designs. {frustrated sigh}

I'm in high school... they're the cool crowd. I'm the band nerd holding the trumpet with {what I'd like to imagine} hidden potential.

WTF? On one blog (that will remain nameless solely for the fact that I'm about to do some trash-talking) the woman devotes an entire post to how she ties a scarf. Are you serious? Then she posts pictures of her recently decorated nursery (of which she SELLS her design ideas), handmade holiday cards (starting at $130) and all the comments are "oooh how cute", "just placed my order", "I love you" and other ridiculousness.

Bitter much? Whatever, I fully disclosed this was an envy driven post. So quit judging.

I think I'm going to start fresh. And by fresh I mean A) completely copy this lifestyle or B) steal their SSN, hunky firefighter husband and overwhelmingly adorable sense of style. Hmmm... I see a potential Lifetime movie brewing here.

ENTER JESSICA'S GAME PLAN

New blog. Not sure what it's going to be yet.

New career path. Not much planning has gone into that either.

New wardrobe. Ehh, that's still a pipe dream.

Stay tuned. Big changes. Tell your friends. Or don't... I don't need the added pressure to perform.

The first bit of alone time I've had.... I am hiding inside of a ticket booth waiting until my next pageant begins. This is my life?

Oh well, at least I've got a free minute! So many people have asked me how life is since Alex has returned from deployment. To me, this is such an odd question. Why would life be anything but fantastic since he's been home? The weeks have slowly progressed to normalcy and every day brings something new to look forward to. When we first brought him home, however I was very unsure of what to expect.

Addie and I arrived at the airfield an hour earlier than necessary, mainly because the anticipation was just too much. Neither of us knew what to expect and with her I thought upon seeing him she'd either be completely excited or super shy.

The men began to get off the bus, and all around us people began shouting. This startled her but did not phase her. Then she saw Alex. And went comatose. Just froze. No talking, no movement, just stared straight ahead.

Minutes passed and we weren't sure what to do. So I finally picked her up and the three of us sat inside away from the commotion. We talked slow, tried to explain the situation and I suggested he read to her. It's something she really enjoys doing and she usually gets pretty talkative while reading.

She just sat there.

Then I pulled out her Daddy-doll. Our friend Ashlee gave Addie a doll dressed in camo that you could insert the picture of your soldier where the face was. She carried the thing everywhere while Alex was away, played with him, slept with him. He was the perfect comfort to her.

When I pulled out the doll her face lit up. "Daddy!" she cried. Alex looked like he wanted to toss the doll across the room.

"Addie, look." I said, holding the doll up to Alex's face. I pointed to the doll, "Who is this?"

"Daddy"

"And who is this?" I asked pointing to Alex.

Silence.

This would be harder than I thought.

"Look, Addie." I tried to reason as I sat her Daddy doll next to Alex. "Big Daddy. Little Daddy. Same".

Silence.

It was getting late and Alex had to return to his team to collect his things. Addie and I were going to play at the park while he was gone. Still without speaking Addie got up and followed us out to the car. We drove to Alex's building and as he got out she called out:

"Bye Daddy".

Ever since then, she's become a regular Daddy-shadow. It just took a little bit to sink in.

Disfunctional Apparatuses

(The picture really has nothing to do with the post. I just think she's cute)

The times when I have experienced true happiness in my life have come from a special connection between heart, mind and mouth. This morning I started praying for a union between the three, some sort of truce in which they all proclaim, "Enough is enough. Let's get on the same page".

It is on rare occasion these three apparatuses (Did you know it is not apparati? So says Merriam-Webster. I wonder if it really is octopuses too? I digress.)

Anyway, these apparatuses rarely function in one fluid existence. The majority of time is spent convincing my heart that what my mouth says is truth while my mind is busy devising a plan to supersede both my emotions (heart) and opinions (mouth). The end result is usually an unsure heart, a mouth who's "truth" is often refuted and a mind who is... well losing its mind.

Enter faith. God. My favorite part.

He sees me down here, floundering, and takes the time to present the proverbial smack upside the head coupled with the Fatherly, "Dude. Relax. I've got this."

Instant resolve. Instant peace.

Why doesn't this happen more often? Simple. Because I still think I can be in control. I can be the driver, the navigator and the mechanic all in one. Then I struggle, stress and scream when things don't go the way I planned. When the entire time, if I just took a step back and realized what I've been shown before, the whole mess I've created for myself really wouldn't be that bad.

Example of the day. Military deployments. Let's just say the military gave an arbitrary date of September 1st as they day my husband will return home. Mistake #1: Believing this date to be true. September 1st has come and gone. I am left in the same position I was prior to Sept 1 (sitting here waiting for Alex to come back and not really knowing when that might be). Mistake #2: Allowing my mind to develop a plan that involves fully-functional military aircraft (oxymoron) and a speedy return. Convincing my heart that it will only be a few more hours. And electing my mouth to be the spokesman for the "Let-me-tell-you-how-this-situation-will-be-resolved" campaign. Mistake #3: Continuing to move throughout the week as if all my preparations and campaign promises will really be put into action.

I've spent 48 hours beating myself up. Losing sleep. Trying to fix things out of my control. And of course eating everything in sight. (Why can't I be one of those melancholy people who don't like to eat? Why do I have to be the "please pass the ENTIRE red velvet cake over here so I can wallow in self pity" type? I digress.)

Enter the proverbial a*s kicking.

I woke up this morning and immediately felt relief. I knew Alex would not be home today. And he probably won't be home tomorrow. And that's okay. Because it is not up to me, Alex or even the US Army when he will return. It's in God's hands. I gave everything over to Him and said, "Fine. You think You're a big shot and You can handle all this stress - go for it" (I didn't say I'd hand it over nicely). His response was simple, "Dude. Relax. I've got this".

Countdown

With 10 days left until my sanity returns I am going to share with you my current favorite Top 10 Countdown.

Ten Things that will Happen Between Now and September 1st.

10 Days I have left to sleep alone and in the middle of the bed. It's awesome and I will actually miss this. (Hear that AG? Sleep in your own damn bed. Mommy enjoys snuggling, not sharing a bed with you and your Restless Leg Syndrome!)
9 Number of days I will consider shaving my legs but think, "ehh I have a few more days until he will come home"
8 Number of days I have left to get rid of the last pesky 5-lbs. Okay, who the heck am I kidding I am typing and eating a PB cookie. Besides, my husband loves me no matter what! (Especially after spending 9-months with a bunch of dudes...)

7 Days I have left to enjoy the shows I like watching. Good bye Real Housewives and re-runs of ANTM. Hello Mecum Auto Auction and FutureWeapons.

6 Number of times per conversation Alex will try and convince me he needs both a new truck and a new motorcycle because he has "suffered so much" since he's been gone. Good thing we only talk every few days and his suave powers of persuasion have no effect on me after 10 years :)
5 Number of times per day Alex reminds me I have to shave my legs before he gets home. He knows me too well.
4 Hours I will devote to cleaning my house this next week. For those of you who don't know me and think this sounds like a low number, you obviously don't follow my, "A little dirt and dog hair won't kill you" housekeeping method.
3 Number of opportunities my backyard spiders still have to launch an attack when I mow. That is SOOOO his job when he gets back!

2 Number of times AG will have to be content with just seeing her Daddy on Skype. The real thing is so much better!
1 Number of Sundays until he is home!

Whole New World

One Saturday a month, for 1 hour and 30 blessed minutes, I take some time to myself. I don't worry about cleaning, mowing, working out or even bathing (even though sometimes I do stink a little). My child is asleep and I give myself a time-out. What do I do during these precious 90 minutes? Well, sit and read my monthly edition of Parenting magazine of course! (See, I never get too far away from the mommy-ness).

The August issue has an editorial all about the huge transitions that come between 18-months and 3-years. Umm ya think?! AG is all of 18-months and one week old and I feel like every day it is something different. One day it is "Mommy up" i.e. "hold-me-even-though-I-am-nearly-30-pounds-and-have-to-wiggle-around-to-look-at-everything-going-on-but-no-no-I-really-do-need-you-to-hold-me". Then the next I am sprinting after her because she can't get away from me fast enough, nevermind the fact that we are in the middle of Lowes or even better - a parking lot.

Most days she has a beautifully sunny, easy-going and calm disposition. We have fun doing just about anything. Then she throws me for a loop and NOTHING pleases her and she has some need that must be met NOW; but she cannot verbalize it and no amount of "show Mommy please just show Mommy what you want" will calm her down. Those days we spend a lot of time sitting on the ground, her sobbing, kicking, screaming and me saying "Mommy wants to help you but you have to stop crying". Those are long days.

Not all of the transitions are patience testers though. Some are simple and so small, you almost miss them if you weren't watching her every move with amazement. All of a sudden, she can use a spoon. Just decided one day, "I'm going to take care of finishing this applesauce cup all by myself". It was amazing. She has also gone from casually observing toys and their function to Miss Crazy Imagination. Our baby dolls jump everywhere. Everything Addie Grace does, they must also perform. Brushing teeth, eating snacks, running errands with Mommy. They're living the life right now.

We also dress up in play clothes, eat play food and make poor Snoopy wear chapstick and necklaces. Playing with her is fun and exciting. I am sooo looking forward to the next few years when we can kick this imaginarium into high gear and really get silly. Plus I am interested to see if Alex will have a tea-party and wear a feather boa. Only things that his princess would be able to make him do.

Having a toddler is SO much better than having a newborn. Even through the whining, defiant streaks and "I want to do it on my own" moments.

Stand Back Superman

You see this cape fluttering proudly in the breeze? The one with the giant "SM" stamped on the back? That's right, it stands for "Super Mom". And I wear it with pride. I became a proud recipient of said cape way back in January '09. It was tucked in my hospital overnight bag right in between the cutest newbie-sized strawberry onesie and a few pairs of granny panties that I swore I would only wear for a few days then it would be back to my cute little VS regulars. (Eight months later, I caught my husband staring longing at those same VS panties still resting in my top drawer...right behind their more comfortable Hanes counterparts.) I digress.

I pull out this cape for special occasions. Times when my motherhood, I believe, has reached near super-human status. Today's reason for pulling out my favorite wardrobe accessory? Addie will brush her teeth, wash her hands and her face all without having a nuclear meltdown.

The past five months have been daunting. Each morning I drag her into the bathroom, sit her on the counter, foil her attempts to plunge head-first on the tile in sheer desperation - all to avoid the wet washcloth from touching the giant eye boogers and snot that have plastered her face overnight. Seriously, WHERE do all these boogers come from?!?! She will go to bed with a clean face and equally clean nasal passages only to wake up looking like she laid in her crib shooting loogies into the air all night.

We have had the same morning routine since she was 10-months old. Wash your face - stick a toothbrush in your mouth. Good. Great. Let's get to daycare. I think it all changed when teeth started taking up residence inside of her mouth and I had to actually make an effort and brush those teeth. Then she realized, "Wait a minute, you're serious about this? Like, every day for LIFE I have to do this? No thanks." Plus, her new favorite past-time is "catch-me-if-you-can". Which is always fun when it either involves her running with a fork or her bare butt sprinting away from me as I chase after it with a diaper.

To many mothers, my recent victory may not seem like much. But I am a stickler for not having the "eww kid". Be honest, you know these poor children. The ones that show up for play group and have gummi-bears stuck in their hair because Mom decided to "let that fight go". Or the kid who always wipes their nose on their sleeve and therefore all of their sleeves are permanently stiff and crusted. Of course we all are well aware of the child whose mouth emanates those foul-smelling green gaseous odors like you see in cartoons all because their mom "didn't want to fight about brushing teeth".

Well, put your boxing gloves on, AG, 'cause your mommy is a fighter and you are brushing those dang teeth. And I will lay down on the tracks in front of that Snot Train before it leaves this house.

Maybe I didn't win the war, but round one is definitely mine. This morning when I uttered the (formerly) dreaded words "time to brush", she dutifully got up and marched to the bathroom. We brushed, washed and then I praised like crazy. Dancing, singing and clapping my hands like an insane person. She just watched with an expression like "Geez Mom, I brushed my teeth, get a hold of yourself."

Holidays and Happy Occasions

Today is my 26th birthday. To be honest I did not even realize my birthday was approaching until my husband mentioned it. (Brownie points to him for remembering!)
Don't get me wrong, I am not a person who dreads birthdays with an "oh damn I am so old waa waa" kind of attitude. I don't crawl in the closet and sob when the 13th of June pops up on the calendar.

In the past, in my youth (ha!), I couldn't wait for this day and I would start preparations and planning around, oh say the 13th of January. That's also because I was six... there wasn't much else going on in my life besides birthday parties and snack time.

Now, the birthday has taken on a more appreciative tone. I appreciate the fact that I have an amazing family and fabulous friends in my life. I am thankful that I have made it to 26 in a healthy body and (somewhat) sound mind. I couldn't ask for anything more in my life. Don't tell my husband.... but there is no greater gift that to be blessed with another amazing year like the one I've just had. See, my darling life partner is on an endless quest to find the greatest gift ever, so why spoil his valiant efforts?! :)

Speaking of awesome family time, last weekend AG and I went to Chicago to visit my family and to celebrate my sister's graduation. Much to everyone's delight Addie was a natural performer. All smiles and sunshine (as long as I was in the room). You can't fault her for wanting me to be around though, I freakin' rock as a mom. Anyway, we were able to visit with five generations of family and it was fabulous. I am sure this is the point where my mother wishes I would insert the "I wish we lived closer" comment.

Not gonna happen.

Mwuahahaha

Getting back to my sweet angel face, she was also a delight on the plane. I was beyond worried that I would suffer a PTSD episode at the airport (remember our last 45 minute flight to Chicago turned into an 8-hour-near-death-trip trapped inside the plane). There was even a point I caught myself humming and meditating before getting onto the giant steel bird. However, both flights were spectacular and Addie was particularly enthralled with the return flight because we were able to sit in between two men. And she loves older men. Again, don't tell my husband.

As our feet once again touched Tennessee soil I already had dreams of my bed dancing through my head. We waited patiently right outside the plane for our car seat and stroller. The patience left after 30 minutes. Nearly 40 minutes went by until the attendant finally admitted they had neither the stroller OR the car seat. But I could get a loaner at the gate, and he was sure ours would turn up eventually. FML.

Addie was loving it. Walk through the airport you say? Weave in and out of other passengers as you struggle to run along side me, meekly apologizing as you cut people off and run into their legs? Squirm and wiggle like a damn trout when you attempt to carry me? Of course I will perform all of these tasks - and I'll do it with a smile! The only time she paused to let me wipe the sweat from my brow was in front of the Orchid Lounge. A wannabe Nashville-star was singing his heart out strumming his guitar. My wannabe band-aid began to spin in circles, twirl her dress and clap her hands along to the song. If she had a hat, I swear people would have started throwing in money.

Finally we made it to baggage claim, reported our luggage and received our rental car seat. I was SOL about the loaner stroller. Then the long walk back to the car carrying both toddler, car seat and carry-on baggage began. There are no words to express the amount of sweat that was coming out of me.

Thankfully the kind courier at Southwest delivered our belongings to our doorstep that evening. I was unable to thank him in person however because at that point I was passed out on the sofa, feet aching, most likely drooling and dreaming of the days when my travels only included a backpack, possibly some underwear and a magazine.

Invitation Revoked

My invitation to the Mother of the Year luncheon was recently revoked. It all happened so fast. In a few short hours I went from being a potential Parental Genius nominee, praise and adoration sure to follow, to not even being allowed to sit at the cool mom lunch table (much less show my face at all.)

To transfer blame, I am placing it squarely on the shoulders of progress and curiosity. These two culprits have catapulted my daughter from stationary, easily amused baby to constant movement, "one-touch-is-never-enough" toddler. Last weekend she was peacefully observing the world in the grocery cart, happily collecting the fruits and vegetables I would place around her.

This weekend, she just had to try and reach for something on the shelf. And she just had to accomplish this by standing up in the cart. And gravity just had to exist at that exact moment to flip her out of said cart onto the impending concrete floor below. Good thing her head broke the fall.

The worst part is that I was standing right next to her. Unfortunately Usain Bolt and I do not share the same DNA. (Yes I DID just Google "fastest man alive" for the purposes of this blog. No I do not randomly store that kind of information in my head.)

Anyway, she cried, I consoled and it was over much faster than I had expected and she seemed to not suffer any kind of permanent injury. So we went home... where she promptly climbed up onto my bed and tried to jump off. Good thing her head broke the fall.

SERIOUSLY KID?

She cried, I consoled and even the second time around it was over much faster than I had anticipated. I distracted her with a new project; she quickly set to work helping Mommy put together a small shelf. She has a fascination with stacking and piecing together different objects. She knows exactly what to do when I hand her a hammer or screwdriver. "What a great project to get her mind off of what will soon become a monster headache" I thought. Then I noticed the screw and piece of plastic she had swishing around in her mouth.

SERIOUSLY KID?

That was our Saturday. Yes, it is already Tuesday, but it has taken me this long to come out of the rock I crawled under. Now we have a long weekend coming up... who knows what kind of trouble we could get into!

Flood Relief

With all of the recent flooding in the mid-Tennessee region, I have been giving a lot of thought to natural disasters. Not in the Chicken Little "the sky is falling" sort of way, but really just to make sure that in case of an emergency, we are prepared. Natural disasters are not something I have ever planned for before. I am not really sure why, except for the excuse that life gets in the way. But, as the saying goes, you just NEVER KNOW. Why not be prepared? Now my preparedness tool kits are stashed all over the house.

There is a tornado kit tucked away under the bathroom sink in our guest bath. The last time we had immanent tornado threats I had to sit in that bathroom with Addie and the three dogs. I lasted about 20 minutes. In that time I gave serious consideration as to what would be a more gruesome way to perish - death by dog breath or getting sucked up in a funnel cloud. I took my chances and opened the door. This reminds me I need to add face mask to that kit, just in case we are all stuck in the room together again.

We have a fire bag strategically placed and ready to go. Let's just hope the fire doesn't originate in the garage... then I'd be screwed.

Of course now we have a flood kit as well. That one I have up on the second floor. Still contemplating whether or not I am going to put an inflatable raft up there too. We'll see.

I'll end with one great little anecdote regarding the flood. On the news one night, the reporter was discussing the devastation and how many people had been displaced from their homes. In the corner of the screen you see an opossum standing at the swollen riverbank. Obviously this mama saw safety on the other side of this raging water. As ugly and nasty as those little creatures are, my mama gut cried out, "Don't do it! Not safe! Think of your children!" Next thing you know, her five little critters hop on her back and she dives in the water paddling with a strength only the good Lord could give her. All her little babies were straining their necks trying to stay as upright as possible. After what seemed like an eternity, that strong mommy opossum and her little ones were safe on the other side and they head on out.

Just like a mama to dive in unknown waters, facing the upstream current, all for her little creepy critters. I love it.

Your Kind of Mommy

Addie has a great book called "Your Kind of Mommy".

In it there are all sorts of different mommies: a bee, an octopus, a wallaby, etc. that have special characteristics unique to caring for their babies. After the introduction of each new mommy the author repeats "but I'm not that kind of mommy and I know my [fill in various attributes here] will do". The book ends with "I'm your kind of mommy and that's the best that I can be".

No crying you sappy waa-waas out there.

The best that you can be. Well, what if you suck at being a parent? What new mother hasn't stared at her bulging belly or her tiny fresh from the womb infant and wondered, "What if I screw something up? What if this kid doesn't like me?" Trust me, if you are the best that you can be then that is all they need.

The point is, as a mother, no one expects perfection. Mistakes are made, things don't turn out as planned, but you persevere. Just ask your own mother if she has ever made mistakes or mishaps in her parenting career. I am sure she has a few stories. But you still think she's awesome. That's because mothers are the masters of thinking on their feet, trusting their gut instinct and making something work from nothing. They teach you about life, love and all the lessons you sometimes wish you didn't have to sit through. But we always appreciate them in the end.

So on Mother's Day, thank your mommy, because she was the best that she could be. And she did it all for you.

Diapering Debacle

This past week my life has been consumed by my daughter's butt. I am sure there are a lot of funny quips or puns I could slide right in here - but I am taking the high ground.

But seriously it stinks.
(Couldn't resist)


At the beginning of our diapering days, when my little peanut was still smushy and stationary, I tried all different styles and brands - Seventh Generation, Earth's Best, Huggies, Luvs and Pampers. There was one category in which Pampers succeeded time and again, where the others failed miserably - containment of the projectile.

I'm not going to go into detail here, use your imagination. If you are a mother, I am sure you have experienced this at least once with your infant. Addison was simply overjoyed with each bowel movement that she gave it her full and utmost effort. Naturally I needed a diaper that would contain her... enthusiasm... and I found it with Pampers.

Two weeks ago it was time for us to move up a size. Her emerging badunkadunk was no longer contained in the previous 'sposies and I imagine a diaper wedgie is not all that comfortable. About the time we were making the switch, unbeknown st to me, the company was pushing a "new and improved" version of their diapers complete with a DryMax technology. Basically an increased amount of various new chemicals injected into the gel of the diaper to make it more absorbent.

Within 48 hours of Addie wearing these diapers she experienced blisters ALL OVER the diaper coverage area. I did not make a correlation to the diapers initially, because there had never been a problem before. But I was spinning in circles trying to determine some new food, new environmental factor. I kept jamming my finger in her mouth rooting around for new teeth. Nothing - and still the blisters grew and got worse. When I hit the Internet looking for remedies for such serious booty burns I started seeing all of the articles online about P&G defending their new diapers INSISTING they do not cause diaper rash/chemical burns on children. The same exact rash that was all over my child. Okay, who wants to get their a*s kicked first?!

Now we are on a diaper quest. Sadly I am leaving my once-trusted Pampers behind. Even giving them the benefit of the doubt (regardless of the fact that all circumstantial evidence pointed directly to them) I wouldn't want someone gambling with my tooshie, so I'm won't do the same to AG's.

The more I look for alternatives, the more I come across the new style of cloth diapers. Other mothers are swearing that this is the way to go for the potty training years. Maybe because it is more like underwear? I have been leisurely browsing several sites regarding the reusable diapers and I am actually impressed. These are not the diapers I imagined. No safety pins, no touching poop, no holding a soggy piece of fabric in your hand. There are ruffles, bright colors and sequins. Obviously they're speaking to the hearts of mothers like me. These are definitely something to consider.

On top of that we are the recent owners of a big girl potty. It came complete with a sticker book so how could I say no? Plus, she already tells me when she is either a) just gone to the bathroom or b) is about to go. I mean, it's just that easy to potty train right? Just buy the potty, grab them a magazine and give them a jellybean when they're done. Right? Piece of cake - I don't know what all the fuss is about. :)