sadiemama

18 Weeks

2009-12-02T09:34:00.003-06:00

Besides posting the link to the actual news, I realize that I have not written about this pregnancy at all. And I suppose that's normal, because aren't you supposed to document less and less of each child's life? Like, while I took pictures and ran to the blog as soon as Norah cooed for the first time, this baby will probably not even get its picture taken until its a full 18 years old? Or something like that.

I mean, its not that I love this baby any less, its just that things are different this time. Most noticeably, I have a toddler on my hands while also having a person in my uterus. (Sidenote: Why is saying "in my uterus" so amusing?). When I was pregnant with Norah I took long, leisurely naps and could sit for an hour at a time just waiting for her to move again. With this baby, I can only sit until Norah decides to climb onto something or she starts to color on the wall or runs to me for the 14th time in 10 minutes asking for food. So, little baby, I'm sorry that you won't be born into a house that is calm and quiet and the most peaceful environment a baby ever saw. But rest assured, Norah didn't either, and you are going to have a very entertaining older sister to get you into all kinds of mischief. Its going to be a blast for the two of you.

I am currently at 18 weeks. I have seen the little baby a few times, and am the proud mother of a two-armed, two-legged, one-headed little creature. I am mostly over all the misery of the first trimester. I don't remember when it happened, but I woke up one day and it was all gone. So far gone that I reverted back to my previous position of I Don't Understand Why Pregnant Women are So Whiney! This is a Breeze! That, of course, was before the lower back pain, the increasingly frequent peeing, and the embarassing consumption of pickles. And olives. And Bagel Bites. I am all about the super nutritious food when I am pregnant.

And! Because I am much more aware of what is going on in the belly this time around, I noticed a few weeks ago that the moving around in there was not gas, but A Baby! Hooray!

Here is a picture for Grandma:

Honestly

2009-11-10T22:23:00.002-06:00

Jasmine tagged me in a meme. I still do not know how to say the word "meme". I'm suppose to be totally honest and write 10 things about myself, I'm guessing 10 things that most people would not know. I think...Anyway, here I go.

1. Today Jasmine called me a "well-organized hermit" and honestly, I do not think that anyone has ever better packed me into one phrase. Here's the thing, I'm not a total hermit. I like to get out and see people and talk to people in real life situations. In fact, I can be quite charming and humorous. But (and this is one big 'but') if I do not get my own time to sit around the house and talk to no one but myself and the cobwebs, I get mean. Like, I-will-claw-your-eyeballs-out-and-feel-no-remorse-mean. And I have gotten very good at recognizing the signs that tell me I need to stay at home for a day and can plan accordingly. Thus, The Well Organized Hermit.

2. Sometimes I get shy at drive-thrus because I am afraid the people behind me in line will hear what I am ordering and think that I am some kind of sicko for ordering three beef and potato burritos. Usually I feel this way at Taco Bueno, where the latent competitive eater in me comes out most obnoxiously. But seriously! The beef and potato burritos are made of magic! This shyness, however, does not stop me from ordering what I would ordinarily order and enjoying it completely.

3. Speaking of being shy, I have a shy voice box. When we were in childbirth classes before Norah was born, the teacher was explaining that if you are not comfortable in your birth setting, that your cervix will actually start to close up and labor will slow down. Its similar to having a shy bladder I suppose. Later in the class she was making us practice deep breathing and moaning as well as making horse sounds while we exhaled. (Its hard to explain.) I simply could not do the moaning and the horse lips. Just couldn't. I chalk it up to having a shy voice box. My bladder, however, is a raging loudmouth.

4. I have anxiety. It is no fun at all. But I am working on it.

5. In addition to having anxiety, I have a very vivid imagination. This can make nighttime noises in my house incredibly stress-inducing.

6. Somedays, when Norah has worn her pajamas all day long, and the TV has not been turned off at all, and I fall asleep while she sits in my lap and watches Sesame Street...I feel like a terrible mother.

7. I have large joints; elbows, ankles, and knees. I used to be very self-conscious about my knees, but after three years of Rusty telling me how cute my legs are, I have moved on to disliking my ankles. I call them "Skankles" (Skeleton Ankles).

8. I call myself a good writer, but I don't know that one can be called a good writer if one does not actually write anything good any longer. Did ya get that last one?

9. I have a very nice singing voice.

10. I love to read. Give me a good book and I will devour it in no time. I may even read it again. And when I get really attached to a story or a set of characters, I will get very sad when the book comes to an end, because it marks the end of a relationship in some weird way. I love Somerset Maugham, and if I had my way, would name my next baby after him. Many, many times I have thought that a particular book was put in my way for a reason, for the purpose of revealing and explaining things in my own life that could never have been explained in any other way. Kate Chopin's The Awakening did this for me in high school, and though I tried to re-capture the clarity I got from that story when I re-read it last summer, I just could not find it there again.

18 Months

2009-10-17T20:08:00.004-05:00

Dear Norah,

You are 18 months old. I have not sat down to try and mash out all the things I think and feel about you in over 6 months. Its not that I haven't thought about it all, I just have not actually done the writing part. I don't really know why. Maybe its because we are now going through the months for the second time, and waking up on the 7th of every month does not stand out to me as much anymore. That sounds weird, but for your first year of life, the 7th of every month marked an anniversary for us. 1 month past your birth, 2 months, 3 months, and so on until we got to April 7th again. 12 months past your birth...and suddenly it is October and we are coming up on your second Halloween, your second costume, and for the second time I am wondering if its ok for me to take you Trick-or-Treating even though we all know that I am going to be the one eating all the candy.

Alot has happened these last 6 months, not the least of which is your ability to walk. You can walk now. You can walk and run. You can walk on your toes, you can walk backward, you can walk sideways, and you spend lots of your time walking in direct opposition to where I've told you to walk. You eat with a fork and a spoon and most of the time you make it to your mouth. You can do a somersault. You give kisses and backward hugs and think it is hilarious when I pretend I am chewing on your face like a zombie.

You love to play with Legos, building towers and putting your favorite Lego person (who you named "A-Pssst!") on the top, only to laugh hysterically when he falls off. You love books too. Some days it seems like the entire day is spent with you running to get a book and then running back to me, waving it wildly and insisting "Book! Book! Up!" I have many books memorized, like Baby's First Alphabet, The Very Quiet Cricket, and Goodnight Moon. This past weekend you discovered a new favorite: Everyone Poops. Your favorite page is the one with all the animal butts.

Your love for your blankies has only deepened in the past 6 months. You would not believe how excited you get when you see your blankies. You run to them with your arms open wide, yell "GANKIE!", collect them to your little body and then let out a big content sigh. And then you climb into a chair and pile them on top of yourself until all I can see is your little hands, cradling them and rubbing the soft fabric between your fingers. And I know you are under there with as much blankie stuffed into your mouth as you can possibly fit, sucking on the corner until it is soaking wet. Your love for your blankies is something I can only liken with my love for chocolate chip cookies and trashy television.

Your verbal abilities have increased amazingly. You can say lots of words and you are starting to put two words together more and more. It seems like you learn a new word every time I turn around. I love that you can talk, even though I still can't understand much of what you say. The other day you were sitting in the backseat of the car and you repeated "Fie! Fie! Fie!" for something like 5 whole minutes. I still don't know what you were saying, but it must have been something important. Sorry...

Despite your communication skills, you still understand alot more than you can actually verbalize and this makes you very frustrated. You can throw some really impressive temper tantrums when you get frustrated. Your Great-Grandpa Al confirmed that you get the talent from me, for apparently I was known to throw a fit or two when I was your age. Its amazing; one minute you are totally fine, waiting patiently for me to finish getting our popsicle out of the freezer and the next you are a whirling tornado of blonde hair, screaming "Mine!" and pulling the empty box of popsicles out of the trash and collapsing onto it like it is your most precious possession and I just used it as toilet paper. I'm still not really sure what you were trying to tell me that day, but it was a very dramatic (and loud) 10 minutes.

Sometimes when I think back to the days when you were a newborn I breathe a big sigh of relief. Things were so much harder then, when you were so dependent and I never knew if you were going to sleep or not. And its true, those days were harder and these days are easier. But in some ways, these days are harder. I don't take 2 minute showers anymore, spending those entire 2 minutes a mess of anxiety, worried that you were going to wake up screaming and starving anymore. I take 10 minute showers now and I really am glad those days are over. At the same time, I never worried when you were 2 months old that you were going to fall and break your face open while running across the kitchen tile. So really, its a trade off.

Motherhood continues to be the hardest and most beautiful thing I have ever done.

My little lovey, you bring me such joy. You make me laugh and act like an idiot as I entertain you in public places. You make me angry and you make me cry. You make me feel like I am losing my mind. You bewilder me and make me stop what I am doing to watch you and your thinking face. You fill my heart with such happiness it hurts and I have never worried about anything as much as I worry about you. Your life has brought so many things perspective, has simultaneously cleared and clouded my vision. You are wonderful.

I love you.

Mama

Click It or Ticket

2009-09-21T21:39:00.001-05:00

Folks, we have some news.

Nom Nom Nom

2009-09-08T20:54:00.003-05:00

A few weeks ago I was looking at The Baby Book by Dr Sears. A woman from our church bought this for us right after Norah was born and it is awesome. It's full of useful information about things like breastfeeding, helping baby sleep, what babies can eat at what age, and what to do when your precious sweet baby starts throwing tantrums and biting her toys with rage in her eyes. That last part has been particularly useful the past few weeks as Norah lacks the ability to verbalize her frustrations, so she bites her toys instead. At least she isn't biting me.

The Baby Book also has a handy development chart that goes from birth to age 2. When Norah was younger, every few months on the 7th I would lug the book into the living room and look at where she was on the chart. I read about her past skills, her current skills and her future skills as well as cognitive abilities and favorite activities. But as she's gotten a little older I've stopped pulling it out on the 7th of every third month.

So when I got it out a few weeks ago I had some catching up to do. I happened to look back a few chapters at a section about teething and noticed the handy age diagrams for typical baby teeth. Norah was about 16 months at the time and sporting 4 pearly whites, which placed her solidly in the 6-9 month range.

Then I looked at the diagram for babies in their 16th month and holy smokes! They are supposed to have their 1 year molars at that point. Not to mention all the other little chompers that have sprouted before the molars.

Dudes. How does Dr. Sears expect Norah to have all those teeth?I can't even imagine that. And why does she even need them, because honestly, she seems to do pretty well for herself with her 4 little friends. I don't really see the need for canines or pre-molars or molars. Incisors will do fine for us, thank you.

It was probably just then, just as I was scoffing at Dr Sears and his "tooth knowledge" that three more teeth erupted out of Norah's gums. Two on the top and one on the bottom. And just yesterday I (stupidly) stuck my finger in her mouth and right before Norah chomped down on it with her perfectly good incisors I felt an enormous lump somewhere near the pre-molar section of her top gum. Ouchies.

Perhaps that is why Norah has taken to biting her toys.

A Midnight Kind of Blue

2009-08-29T21:53:00.003-05:00

I know you aren't going to believe this, but I embarassed myself in front of yet another service type person.

When we went to Roswell last week my mom bought Norah this super cool swimming pool. It has a little slide and sprinklers that come out the side. Norah loves it. So does Mama, as Norah is happy to play in it for a good 30 minutes to an hour, just long enough to get really tired and ready for a nap.

On Thursday afternoon I took Norah out to play for a bit, and since we were just going to be in the backyard I thought I would just go ahead and wear my two piece bathing suit. This is the bathing suit that I got three summers ago, and while it fit me well then, and was very cute on me...three years ago I was not the mother of a child, a child who grew in my body for nine months and then nursed for another eight. Suffice it to say, I am shaped a tad bit differently now.

But hey! We were just going to be in the back yard, no one was going to see me. My belly really needs a tan! So out we went.

It was a solid fifteen minutes before I realized that the Direct TV guy was on my next door neighbor's house, with a perfect view of my yellow two piece and my very white belly.

Hopefully he was a gentleman and didn't look at us.

In other, un-bathing suit news, I painted my bedroom yesterday. La Fonda Midnight. Another excellent paint name with an equally excellent outcome. I do love the La Fonda colors from Valspar. I'll post pictures soon.

Further Home Invasions

2009-08-12T22:02:00.003-05:00

Today a termite inspector came to my house. I was expecting him at 3, but when my doorbell rang at 2 I was fairly certain it was the termite man, even if it was an hour early. Thankfully I had just changed out of my bathing suit and was able to answer the door in appropriate attire. Though I was in the middle of sending a text message to Jasmine and was kind of distracted.

He came in, and while the inspection only took about 10 minutes, he spent a good 5 minutes flirting with me and talking to my cats. No joke, he not so subtly asked me to have a make-shift coffee date with him. While he was in my house. And my baby was sitting not two feet away eating lunch and dumping water all over the place.

This was made slightly more uncomfortable when I realized that he had conducted part of his termite inspection in my very messy bedroom where all my under-things are splayed out in their glory.

Could someone please explain to me the good manners that are expected when you have repair-men and termite-men in your house? Because obviously I am clueless.

Just Here to Replace the Coil, Ma'am

2009-07-24T08:40:00.003-05:00

A few weeks ago we, here in Arkansas, had a heat spell. It was June and everyday the temperature was up to a good 99-102 degrees. Now I know, I've talked about heat before and coming from New Mexico I am no stranger to 100 degree June days. But again, New Mexico hot and Arkansas hot are totally different things. In Arkansas this kind of heat is usually reserved for the end of July and August. I prepare all spring by stocking up with food and other essentials so that when the soul-sucking August heat hits, I'm set. I only have to venture outside on a voluntary basis or if some kind of emergency arises. Otherwise I just stay in my nice cool house, with all the west facing windows covered. But this weird June heat came, I was totally unprepared. I had thousands of places to be and things to buy so I kept having to brave the furnace outside. But every time I left the house and got into my car-- the car that could have doubled as an oven, sweat streaming down my face, the will to live quickly leaving me-- I took solace in knowing that a nice cool house waited for me when I returned. Ahh, I lived for thinking of that nice cool house.

Unfortunately, our air conditioner happened to be broken that week. So all those reviving thoughts of my nice cool house were melted just as soon as I walked inside and met nothing but stale, humid air.

We thought maybe it wasn't our air conditioner, maybe it was just so SO hot that the AC was doing its best to keep up. But when the unit did not turn off for a literal 4 days, we decided that yeah, something was probably wrong.

A guy came to the house a day or two later and confirmed: We needed to replace a coil. Whatever that means. He was going to talk to my mom to get the details all worked out, and he also added some Freon to the unit. And glory of glories! The house was cool again.

I completely forgot about the rest of the repairs needed until this morning. Rusty is out of town so I've been living up the single life. By that I mean, after Norah goes to bed at 8 I either watch trashy reality TV, watch girl movies, or play BioShock on the x-box. I know, that's a pretty tame single life. Maybe tonight I'll jazz things up a bit and drink some tequila while playing my video game. Even though my single life activities are less than exciting, I've been staying up too late. So this morning when my doorbell rang at 8:30, I was still deeply asleep and brushed off the ringing as part of a dream. Or one of those pesky hallucinations. I did the same thing yesterday when Jasmine called me. I heard the phone, thought it was an alarm and pushed whatever button my finger touched first. I think I hung up on her. Then when I woke up I couldn't remember if it was real or not.

When the doorbell rang for the second time I knew it was in real life. I went cautiously to the door, not expecting anyone and still partially asleep, and heard two men's voices. Even though I had no clue who it was, was a little freaked out by the two men standing at my door, and was woefully unarmed, I opened the door. Clearly I would be the first idiot to be killed off in a slasher film.

They were the AC repair-men! Come to fix our coil! Not to kill me! I was not wearing a bra! They apologized for not calling but they did not have my phone number, and they explained that they just needed to get into the garage to get to the attic.

I hate it when repair-people are at my house. I feel so jumpy, like I can't go to the bathroom because as soon as I sit down they will knock on the door and immediately need to know why the ferber box and the raspyclack are switched and turn off all the lights quick before your house blows up! And there I am, on the pot.

So I'm sitting here, listening to them in my attic while I write about them on the internet. And let me tell you, replacing a coil may sound easy enough, but it must be some seriously hard business. Every few minutes I hear some loud crashes and bangs that sound like things falling down stairs. I've heard lots of stomping and pushing and just now one guy said "Where's the glue!?!" ...Is my air conditioner held together with glue?

All I've got to say is, if those guys are up there using the old "Replacing the Coil" cover-up but are really stealing my giant tubs of endless pink baby clothes I am going to be seriously ticked off.

Veggie Patch

2009-07-20T13:10:00.004-05:00

Oh hi!

I have a nasty case of Nothing to Say. So instead of words I will give you pictures. Of my garden. That is still growing gloriously even though I regularly forget to water.

We have had so many tomatos this summer. Which is awesome because Norah loves them. I think she thinks they are candy.

Bell peppers! I'm pretty sure we bought a red bell pepper, but these look awfully green to me.

Probably the cutest jalapeno I have ever seen.

These are my radishes. They are pretty awesome, and I think they are done growing, but really I have no idea. And if they are done growing, then how do I get them out? I need help...

Watermelon (top) and cantaloupe. Hooray!

Oh Norah...

2009-07-08T21:52:00.001-05:00

I cleaned my fridge today.

Walk On

2009-07-02T15:54:00.005-05:00

The beast, she walks.

I had expected the progression of Norah walking to be fast. Many of the babies I know began walking around their first birthday, and I expected Norah to do the same. Her birthday came and went, and while she was excellent at cruising around, and could even stand on her own without falling down, she did not walk. This continued for a few weeks, and at last! She took her first step.

Surely, I thought, not long after her first step she would start walking all over the place. That's what babies do, right? They take their first step, and then the world collapses as they start walking everywhere. Their mamas never get to sit down again.

I was wrong. Norah's first step was followed by a few more weeks of little walking and lots of crawling. Little by little she began taking more steps, and now she is a walking machine. But it took a long time to get there.

It's so strange to see her do this, walk upright like a little person. Slowly her gait is becoming steadier, less like a drunken zombie. Slowly she is beginning to learn how to turn and round corners. She walks and falls in perfect Norah fashion--looking up and saying "Uh-oh!", then rolling on her back and giggling, pulling her feet up to her face. This kid cracks me up.

Now that she has tasted the wonders of walking, she has little tolerance for being carried. At home this is fine, but at the store where there is an endless supply of things for Norah to break, her desire for independence is really obnoxious. She arches her back and yelps at me, so I put her down and say "Ok Norah. You can walk, but you have to hold Mama's hand. If you can't hold Mama's hand you can't walk." And Norah hears "Blah blah blah WALK!!! Blah blah blah." As soon as her feet hit the floor she slides away from me and tries to escape, walking as fast as she can in the opposite direction, arms in the air above her head, crazed look in her eye. She looks exactly like a bald little monkey.

Sometimes I forget she can walk. I'll leave her in the living room, I'll get my coffee and turn around to see this little blond head bobbing toward me. And it freaks me out. Just what, exactly, does my baby think she is doing? All this walking and talking and growing up business? Wasn't she a screaming little blob just last week? Now she is walking and saying words, combing her hair and brushing her teeth, taking off her diaper, climbing stairs, giving hugs and kisses and showing off whenever she gets the chance.

She is still screaming though. At least some things never change.

For more on how I feel about Norah walking, go here.

Death Toast

2009-06-28T11:03:00.002-05:00

This has been a terrible week.

Friday 6/19
I randomly threw up and suffered from various other intestinal issues that I won't describe. This was, of course, after a friend of mine had some VERY serious intestinal issues that required ER visits and whatnot. I, being the ever rational person that I am, decided that he had given me his illness through osmosis.

Saturday 6/20
Further intestinal issues

Sunday 6/21
Even further intestinal issues

Monday 6/22
You guessed it. Intestinal issues... Also, general laze and blah blahs. I felt EXACTLY like I did when I was first pregnant with Norah, so even though we were pretty sure that it was impossible that I could be a month or so pregnant, Rusty and I got a test anyway. It was negative. So there you go all you jump to conclusion-ers.

Tuesday 6/23
Perfect health! I cleaned the house! Which, I have to be feeling pretty glorious to actually clean the house. However, Norah was sick with a fever.

Wednesday 6/24
Norah and I both felt fine. I heard the Hallelujah Chorus, yes I did.

Thursday 6/25
We went to the Aquarium. They fed the sharks while we were in the shark tube and it was awesome! When we were in Houston, my marine biology sister explained to us how to tell if a shark was a boy or a girl. I'm pretty sure that all the sharks in this aquarium were boys.
Late that night I got a migraine. It kept me up from midnight to three., no matter what I did. Then I woke up at five thirty to get ready for work.

Friday 6/26
So technically the migraine happened on Friday. When I got up at five thirty I took some Excedrin and a took a hot shower and by the time I left it was mostly gone. My voice was inexplicably hoarse and manly, but I could sit up without feeling like my brains were going to pour out my ears so I didn't really care.

I went to work, the boys were crazy, we got a flat tire and I had poop water thrown on me. But that's a different story. Not related to my illnesses.

Saturday 6/27
I woke up on midnight to Norah's screaming. She screamed for a few minutes, then let out an enormous burp and several farts and she was fine. She did sleep in our bed though, and randomly slapped and kicked me in the face all night. I know this because I was awake most of the night.

First I had the chills. Awful terrible shakes like I had when I was in labor. I got up, put on some fleece pants and two blankets and slept on the couch for a while. Then I woke up an hour later pouring sweat. I took off the blankets and the pants and looked for our thermometer. I only found the stupid forehead one that does not work. I used it anyway and it said my fever was 101. However, that thing is so erratic it could have been anything. I went back to my bed because we had two fans going in there.

The rest of the night was spent with alternating fever and chills, another migraine, coughing and lots of nose running. Punctuated with sweet little Norah kicks and punches. I finally fell asleep around five and then Norah had the audacity to wake up at 7:20! This, from the kid who usually gets up around 9! Rusty took care of Norah, which was very kind of him given that I felt like death.

I spent the rest of the day feeling like death with thick bright green lava snot and absolutely no voice. For someone who spends her whole life talking, to others or to herself, lacking a voice is pretty tortuous. Around 3:00 I concluded that I either had the swine flu or a sinus infection that was going to work its way into my brain and kill me. Either way I was doomed. After confirmation from my mom that I was probably dying, Rusty took me to the convenient care clinic. They poked around for a bit, were confused about why I was whispering, gave me another pregnancy test (still negative conclusion-ers!) and then THEN! decided it was all a case of bad bad allergies.

I got a steroid shot in my butt! They said it was my hip, but I know the difference between my butt and my hip and that needle did not go into my hip.

Allergies shmallergies. I'm still putting my money on the swine flu or a deadly brain-bound sinus infection.

Cantaloupe Liars

2009-06-24T12:20:00.006-05:00

When I was in high school, my mom let Sara and me paint our bedrooms. We got to pick our own colors and during Spring Break we spent the entire week stripping wall paper, fixing ceilings and painting. It was incredibly hard work, harder than any of us expected because the floral wall paper that covered all the walls had spent the last decade baking in the New Mexican sun so that it was nearly impossible to remove. I think my mom still gets the twitches when she thinks about that wallpaper.

It was really very cool of my mom. I'm sure there were many other rooms she would have liked to paint and re-do, but she let us do ours instead. And Sara and I were both really excited about our rooms.

Sara picked a lavender for her walls, and a pale yellow for the trim. I picked royal blue for the walls and a bright gold for the trim. Sara's looked great with her bed spread and room decorations. Mine looked like a Kraft Macaroni and Cheese box.

So after that fiasco, you would think that I would have realized that I don't have the best eye for room color. But then, not too long ago, I picked this awesome grassy green color for my living room wall. It was a raging success in the Perkins' house. It is so fabulous, in fact, that it prompted Norah to speak her first sentence. When she woke up from her nap on the day I was painting, I brought her in to see and she said, "Mama! You are a color genius!", perfectly pronounced. ; )

I admit. After that I was a little over-confidant about my color picking skills. Me and my pompous self began eyeing the kitchen. And, at the same time, Amalah wrote about her kitchen as well. And when she mentioned a cantaloupe color I all but skipped to Lowe's, for BRILLIANT! A cantaloupe colored kitchen would be perfect! The pale orange would look great with my green wall and with my cabinets. I logged onto Valspar's website and found the perfect paint color. Cantaloupe Smile.

I have a problem with paint color names. I get distracted by them. Cantaloupe Smile sounds so perfectly orange and sunny and...cantaloupy. I mean, come on. The green in my living room is called La Fonda Plaza Green, and it turned out great, so surely a paint color named Cantaloupe Smile would be great and ORANGE. And to be honest, if they had named that paint Road Stripe Yellow, which would have been more accurate, I would have stayed away from it.

Rusty told me in the store that it was yellow. But I didn't believe him. It was called Cantaloupe Smile for pete's sake, it had to be orange! Sadly, from the first brush stroke I was unhappy. Even more sadly, I continued through two full coats, telling myself it was orange and it would grow on me and I would end up loving it. It never happened.

I woke up the next morning and walked into the kitchen and announced I hated it. I was going to re-paint the next day. So I went back to Lowe's, gave in to the experts and went with a nice blue shade that would bring out the orange color in my cabinets. Bah.

And I love it. I really do. It's so calming and mellow and not road stripey. And it's called Cincinnatian Hotel Lindner Blue. A perfectly respectable name.

Its Dorothy's Fault

2009-06-10T19:50:00.002-05:00

Last night, after a delicious dinner with friends and a coffee run with Jasmine, Rusty and I were unwinding. He was playing Soduko on his phone and I was reading Snow Falling on Cedars. (So good!) We were happily laying in bed absently listening to the news when the weather guy broke in. Both of us put our full attention on the TV because it is June in Arkansas, still considered tornado season, and we could hear the storm outside our windows. We were listening to the storm update when the tornado sirens started wailing.

I. Hate. That. Sound.

I can't think of many things that scare me more than the tornado siren. The siren signals serious business, more than likely someone has sighted a funnel cloud. Its wail tells you to get your butt in gear, no goofing off, in case the storm comes and tries to knock down your house. Even on a perfectly clear day, when the siren going off is just a test, it freaks me out. My throat tightens and I start to feel sick.

So last night, when the siren sounded, we knew it was not a test. Both of us jumped out of bed and ran to get things ready. I threw on my shoes and started tossing things into the bathroom--pillows, blankets, diaper bag, cell phone. Rusty grabbed Norah as I was getting the pillows from the bed and then the sirens stopped. We settled down, sat back in bed, and waited for the storm to pass. Norah slept in our room last night because I am mildly crazy and would not have been able to sleep if she had been all the way across the house, just in case another storm came in the night and knocked a tree onto her bedroom.

It was a dramatic half hour.

And just now, we are waiting out another storm, this one producing tornado warnings in the county south of us. While I'm not hiding in the bathroom closet (yet), that last clap of thunder was so loud it shook the pictures on my walls and nearly make me throw up my dinner.

Again I ask: Why do I live in Arkansas, so close to Tornado Alley, and not in some safe place like Montana?

Its Worth a Thousand Words, Right?

2009-06-06T16:32:00.002-05:00

So, quite a few things have happened in the past few weeks. But I don't really want to deal with all the words today, so I will update with pictures instead.

First, I graduated.

The Cranky Mommy Club!

Family :)

Sara also graduated! Mom was so proud of us.

Tristan and Norah bonded over goldfish and Sesame Street.

The beach!

The end.

AaaaChoo

2009-06-02T11:59:00.003-05:00

Dear Equate Allergy Relief,

I hate you. You are useless. You promise 24 hour relief from sneezing, ithcy/watery eyes, runny nose and itchy throat. Instead, you give me a painfully dry throat...and that is all. Instead of allowing me to open my windows and my new screen door, you make me keep them closed in order that I may breathe.

Piece of junk.

Sniffles and Hatred,
Sadie

You Know You Want To...

2009-06-01T15:06:00.003-05:00

So Jasmine and I have this new project. And when I say "Jasmine and I have this new project" what I mean is "Jasmine has been doing lots of work on this new project while I have been lazing about eating cookies and painting walls in my house green".

Its pretty sweet. We have this blog, a joint blog, and if you know the both of us then you can only imagine the shenanigans this blog will witness. I am very excited.

So go to The Brokins and let us know what you think!

C'est la Vie

2009-05-24T19:29:00.002-05:00

In addition to a tied on bumper, only one side mirror, and malfunctioning doors and windows, my car also lacks a radio. Part of the saga of Dear Husband, Please Buy Me a New Car! I suppose. The tied on bumper, eh...I don't really notice it. The side mirror, don't really need it. I've grown accustomed to working out of only three doors and I have a handy set of pliers in case of an emergency window rolling down event (like, every time I go to McDonald's). But the radio...this one really kills me.

The thing is, I actually have a radio in the car. I got the car with a gaping hole where the stereo should be. No big deal when you are getting a free car from your mom, right? Well after driving around tuneless for a whole summer I was getting really desperate. The hums and groans of a manual transmission are only so appealing for so long. So I begged my friends, Mario and Matt, to help me find one of those awesome stereos that you can buy at Wal-Mart, the kind with the removable face-plate and then put it in the car. They obliged, because they are nice guys. But for some reason, we never could get the thing to work. So eventually, and I forget the details here, I got a nicer stereo (still from Wal-Mart with removable face plate) and we ended up paying $50 to the guy who lived across the street from us to put it in the car. And it worked! And for several years the stereo was my companion, belting out the songs I needed to hear no matter the time of day, the weather, or how many other things were falling apart.

The stereo held great power, made my slowly rotting car a thing I would gladly tolerate because I still had my Modest Mouse, my Hot Hot Heat, my Killers, my Bjork, my Working Title and my Explosions in the Sky.

And then one day, it died. My stereo just went out. And though for a while it would sporadically start working again, and I would leap for joy as the songs filled my car, I knew it would eventually stop working completely. That sad day has come (actually, it came about 4 months ago, but whatever.) and I am stuck in the tuneless box with nothing but the rattles and groans and squeals to keep me company. And yes, Norah's noises are included in the rattles groans and squeals.

I think Norah may mourn the loss of the tunes as much as I do, because she gets very angry if she has no music in the car. So I spend alot of time singing and talking to her as we drive around. I don't know how many times I have sung The Itsy Bitsy Spider. I probably sing it in my sleep. We sing solfege and scales in such dramatic fashion that Julie Andrews would weep. And recently we have started singing the ABCs, because eventually Norah is going to have to learn them, and I am really tired of the stupid soggy spider.

In addition to singing the ABCs, we spell words too. I don't know if you know this, but I am an excellent speller. Forward and backward. Which is why I always get to do the gnilleps puzzles in Cranium. (I hope I don't mis-spell anything in this post). So we spell things. Norah. Mama. Daddy. Pterodactyl. Ollie. Remington. Honduras. You get the picture. And when I spell for Norah, I do it very slowly, dragging out every letter so N-O-R-A-H becomes NNNNNNNNNNNNNNN-OOOOOOOOOOOOO-RRRRRRRRRRR-AAAAAAAAAAAAA-HHHHHH.

She usually spells with me, but her N-O-R-A-H sounds more like BEEEEHHHH-YAAAAAAAA-TTTTTTTT-EEEEEEEEEWWWWWW-GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! But its cute because she drags it out just like me, and because I am her mother so I think she is the embodiment of cute.

Actually, our spelling sessions remind me of this

Leftovers

2009-05-12T14:25:00.005-05:00

I don't know why Norah and I seem to be a magnet for mother-baby indecencies.

When Norah was a few weeks old we went to this football scrimmage thing at the University of Arkansas. It was a big public event, with literally, thousands of people in the crowd. And Norah, being just a few weeks old, had no concept of the inconvenience of breastfeeding in that crowd. She decided she needed to eat, immediately! and I had no choice but to buck up and nurse her. In a crowd of thousands of strangers, and a few non-strangers. I was a breastfeeding novice at the time. I'm sure quite a few people got a free show.

Then, a few months later, I had to figure out how to go to the bathroom at Target with Norah in tow. I ended up walking out of the stall with my past unbuttoned and unzipped, doing that wide-legged waddle that you do when you are trying to keep your pants up.

Not long after that, we took Norah out to eat at Red Lobster. I took Norah to the bathroom to changer her diaper, and just as I got her wet diaper off and was about to put her clean diaper on, she peed. All over herself. Her entire onesie was soaked. And I am not the kind of mother that carries extra sets of clothes, though I frequently end up with three pairs of Norah's shoes in her diaper bag. So when faced with a pee soaked onesie and jeans, I did the only thing I could: I walked out of the bathroom with a nearly naked baby and pretended not to see the questioning looks as I walked by. Norah ended up eating her dinner wearing nothing but a puff-sleeved brown corduroy bomber jacket from Old Navy.

A few weeks ago I had the flying Dorito poop incident.

And yesterday we went shopping. At TJ Maxx I took Norah into the dressing room because she was getting tired of Rusty pushing her around in the cart. I tried on the first outfit, and when I looked down at Norah I realized she had something in her mouth, something that had not been there a moment before. "Norah" I said, bending down to her eye level "What is in your mouth?" She happily pulled out her treasure and handed it to me--a previously chewed piece of gum. A hardened piece of red gum that had, at one point, been in someone else's mouth, teeth marks still intact.

GAAAAHHH! First of all, ew. Second of all, I don't even want to think about what kinds of mangy bacteria may have been crawling around the previous gum owner's unwashed mouth. Third of all, PEOPLE! Why in the world would you leave your chewed up gum on the floor for babies to find and eat while their mothers are not paying attention to them. Their mothers are too busy are trying to decide whether they can get away with wearing a flowered dress that requires little bra support (to which the post-baby chest says a resounding "NO!").

Gum chewers of the world, I implore you: use the trashcan!

And now I'm thinking that maybe she got some ornery germs from the gum, because today we had our first time out session.

The Littlest Dare Devil

2009-05-06T20:41:00.002-05:00

So, Norah is still not walking. I mean, she's only 13 months old and the average walker is around 15 months, so its not abnormal or anything. Besides, she gets around plenty well crawling on all fours. She hasn't really figured out the climbing off the bed or the couch thing either. No matter how many times I try to get her to flip around and crawl down backwards she continues to try and go head first.

Today we went to two parks. The first park we went to with Rusty and he taught Norah how to climb up a slide. Then the second one, the one here in town...oh my gosh. Norah climbed up the little steps like a champ, though she has never crawled up steps before, laughing like a lunatic the whole time. Then. THEN! She got to the top of the play equipment and launched herself head first down the slide!

No fear. No waiting to make sure someone was at the bottom (though Jasmine was there, of course). She just crawled to the top, laid out, and flung herself down the slide.

Its amazing really, this little person in control of her body, with a strong will and a crazy laugh, this wonderful little girl that Rusty and I are raising. I wish I had taken a picture...

Inexplicable

2009-05-01T16:06:00.006-05:00

Bell Pepper and Jalapeno Plants

Radish Sprouts

Despite the fact that there has been virtually no sun in my corner of the world since...like SATURDAY! I now own radish sprouts, pea plant flowers, onion sprouts, and two teeny tiny green tomatos.

Hooray!

Maybe I underestimated my gardening skills. Maybe I have such extraordinary latent gardening know-how, that my plants have no need for the sun. They can just bask in my awesomeness.

Obligatory Baby Photos

How Does Your Garden Grow?

2009-04-28T20:40:00.002-05:00

A few weeks ago I went to get a haircut, and on the way back I passed by KMart. Since I had a KMart gift card and since KMart sells plants, it seemed like a good idea to get some flowers to put in my front flower bed. The one that, at the time, filled with weeds. So I wandered around the garden center and acted like I knew what I was doing. I scoped out the flowers, checked their leaves and buds, checked the soil type and sun preference. I like to think that I looked very knowledgable, but in reality, I was just grabbing things that I thought were pretty. I loaded them into my car and when I got home tackled the front flower bed. Three hours later, all the plants were in the ground and I was pretty pleased with myself.

Then last weekend Rusty and I bought a bunch of vegetable plants and seeds, and on Monday we got everything in the ground. Garrett is graciously making us a lettuce table, so once that gets here we'll slap some lettuce and spinach seeds in there and see what happens.

But here's the deal. I don't know the first thing about gardening. Which is strange, since most of my life has been spent around very successful gardeners. Successfully pulling weeds is about the extent of my knowledge.

However amatuer I may be, I am now the proud owner of both a flower garden and a vegetable garden. And I find myself strangely attached to these plants, like I am inordinately proud of how well my azalea bush is doing, and have not stopped worrying about whether my tomatos are getting enough sun. I've been out there everyday, several times a day, checking the water situation, the sun situation, and yanking any errant weeds that dare to sprout up around my new babies.

Hopefully my hard work will pay off later when I have tomatos and oregano and carrots coming out my ears.

In Case of High Cholesterol, Angel Identification, or Tooth Brushing

2009-04-27T20:28:00.004-05:00

I love books.

I love to smell them, look at them, display them, think about them, and yes, read them. There are not many things that I like more than being able to spend an entire day devouring a book. Sometimes I love my school books, though not very often. I frequently love memoirs. I am a fan of short-stories and anthologies. I often enjoy poetry. But above all, I love fiction. Glorious, glorious stories.

Books are useful too. Some books are beautiful, and make good art pieces. Sometimes books can be used to prop up a wobbly table or chair, or, as I remember doing when I was young, righting a crooked Christmas tree. They make excellent presents. They are good for losing oneself, escaping a boring and disappointing day. And sometimes, they teach good lessons.

For instance, if one was considering one's outrageously high cholesterol, one could take solace in the words of Little Ozzie, the terrificly obese writer in the book Odd Thomas by Dean Koontz "With a dismissive wave of one of his formidable arms, Little Ozzie said, 'If you carried my bulk, your blood rich with cholesterol molecules the size of miniature marshmallows, you'd understand that a little righteous outrage from time to time is the only thing that keeps your arteries from clogging shut all together. Righteous outrage and fine red wine."

Indeed.

Or, if one was trying to determine whether someone else was an angel or not, one could answer these wise questions, supplied graciously from the Roman Church via Gabriel Garcia Marquez's A Very Old Man with Enormous Wings. "They spent their time finding out if the prisoner had a navel, if his dialect had any connection with Aramaic, how many times he could fit on the head of a pin, or whether he wasn't just a Norwegian with wings."

Wise questions, for sure.

And finally, when one is weighing the merits of brushing one's teeth before going to bed, one might read these words, from Greg Iles' Blood Memory, when speaking of trying to find a suspect who owns dentures. "Would he necessarily have to be old?" "God no, Lots of people have teeth so bad they rot out by their thirties."

I would hate to be that kind of person.

Currently I am reading a book called Wasted, a memoir about anorexia and bulimia, Edith Wharton's Ethan Frome, and getting ready to move onto Toni Morrison's Love. I wonder what sort of life knowledge I will gain next.

Different Tempo Now

2009-04-22T18:57:00.004-05:00

I am going to do something wild here and write a post that has nothing to do with flying poop or Mama love. I'm going to step outside my sphere of knowledge, that is, the sphere of motherhood and pretend to be an educated theologian.

In one of my classes we are reading and discussing the book Whatever Happened to the Soul? At the center of the book, a collection of essays really, is the theory of nonreductive physicalism. That being the idea that, "the person is a physical organism whose complex functioning, both in society and in relation to God, gives rise to 'higher' human capacities such as morality and spirituality". Very simply, the book discusses the idea that, rather than humans being made up of two parts--the material and mortal part (the body, the brain, etc) and the immaterial and immortal part (the soul)--perhaps humans are just one part. This would mean that upon death, the whole person would go to heaven, not just the immortal "soul" part. And, this would mean the notion of "saving souls" would have to include the whole person. This would mean that redemption goes much further than simply "soul" redemption.

Yesterday in class, we came to the topic of evangelism, and what adopting nonreductive physicalism would mean for it. And invariably, the question was posed:

Ok. So if you have just 30 minutes with someone, should you preach the Gospel, or give them some clean water, or some clothes, or whatever they need.

Without getting into what I believe about the whole "What if you only have 30 minutes to be with someone and YOU are the only sight of Jesus they will ever see!!" business, this is what I think. I don't think preaching the Gospel is always verbal. I think the Gospel can be preached in actions. I said yesterday, "Well really, if I live in a situation where I don't have clean water, and my babies are dying because of parasites in the water, and you come up to me and say 'Jesus loves you!', well...ok, but my babies are still dying." Telling me that Jesus loves me does not fix the problem of the parasites in the water. So if we are going to be in the business of believing that more than just an immortal and immaterial soul is being redeemed, then offering clean water to people is redemptive. Offering clean water, even without attaching verbal preaching, is preaching the Gospel.

In fact, I would take that argument even further. I work at a children's shelter, and because we are not religiously affiliated, we are not supposed to share our faith, identify our faith, etc. Often, my work involves holding babies--just to hold them and give them some human contact and affection. They don't know I'm a Christian, and most of the time I am not actively praying for them while I am holding them. That work, I don't believe, is any less redemptive than sharing verses from the Bible with someone who asks me to. And even further, if a group of non-Christian people decided to set up a food bank and distribute food to the hungry, then that work too is redemptive.

I believe that God works through us, in spite of us, and without us to do his Redemptive work. I believe that we join in this work, when we strive to right the wrongs we see, when we strive to better this world. Redemption comes in many forms, and often from the most unlikely characters. And accepting the idea of nonreductive physicalism (which is really just a fancy word for "I think the whole person is worth saving") allows us to remove our ideas about hierarchies of redemption. Then we won't have to make a choice between spending our efforts preaching the Gospel to care for souls or providing clean water to care for bodies. We can simply care for people the way they need to be cared for.

I know that many people will not agree with me here. That's ok, my own high school self wouldn't have agreed with me. I guess that's just part of working out our faith. But there we have it...my dabble into theology. Tomorrow, we'll be back to flying poop.

12 Months

2009-04-15T21:30:00.003-05:00

Dear Norah

A few days ago, we celebrated your first birthday. The night before your birthday, I couldn't sleep. I was really tired, I had been tired all day, but for some reason could not sleep. And while I was laying there in bed I started to think about the night before you were born. I couldn't sleep that night either. I was tired then too, a deep kind of tired, results of carrying around 45 extra pounds of baby, water, and 9 months of haphazardly eaten cheese burritos and M&M McFlurries. But much more than tired, I was nervous and excited and anxious. I knew that the next day you would be born, that the next day would be the beginning of my new life with you. I had no idea what that really meant, but the possibilities kept me awake, in spite of being 9 months and 45 extra pounds tired.

I woke the next morning very early, and while it was still dark, your daddy and I drove to the hospital. Our bags were packed with all the possible things we might need. Your brand new car seat was in the backseat, still smelling like the box it came in.
I spent the rest of the day waiting for you to arrive. I was hooked up to lots of different machines, and had all kinds of tubes attached to me, which made going to the bathroom even more unwieldy than normal. I had to unplug myself from all kind of stuff, wrap the cords around my back, hoist my increasingly swollen self out of bed and waddle to the bathroom-all the while pushing an IV and trying to keep my hospital gown from showing all my parts. It was hard work. Thankfully I had some help, because I think I went to the bathroom about 800 times that day.

People kept telling me I should try to get some rest, but really, how was I supposed to sleep? At some point during the day I was going to meet my brand new baby! I had no idea if I was going to meet a boy or a girl. I had no idea if the names were going to work. No idea if I even liked the names we had picked out. I had to think about the inevitably increased contractions, water breaking, and...the actual birth. Oi. And, What Not to Wear was on! How could anyone expect me to sleep with all that?

You were born at 11:26pm, on April 7. When Dr. Crownover first held you up, upside down (they really do hold babies upside down right after they are born...) my first sight of you was the back of your thighs, the bottoms of your feet and your rear end. I just remembered that, Norah, just now as I typed the words. And its funny, because I can still see it: the green of Dr Crownover's scrubs, my puffy white legs, and your pink rear-end. Really, its kind of a hilarious first sight. They quickly wrapped you up in a pink blanket and laid you on my belly and Norah, I had no words. You were so beautiful. You had this glorious and clear pink skin, these black eyes, and black hair all over your perfect little head. I had nothing to say. I just stared at you, totally overwhelmed.
Sometimes I still do that. Sometimes, when you are playing with your toys or jabbering or laughing at me dancing in the kitchen or flinging your poop out of your diaper, I just there and look at you, overwhelmed. You're amazing. Your little brain is always working, you are always learning and watching and mimicking. These days especially it seems like you are constantly on the verge of something new. Its like you go to sleep at night and wake up having learned another trick.

When you were born, I could not imagine what you would be like a year later. I never could have imagined how beautiful and wonderful and sweet and hilarious you would be. I couldn't have thought up the way you cross your legs like me when you sit on the floor, or the way you cross your feet when you eat. I couldn't have thought up your maniacal little laugh, or the way you sometimes give me impish little looks when you are trying to get away with something. I couldn't have guessed at the way your mouth turns down and you wimper when your feelings are hurt. I couldn't have imagined the way your tiny fingers feel when you absentmindedly scratch my arm while we snuggle, or the way they seem to tear off itty pieces of my flesh when you pinch me. I also couldn't have imagined the incredible frustrations, anxiety, and craziness that have come with you as well. You are by no means perfect, Norah, and motherhood is one hard business. But at the end of it all, it is so worth it.

A few days ago, I swept the back porch. While I was pushing the broom in the space between the bottom of the house and the top of the concrete, sweeping out a giant pile of dried leaves and dirt, I realized that I had not cleaned off the porch in over a year. There are so many chores that I have just neglected for the past year, as I've tried to become accustomed to life with you. It doesn't seem like it should take a whole year to settle down, but it has. It has taken 12 months to get used to things. I certainly don't have everything figured out, but now, 12 months later, I'm ok with that. And tonight, I'm sitting in bed with a pile of your clothes and bibs at my feet, your monkey rattle on the floor next to the TV and an entire living room overrun by your mountains of toys, and I can't remember what the house looked like before you came and daily dismantled everything within your reach.

Norah, thank you for all the things you have added to my life. You are so fantastic, so special, so joyous and so very very dear to me. I love you in every way that I can, with everything that I can.

Look Out Tyra!

2009-04-10T12:11:00.004-05:00

Back in January, we went to Roswell to visit my family. The weather was beautiful while we were there, in fact, warmer there in January than it has been here in April. It was so warm, you could go outside without any pants on. Norah chose to go ahead and take advantage of optional pants, because she is a baby and she can do that kind of thing.

Also, we had to take some pictures of her wearing these baby kneepads that my friend Katy sent us as a product test type of thing. I lived with Katy when I went to school at UNM. Now she has graduated and moved to LA and works for this fancy company that...well actually I don't know what the company does. But anyway, she sent us the kneepads, and then later asked if we would take some pictures of Norah wearing them and send them to her. Then maybe at some point they would use the pictures when they were building their website.

So we took the pictures, and sent them. And....here is the finished product! (Dude. My baby is SO a model!)

Keeping Me on My Toes

2009-04-08T12:35:00.005-05:00

(Mom, you may not want to read this post. It involves poop. Love you!)

I had to take Norah with me to class today. I have taken her to all but one of my classes this semester, and I am so thankful to have professors who are kind and gracious and don't mind having a crowing baby in class every once in a while. Those professors don't know how much I appreciate their flexibility and understanding.

So. I took Norah to my Masterpieces of Literature class. I was prepared for 50 minutes of baby entertaining, equipped with: 1 bowl of cut up cheese, 1 bowl of graham crackers, 1 sippy cup, about 85 toys, and 4 diapers.

Norah was a doll. She was cute and charming and relatively quiet. And when she did burst out in baby monologue, it was perfectly timed, just as Dr. Stratman paused for class responses. She crawled around the back of the room, flirted, stood up and tried to walk, and only tried to escape once. In fact, there was only hiccup, about 25 minutes into class.

I was keeping one eye on Norah the entire time, and about 25 minutes in I noticed she was sitting very still and making her poop face. Great! I went through my various options, but pretending I didn't notice was not going to work because eventually someone was going to smell her and 25 minutes was a long time for her to sit in poop. I had to change her. So I, the intrepid mother that I am, gathering up the diaper change essentials and took her to the bathroom. I was undaunted by the lack of changing table. After spending 2 semesters pregnant and 2 with a baby, I know full well that JBU was not built to accommodate pregnant ladies or mothers with small babies.

There was someone else in the bathroom and I felt a little bad for her because I could already smell Norah's diaper, though I had not yet taken off her pants, so I knew that as soon as the girl came out of the stall she was going to be assaulted by Dorito charged baby poop. (Yes, I gave my baby Doritos yesterday, but come on! It was her birthday!) I took off Norah's pants, opened her diaper, blinked through my watering eyes because Doritos make for very pungent fumes, and reached for the wipes. And in the time it took me to reach for the wipes, Norah reached down between her legs and pulled at the top of her diaper. Quickly. She pulled it like you would pull a table cloth from a table, trying to keep all the dishes and silverware from flying off with the cloth.

However, that sort of pulling action does not work out the same way when you try it with a diaper full of poop. So while the dishes and silverware maybe would have remained on the tabletop, the poop went flying. Flying! A big ball of Dorito baby poop vaulted out of Norah's diaper and landed near her head, just barely missing her face. The girl was still in the stall and I would have felt like a colossal idiot if she walked out and saw a big ball of orange poop on the ground next to my baby's head, so I reacted without really thinking about it. I grabbed the poop, bare handed, and flung it back in the diaper. Then, the girl came out of the stall so with poop on both hands and on the floor I continued business as normal, apologizing for the scene as I usually do when strangers come upon my baby's naked butt in unordinary places. She left, and I continued the clean up process, wiping the floor and the baby and vigorously washing my hands.

Being a mom, its always exciting.

A Very Merry Un-Birthday

2009-04-01T20:58:00.003-05:00

Oh hi.

Yeah we are back. And by back I mean, "We drove all the way from Arkansas to pretty much California, then up to the Grand Canyon, then to Bullhead City, and then, to avoid the freak snow storms that blocked our whole way home, we drove to within one block of the border of Mexico on our drive back to Arkansas. And, I left all my motivation for house and blog keeping right there on that Mexican border".

We had a good time. We got some really incredible pictures of the Southwest. I read The Devil Wears Prada and got a sunburn.

But spring break is not what I want to write about right now, because I don't have to energy to deal with blogger's absolutely stupid picture upload business. What I want to write about is that momentous occasion known as The First Birthday Party.

Do you know what a big deal this event is? Do you really know? Because I didn't. I had no idea there was so much involved in planning a party for a one year old. I mean...the always fun guest list shenanigans, the invitations, the decorations, the goody bags, the gifts, the cake, the all-important smashcake. And all these things must be orbiting around the infinitely important THEME.

You wouldn't believe how many people, when talk of First Birthday Parties comes up, immediately ask "So what's your THEME?" to which I respond "Er. Hmm. Uh..." This THEME is important business. I was completely drawing a blank on a cool THEME so I went to one of my professors who has a baby about a month older than Norah. I asked what they were doing for their baby's birthday and he told me all about the cool party themes he and his wife had come up with for their older son's parties. Then he said for their younger son's first birthday (the one a month older than Norah) the THEME was Pupcakes. They were doing stuff with Puppies. And Cupcakes.

Ha ha! Get it? Pupcakes?

If it hadn't been a relatively boyish THEME I would have just stolen it. But I have dressed my daughter in pink every day since her birth and I am not about to break the Frill-Fest with a Pupcakes birthday party.

Then I asked Jasmine what she and Garrett were doing for Isaiah's birthday party in June. They are having a Brobee themed party, from Yo Gabba Gabba!. I would have stolen that theme were it not for the fact that I have only watched 1.25 episodes of Yo Gabba Gabba! because I think it's weird and creepy and I really wish that shows like Ahh! Real Monsters were still on. I have not earned the right to host a Brobee themed birthday party. Alas.

So, desperate to make some kind of headway on this whole birthday thing and feel like I am not a failure at being a mom, I dragged Rusty to Target to get some Stuff. Any Stuff. Whatever birthday Stuff we could find. And finally I found my THEME.

Spring! It's perfect because...it will be spring when it is Norah's birthday party because...Norah was born in the spring and...spring is pretty and happy! Hooray! We got some Stuff in bright spring colors, and none of it really matched because we are loosely tying the whole THEME around these spring-y napkins with butterflies and flowers but in Coordination 101 we fail.

I ended up with: two packages of invitations (which I never actually sent), two packages of napkins, one pink table cloth, one weird stripey table cloth that I have since returned, balloons, a banner, flowered leis, and some bendy straws. It has all sat in the Target bag on my table since we bought it.

Now, with Norah's birthday party just a few days away I was feeling the First Birthday Party pressure again and I went to order her cake. I took a THEME napkin with me so they could decorate it to match and I had every intention to get her a matching little smashcake too. Because, you know, the smashcake is essential to the First Birthday Party festivities. I successfully ordered the cake and was feeling very proud of myself as I drove away from Rick's Bakery, having completed a momentous task in motherhood, and with quite alot of stylishness, to be honest with you.

Three blocks later and Holy Crap on Burnt Toast! I completely forgot the smashcake! What kind of mother forgets the smashcake for her baby's First Birthday Party?! I mean, seriously. I drove a little further, mentally punching my own self in the face for doing something so characteristic of Me.

But I didn't turn around. And I didn't call Rick's in a panic, begging them to add a smashcake to my order. I just kept driving. Because you know what? Cutting off a piece of the real cake and putting it on a plate in front of Norah is going to have the exact same effect as putting a whole miniature cake in front of her. Except this way, we waste less cake which means I get to eat more cake. That sounds like a win-win to me.

I'm done with this First Birthday Party crap. This is who I am, Norah: bendy straws, uncoordinated decorations, and no smashcake. I hope that's cool with you.

Spring Breaking

2009-03-22T17:39:00.003-05:00

The writing on this site has been pretty atrocious lately. I don't even know that you can call it writing. It's more like random blabbering about puke and tantrums. I just don't feel like I have much to write about. I don't do a whole lot. I go to school, and hang out with Norah. I, of course, find Norah fascinating. She's growing so quickly, learning and changing so much. I'm delighted by her. But then, I'm her mother and I don't imagine that the Internet is quite as delighted by her chirps and facial expressions and the way she crawls and the way her feet look when she crosses them while she eats. There is not a whole lot of adventure in my life right now.

On Friday afternoon we left for our Spring Break trip to Arizona. It was at least an 18 hour drive. A verifiable cross-country trip. And on late Friday night when we were in our hotel room in Amarillo, Texas, with our maniac baby rolling around on the bed and regularly kicking me in the face, I thought "Well. Hopefully I will be getting some good stories out of this trip. If nothing else."

I think I will.

11 Months-The Late and the Lazy

2009-03-18T14:05:00.007-05:00

We are leaving for our spring break trip on Friday. I am terribly excited. So excited, in fact, that it is taking everything in me to do my homework that is due this week and study for the tests I have this week. All I want to do is start packing, but I have this clunky essay about the population of the Ukraine that is due tomorrow and I really need to get on that...

It is way past March 7th, which was Norah's 11 month birthday. I forgot to write her a letter, and I don't really want to write one now because I am writing her big 1 year (!) letter in a litttle over 2 weeks. So in the place of a letter, I will just make a list of all her Awesome Tricks. Also, my brain is already on spring break, so I just don't have it in me to do anything more creative than write a list.

Norah's Awesome 11 Month Tricks

1. Feeds herself with a spoon. While she has not yet figured out how to scoop things from her bowl with her spoon, she can take a pre-loaded spoon from either her bowl or my hand and make it to her mouth. Most of the time. Sometimes it goes in her eyeballs and sometimes she tips the spoon over and dumps everything in her lap. And sometimes she waits til I give her a really full spoon and then flings it across the room.

2. Cruises. Yes, she now holds onto furniture and walks along it. And just today, when she was "helping" me load the dishwasher she let go and stood alone. She seemed just as surprised as me, and stood there for at least a whole minute before she fell down.

3. Eats an entire piece of pizza, including the crust. I am especially fond of this one. She didn't eat a cut-up piece of pizza. She held a whole piece in her hand, by the crust, and at the whole thing. Mama is so proud!

4. Yes. I give my baby pizza. Get over it.

5. Talks. She says lots of words, but the most clear and frequent are "Mama" "DadDad" and "Yea!?"

I'm sure she has more tricks, but the population of the Ukraine is waiting for me to write about it, so I must quit. But first, the sequence of self-feeding in picture form.

Noodles

2009-03-12T17:08:00.002-05:00

Norah has mastered the awesome art of arching her back and becoming as limp as a noodle. So if I am holding her and she gets mad, she pulls this trick and I have to scramble to hold on to her arched limp noodled little body, and I usually end up accidentally jabbing a finger into her armpit which just makes her more mad and then...the roof blows off the house.

So if you see a roof flying up the in air in the general vicinity of Arkansas, don't worry. Norah's just upset because I won't let her chew on the cat and then I jabbed my finger in her armpit.

Brain Mush

2009-03-10T17:13:00.002-05:00

I ran into Rusty's car yesterday morning.

I was pulling out of the garage, on my way to school, and even though I do this exact thing every week, for some reason it never occurred to me that I should look behind me before I pulled out.

So I put my car in reverse and started to reverse and was really perplexed when I heard a crunch and then could not go any further. All the potential causes of the crunching went through my head: the trash can, the neighbor's trash can, the garage door, a box, a cat, the mailbox, Santa Clause? but never did Rusty's car cross my mind.

Then I got out and saw the butt of my car all smooshed up to the front of his. Poor cars.

I have no explanation for my lack of thinking except maybe this: The puke germs that I got, those awful germs that I got from my precious and lovely little baby, the germs that made me throw up more times in one day than I did throughout my entire pregnancy, those germs killed part of my brain.

One Step Forward, One Germ-X Bath Back

2009-03-05T16:07:00.002-06:00

Winter listened to me!!

It is a lovely (if windy) 75ish out there and I am one happy desert rat.

However, the Norah? Has the pukes. And not the cute newborn kind either.

Ew.

Because I think my mom, Donna, sometimes reads this site I will refrain from any descriptions. Suffice it to say, the baby is sick. And that makes me sad.

Gotta go now. I have a bathtub full of Germ-X waiting for me to go roll around in it. Think healthy thoughts for the Norah!

Slathering on the Sunless Tanner

2009-03-04T13:54:00.004-06:00

The climate in New Mexico is vastly different from the climate here in Arkansas and though it has been almost three years since I moved here, I am still adjusting. I know, three years is a long adjustment period, but when you spent 19 years in one kind of place and then move to a totally different kind of place...three years does not seem to be so long.

The summers here are obviously different. New Mexican summers are blisteringly hot, the sun could bake you like a potato in 10 minutes flat. But the heat is dry, it's a light kind of heat that you can breathe in, that you can escape if you hide in some shade for a while. The summers here are very nearly unbearable for a desert rat like myself. Here there is a heavy, wet, oppressive heat that can only be defeated by some serious air conditioning. You can't escape that kind of heat; it conquers even the nicest of shade trees. I hate hearing the locusts outside in the summer because their chirping sounds to me like "Saa-aa-aa-die! Come out here and swelter in this outdoor saaaaaaauna!" I hate those stupid locusts.

Like I told Dr Stratman yesterday: I was a lifeguard for two years in Roswell. I survived the heat there, though on some days it felt like my sanity was seeping out my pores, but I could not be a lifeguard here. I would just plain fall over dead.

In Roswell, spring and fall are marked mostly by wind and dirt. The dirt blows in your eyes and your hair and your lip gloss so all spring and fall you walk around with scratchy eyes, dusty smelling hair and gritty lips. The temperature is nice, but the blowing dirt...not so great. Spring and fall in Arkansas are lovely, prone to make me stare out the windows of my classrooms longingly, prone even to inspire me with poems. Though honestly, I would take dirt in my face over tornadoes any day.

And winter. I loathe the winter. I like cold weather for about a week, which is long enough to wear some cute clothes and light a fire, but then I'm done. In New Mexico the cold is different too. When I lived in Albuquerque and was going to school there, I learned the art of layering well. Because when I left the house in the morning it was cold enough to freeze the snot in your nose but by noon is could be a lovely 60 degrees outside. In Arkansas I have learned to layer too, but for a very different reason. Here I have to layer just to get to mail from the mailbox lest I turn into an ice sculpture on the front lawn. Here it is very likely that the snot in your nose is going to stay frozen for a good two weeks before you get some relief.

And you know what winter? I am ready for the snot in my nose to melt! Once, I wore two pairs of pants to school because when I left the house it was 9 degrees. 9! And it was only going to get up to something idiotic like 12 degrees by noon. That is just ridiculous. I would never survive the weather anywhere north of where I currently live.

All that to say, I'm done with this whole winter thing. I'm finished. I am putting away my winter clothes and they are not coming back out, not even if it snows. Perhaps I can bring on the spring just by sheer force of will. Perhaps winter will look into my face, see the revolt in my eyes as I scurry across campus in my little cardigan and cropped pants, and it will cower.

That's the plan folks. Won't you join me in the uprising?

Argh

2009-03-03T10:40:00.001-06:00

The Case of the Missing H

2009-02-25T20:23:00.003-06:00

Yesterday I received this email from a lady named Lori: (I deleted some info to protect her privacy)

Hi Sadie! Thank you so much for the compliment; You've made my day! I did have some pieces in _______ at the Visitor's Center and _______ a higher end ladies shop; however, unfortunately, I've slacked on renewing the items there because I stay home with my 3 year old daughter and just haven't had the time to make a great deal of new pieces. Give me a call if you are ever going to be in the ________or ________ area I would be more than happy to meet up with you somewhere that is convenient for you and show you what I have. Just let me know. Have a great day!

I was very confused by this email, because I did not remember corresponding with Lori, though she seemed very nice. So I responded:

Lori
I am having a serious attack of allergies today, and that may be why I am experiencing this blank mindedness...but I do not know what you are referring to. Could you help me out?Thanks
Sadie

It was a little awkward because I really was having some awful allergy/cold head fog and was genuinely afraid that I had sent her a nice email and then completely forgotten who she was. How embarrassing! But then she responded:

Sadie,
I received an Etsy convo from you yesterday regarding my jewelry; you said that you travel to Indiana often and you were curious whether I had my jewelry for sale in any shops here in the state. Sorry about your allergies; I understand completely!
Best,
Lori

Huh? Etsy? Jewelry? Indiana?! So I go into detective mode, and try to think of what to do next. I logged onto Etsy and tried to find her as a seller there, but because I did not have her username (and really had no clue what to look for) I found nothing. The thought crosses my mind that maybe someone has stolen my identity...

and is shopping for handmade jewelry with it?

That would be a very strange thing to do after going through the effort of stealing a person's identity. So then I think, "Oh lord. I know I have been under alot of stress lately, but surely I'm not forgetting whole shopping endeavors." So I check the history of my computer. Whew! No visits to Etsy the day before. I write back to Lori:

Lori
Well that concerns me because I know for sure that I was not on Etsy yesterday, and I have never been to Indiana... I'm assuming this is the email address that was attached to the message you got, could you forward it to me or something? I'm a little worried that something fishy is going on.
Thanks
Sadie

And a little later she responds:

Sadie,
Here is the convo; as i can see, I left out the h in the gmail address. There must actually be someone else named Sadie with a gmail address so close to yours... That seems like such a coincidence! Also, for both Sadie's to be familiar with Etsy; so many people have yet to hear of it... Very strange! I apologize for pestering you; thank you for being so kind. I'll go send it to the right person now... Take care of those allergies! Take care!
My apologies,
Lori

Aha! So the email address she received from this other Sadie is identical to mine, except for an "h" in the middle, which clearly could easily be missed.

So I wrote:

Lori,
Whoo! That is such a relief! I thought I was doing Etsy shopping in my sleep or something! And making up trips to Indiana. Anyway, I'm glad to get that worked out, and I hope Sadie buys some of your jewelry.
Thanks
Sadie

Case Closed.

Random Sunday Pictures

2009-02-22T17:53:00.004-06:00

These are my knees and the wounds they sustained when
I played volleyball last night without kneepads. That was
a silly decision because I know full well that my favorite
part of volleyball is the falling down part.

Today I realized that I had talked and talked about the
torture that The Land of Teething was making us
endure. But then, when Norah's teeth finally came in, I
didn't share the news, or any pictures of how cute those
little razors are.

These are some of the pictures I took in an attempt to
capture her pearly whites.

Ok, so...this isn't working. Must find

another tactic.

Maybe I could just force her to show

her teeth...

So close!

SUCCESS! (click to see a bigger picture)

Unshowered on a Sunday. Norah looks thrilled to

be all shoved up next to me.

10 Months

2009-02-18T23:52:00.006-06:00

Dear Norah,

You're 10 months old! For some reason 10 months sounds waa-aaa-aaay older than 9 months. Like now you are on the verge of becoming a 1 year old, and what in the world am I going to do with a 1 year old? And I have to plan a 1 year old party! How do I do that? I have no idea.

A few days ago I was all weepy and mopey because you are getting older and more independent and it was making me sad for some reason. My baby is growing up and it just hit me and I wasn't really ready for it. So there I was, sad and mopey, and Jasmine told me, and I quote "You should turn off the...'holy hell my baby is growing' fountain and turn on the 'this is friggin' amazing I kept her alive this long-I am amazing' spout." To which I replied, "Ok ok ok, the growing fountain is all turned off. The my baby is awesome and wondrous fountain is back on."

Norah, Jasmine was so right, and I am so glad to have a friend to help keep me sane like that. Because you are awesome. You are so awesome. Sometimes when I watch you play, I am just amazed at how much you have changed and grown, and how stinking smart you are. Like today, you figured out how to open the door on your little toy barn and put the lid back on your Cheerio container. You learn more every single day and it is incredible to watch.

You have picked up the idea of "No!" very well. There are some things you know you aren't supposed to play with, like a lamp cord, but you try to anyway. You will slowly crawl over to the cord, and slowly reach out to touch it, looking back at me every few seconds. Then when you get close I say "Norah" with that ominous tone, and you pull your hand back. We go through this several times before you decide to move on with your life. But not all lessons are so easy to learn. Just yesterday you got into a battle of wills with your grandma over whether you could play with the lamp. She won. You cried. It was hard not to laugh at you, standing there at the table wearing nothing but a diaper. I could see how much you wanted to touch the lamp, but you know what "No" means and every time you tried you heard that word. Your little fists balled up and you cried, but you didn't touch the lamp. Good girl.

In the mornings you come and play in my bed while I lay there and wish we could sleep a little longer. I would say that out of all the mornings in your life, we have done this little ritual on 97% of them. When you wake up I make you a bottle and bring you to bed where you eat it. Then I try to trick myself into thinking you will go back to sleep, but you never do. So we lay in bed and play for a good 15-30 minutes, and Norah, it is my favorite time of day. You're so silly and hilarious and full of life. I love to listen to you jabber and yell and watch out for flying fists or feet. On mornings when you get especially silly your dad and I call you "Lunatic Baby" because that is exactly what you act like. You flop from one person to another, yelling and talking and laughing and punching who ever is unlucky enough to get their eyeballs in the way of your antics.

You have become and extraordinarily messy eater in the past month, Norah. You enjoy feeding yourself, but sometimes (ok alot of times) you miss your mouth and drop food on the floor or in your lap or down your shirt. Cleaning up after a meal always takes a long time. You also like to put food in your mouth and then take it out again. I don't know why you do this but most of the time it's not a big deal. Except when you eat yogurt. When you spit the yogurt back out so you can feel it with your fingers, it all spills down your chin and onto your belly and your legs and feet. And then you get a bath.

I know that parents always have big dreams for their children, dreams of sports stars and scholars and musicians. I am not immune to this impulse, and after what I witnessed today, I have solidified my future plans for you. I think you are going to be on Broadway. You have a clear ear for music. I am not making this up Norah, even though people may think I am-you can recognize songs after hearing them just once. You recognize them, and know when you hear them again. Amazing! You love to dance, mostly like a tiny little Elvis. And today we were listening to music from The Phantom of the Opera, My Fair Lady, and other musicals-you were transfixed. You sat in my lap, and stared at the computer screen, very still. I watched you, you have the music in your soul Little One!

Sweet baby, you are such a joy in my life. I am so impressed with the little baby that you are, and I am so excited to watch as you continue to grow and learn. You make my heart fill up with love and pride and awe. I love you, Turkey.

Outside the Box

2009-02-13T20:23:00.005-06:00

I am going to take a page from my sister's book and share one of my most favoritest meals. (Yeah, I just said favoritest.)

Vegetarian Tacos or Burritos Either One
(Ground beef or turkey can be added as well, to make them non-vegetarian.)

1 package Mexican or Spanish Rice
or
3(ish) cups homemade Mexican or Spanish Rice

1 can refried beans. (I like the low-fat kind.)

1 avocado

1/2 tomato

Garlic powder, salt, pepper, lemon or lime juice to taste

1 cup raw spinach

Sour cream

Salsa

Shredded cheese

Tortillas

Start with any kind of Mexican or Spanish rice that you like. I can never remember what brand I like the best, they are all pretty good. You could also make your own flavored rice, but that's too involved for me.

While the rice is cooking, make some guacamole. I have tried pre-made guacamole before, and while I am all about pre-made rice, pre-made guac is not an option for a snob like me. Besides, it is super easy to make.

For 1-2 servings mash one ripe avocado and mix with 1/2 chopped tomato. Then add garlic powder, salt, pepper, and either lemon or lime juice to taste. Some people add jalapenos too, but not me.

After making the guacamole put aside to let it all settle together.

While the guacamole is settling, heat the beans. I buy low-fat refried beans because they are just as tasty but don't have the lard. Lard freaks me out.

While the beans are heating, tear the spinach into small pieces and heat the tortillas.

Once everything is heated, layer rice, beans, guacamole, spinach, sour cream, salsa, and shredded cheese onto the tortillas. Then fold and enjoy!

These are especially delicious with margaritas (not that I would know from personal experience or anything...John Brown.)

Ben Folds-Still Fighting It

2009-02-11T20:14:00.003-06:00

I have loved this song since I first heard it on a cd Lesley made for me when I left UNM. I love it even more now, because now, I am the bird wearing a brown polyester shirt. (Give it a minute to load.)

Ben Folds - Still Fighting It (Official Music Video) - More bloopers are a click away

Jog

2009-02-10T10:45:00.003-06:00

As I wrote last week, I am in my last semester of college. I managed to save for my last semester of college really cool classes like Geography, Family Communication, Seminar in Psych, and Aerobic Walking/Jogging.

Mostly I like my classes. I don't loathe going to any of them. Except walking. I am really ticked about this walking class, because its not like I can just check into class twice a week, walk for thirty minutes and then leave. I have to check in twice a week, walk, keep track of my heart rate, and carry Norah around with me. THEN! I have to do the same thing three more days a week on my own. I have to walk FIVE DAYS A WEEK! That is ludicrous.

There are other reasons I don't like that class, but because I am still a student at JBU, and you never know who is reading your blog, I will refrain from explaining those other reasons until I am no longer enrolled at JBU.

So yeah. I don't like walking class. But it would be the ultimate shame in my life to fail walking class so I show up, twice a week and walk and walk and walk. And two to three days a week I walk outside of class too. But on Saturday, I didn't walk. An alien took over my body and took control of my limbs, and I ran.

People, this is momentous. I ran! For like, 10 whole minutes. And then I ran again yesterday. For like 12 minutes. And then I died. But after I died, I came back to life and realized that all the stress that had been weighing down on my back and my shoulder and my head, was gone. Apparently, stress does not like running.

So, in order to not let the stress of this last semester of college get the best of me and cause me to tear out all my hair and make a little voodoo doll that looks mysteriously like the founder of my school, I am going to keep walking and keep running.

The Time Has Come, The Walrus Said

2009-02-04T19:13:00.005-06:00

I talked to my sister Sara on the phone yesterday, and Lord she is hilarious. We are both, fingers crossed, graduating this May. I found out that my graduation is a week before hers, and I take great pride in the fact that I will graduate first, even if just a week before her, because I have been in college a year longer than she has. I'm lazy, what can I say.

Anyway, we were talking about the fact that we are both graduating, and I starting thinking today about what that really means. Honestly, I can't wrap my mind around that. How can I wrap my head around the idea that when May rolls around and summer begins, there will not be another semester looming in three short months?

Weird.

I wonder if I will miss it. My first quick answer is of course, No! N to the O! Why in the world would I miss this torture? The constant worry and stress and always having something I should be working on? The classes that are so inconveniently scheduled during ER? Will not miss any of that junk.

But then, I consider this:
My first car was a light blue/silver Toyota Corolla. It was old, nearly as old as me. It boasted roll down windows, manual locks, a radio and a stylish red plaid blanket that covered the backseat to protect passengers from the disintegrating upholstery. I hated that car, envied my friends who drove nicer, flashier cars, and never stopped to consider that I should be grateful just to have some wheels.

Not too long after I got my driver's licence, I got in a wreck. It was easily one of the scariest things I have ever experienced, and luckily no one was hurt. No one besides my car. I was able to drive it home, but we all knew it would cost more than the car was worth to fix the damage.

I remember when I drove with my dad to drop it off at the auto shop, and remember being strangely sad when we left it there. Even sadder, when we brought it home and sold it to some guy for $200. The radiator was cracked, it was not worth much more. I suppose it could be my tendency to anthropomorphize things like shoes, stuffed animals, books, and cars that made me so sad to see the Toyota go. Regardless, my heart had a strange ache to it when the guy drove away. I was going to miss that car.

I wonder if I will feel the same about college, when it is gone and I am done. I'm almost certain I will look back with nostalgia and probably a little regret. Regret that I did not experience many things I thought I would, that I did not do as well as I could have, that I skipped classes and missed opportunities to really learn and grow. So while I am certainly glad that this time in school is coming to an end, I imagine I will feel a little blue when it's all done and over.

After graduation I plan on staying home with Norah, working maybe two shifts a week at the shelter. I love the idea of getting to stay home with her, because really that is what I've always wanted to do. I have always imagined that when I had kids, I would stay home with them. My mom, Donna, was always home with us, and I loved that.

(I need to clarify here that I do not believe that moms who stay at home are better than moms who work outside the home. I understand and respect that some women want and need to work outside the house. My mom, Emily, worked when we were young. I don't think women's mothering skills should be based entirely on whether they work in or out of the house. Neither kind of mom is better, just different.)

Anyway, that's the plan, and it's kind of nice having a plan. But sometimes I wonder if people think I wasted my time in school because I may not "use" my degree. I wonder if people look down on me for wanting to stay at home, for choosing not to go to graduate school or work somewhere other than the children's shelter. I wonder if people think I am lazy, lack drive to help society, have an antiquated picture of motherhood, blah blah blah.

People probably don't really think that much about me and my choice to stay at home. Probably, I am just, once again, worried about what amounts to nothing.

But still, I don't believe I wasted anything. Even if I don't use my degree in a traditional kind of way, the things I have learned in college have obviously shaped my life, who I am. And learning, simply for the sake of learning, is a good and godly thing. I'm proud of myself for finishing, as there were many times in the past three years that I was really set on never graduating. I love my job at the shelter, second to being Norah's mama I think working there reveals what I am best at. As for being lazy, if you know me well then you already know that I really am lazy, but that's not why I want to stay at home with Norah.

I want to stay home with her because being her mom is the greatest job I could imagine. Because my picture of my motherhood centers around being with her during the day, to change diapers and play chase and draw pictures and garden. To sing songs and make cookies and go to the park with our friends. I want to be home with her, and clearly many of these desires come from the way things were when I was young and at home. That's what I imagine my motherhood to look like, and I am gratefully in a place where I can do that.

So to wrap up this long winded and rambling essay of sorts: I am glad I am going to finish school, more excited than seems bearable. I'm sure I will be strangely sad when it's all done, but the end of school will allow me more free time to devote to being the mama I have always wanted to be.

Correction

2009-02-02T22:58:00.001-06:00

I hate my geography class.

Icing on the Cake

2009-01-30T12:10:00.006-06:00

As you can see from the above pictures, all which were taken the first day of the storm, before the sleet and tree limbs laying in my backyard, we have been iced in since Tuesday. Going back to school on Monday is going to be Hard.

9 Months

2009-01-26T21:23:00.001-06:00

Dear Norah

You are 9 months old. You have been alive outside my belly as long as you were alive inside my belly so I think it is appropriate for me to take a minute to talk about what it was like being pregnant with you.

Pregnancy, like motherhood, was not what I expected it to be. At times it seemed as if I would never stop being pregnant, that you were going to hole up on my belly forever and I was going to spend the rest of my life in a terrible state of not being able to have coffee whenever I wanted it. And then the next day I would look at the calendar and realize, Good Lord! This baby is going to be born in 5 weeks! I should maybe think about packing a hospital bag...

There were days when I was sure I was not ready to be a parent. But there were many more days that I was either too busy to think about it, or I was just so excited to meet you that it didn't matter. I knew things would work out in the end.

They have.

Norah, your daddy and I did not find out that you were a girl until the day you were born. I don't really remember how it happened, but we decided that we did not want to find out if you were a boy or a girl until you were born. I, of course, had a feeling that you were a girl the whole time. Since we didn't know for sure that you were a girl, we didn't call you by your name. We just called you Baby. And I think because of this, because we did not call you "Norah", I sometimes have to remind myself that I was pregnant with you. Norah. Not just Baby, but Norah. So if you look back through the things I wrote when I was pregnant, they were all about you. The times I compared your size to various foods, it was you that was the size of a lime, or a turnip, or a crenshaw melon. When I threatened to put your feet in silly baby shoes if you did not get those feet out of my ribcage, those were your feet. All that weight I gained, was for you. All the cheese burritos, Oreos, cheetos, and bowls of ice cream went to your development.

And in this picture, where my belly is all weird and pointy? That was your elbow or knee or foot sticking out and making my belly look like that.

Sometimes, especially in the months right after you were born, I miss being pregnant. It was nice to have you all safe and confined and near me all the time. I liked having that belly and feeling you move inside me was incredible. And it sure was nice having an excuse to eat ice cream. But when I think about it, it's better having you here with me like you are, all smiles and laughter and soft skin and crazy hair.

Little girl, you just keep getting better and better. I loved when you were tiny and floppy and depended on me for everything, and I thought that I would be sad when you became more independent. Sad that you needed me less and that you were not my tiny little baby anymore. So I am honestly surprised by how much I absolutely love this stage you are in.

You are crawling now. You can feed yourself most foods if they are fingerfoods. You can sit up by yourself and pull yourself up to stand. You can fairly easily make your needs and wants known. And I just love all this. It seems as though with this explosion of independence came an explosion of personality. There are some things, like the train whistles, that make you cry. There are other things, like when I crawl after you and tickle you, that make you laugh hysterically. You cry and ball your fists when you can't have what you want. You jabber all the time, say Mama when you are mad or sad, blow rasperries and curl your toes when you concentrate.

I love all these things about you Norah, and a million other things. But if I tried to sit and write all of them out, we would be here forever. Just know that you are incredible, fantastic, beautiful, smart, funny, and the absolute brightest part of my life.

It's been 9 months, and I am still surprised by how much I love you.

Actually Yes, I Think Topographic Maps Are Cool

2009-01-15T22:30:00.005-06:00

I know I have mentioned this before, but I was not very cool when I was in middle school. Or high school. Or college. I mean sure, I can be pretty funny and I can talk to people and make friends but I also do well in school and I not very good at sports and I don't have any cool talents like superb painting skills or fabulous acting skills or even numchuck skills. So while I was certainly not the Creepy Dark kind of nerd and I was most especially not the Awesome Band Geek or Skateboarding or Art Girl kind of nerd, I was definitely a nerd. I was an I Read All The Assigned English Books And Liked Them kind of nerd and a Why Yes I Am In Choir kind of nerd.

I was the kind of nerd who won the school geography bee. The kind of nerd who not only won the school geography bee, but who also, by some weird chance happened to get to go the state geography bee. I think the actual representative got sick or something. I don't really remember, you'd have to ask my dad. But still, I got to go to Albuquerque to represent my region in the geography bee. I had inordinately high hopes for myself when I walked into the preliminary rounds in my red sweater with my dad proudly waiting in a chair near the back. I allowed myself to consider the possibilities: I could win these rounds. And the next. And go the State finals which would be held later that day. And maybe I would even get to go to Nationals which were held in Washington DC and were hosted by Alex Trebek. Wouldn't that be something!? I would no longer be an ordinary nerd, but a fantastically awesome nerd who got to see Alex Trebek in real life!

Those hopes were quickly dashed when I was asked a question about Aborigines and did not take that hint to determine that the correct answer was of course, Australia.

So I bombed out of the preliminaries and lost all hope of being an Awesomely Fantastic Geography nerd but I was still very proud of myself for being a winner, even on a small scale. I took my medal at the end of the year with excitement and joy and perhaps a bit of arrogance regarding my geography skills. I thought that the next year, my eighth grade year would be the year I would take state.

Unfortunately, when the geography bee rolled around my eighth grade year I lost the school champion title when I forgot the capitol of Peru. (LIMA!)

And I suppose it is the latent geography bee winner in deep in my soul that is so excited to be taking a geography class this semester. A freshman level, required, evening geography class that by all accounts should be motivating me to slip some of that bourbon into my in-class coffee cup. But! I get to make a detailed topographic map of the Ukraine! And I get to do it however I want! Which means I can hand paint it! And make it look authentic and old and really really cool!

Dad, I hope you are proud.

Adding These to My Resume

2009-01-13T11:12:00.005-06:00

Being a mother entails many different kinds of jobs.

When I was pregnant, I was the Incubator, spending every second of every day growing a human in my belly. I ate, drank, exercised (ha!), slept, read and listened to the music with the health of that human always in the back of my mind.

Then for 17 hours on April 7th I served as the Vehicle of Birth.

Then, for 8 months I was a 24 hour all-you-can-eat buffet. If Norah was hungry or fussy or upset, it was my cue to resume the buffet act. Additionally since her birth I have been the Butt Wiper, the Bath Giver, the Entertainer, and the Personal Shopper.

Now that Norah is crawling I am the Mama-Gym.

No Passing Zone

2009-01-08T16:31:00.004-06:00

Today I drove down to my mom's house. I left at 9am (which, by the way, marks the 14th day in a row that I have gotten up before 10. Amazing!) and was supposed to meet Dawn at Starbucks. Unfortunately, that particular Starbucks closed down a few months ago, so we had to eat at McDonald's in a gas station. Yummo.

Then I went to my mom's and took some pictures of Norah and ate a tamale. With my tamale I enjoyed a Dr Pepper and two glasses of water. Then when we were getting ready to leave, I grabbed a large latte to take with me.

This was a bad move. A terrible move. An idiot of a move, in line with all the times I decided to go shopping in a thunderstorm. In order to understand how terrible this move was, the drinking of all the drinks, you would have to have known me when I was young. As a child, my entire family dreaded riding in a car for any length of time with me because I invariably had to pee every 3.5 minutes. I could dehydrate myself for hours before a trip but still, as soon as we were in the car and on the road I would feel that familiar pressure on my bladder. Something about the bouncing and the seat belt just kills me. I have peed in thousands of rest stops and gas stations, I cannot count the number of highways we have pulled off so I could pee in the bushes. I have never had the luxury of being picky about the places I use the restroom in. When you have a bladder as small as mine, you quickly learn that any filthy toilet is better than peeing in the car seat and having to sit there, wet, while everyone else snickers and scoots away from your puddles.

So with this knowledge in mind, look back at all the liquids I consumed before setting off on an hour long drive. One Dr Pepper, two glasses of water, and a large latte. An hour in the car with, literally, no rest stops or gas stations.

So 20 minutes into the drive, I feel it. And I think to myself, "Well maybe there is some kind of gas station or restaurant where I could stop." Nope. Unless I wanted to stop at that one gas station that looked like the perfect spot to film a slasher film. So I started looking for good pull off's and for whatever reason, only found ones that were in front of a house or a barn or embarrassingly devoid of bushes. So I kept telling myself that I would stop at the next good flat space, no matter what. But I never did. I just kept driving and waiting for my heavenly port-a-potty.

And just when I was sure I was going to pee in the car and in my new jeans, Siloam came into view. I pulled into the first gas station I saw and nearly punched a kindly old man who was sure he knew me, he just didn't know where from.

Then when I got back into the car I dumped coffee all over the seat. At least it wasn't pee.

A Note to My Fat Blood

2009-01-03T09:35:00.003-06:00

Dear Cholesterol,

Hello there. I have been ignoring you since the beginning of December, since I went to the dr's office and found out that you had dropped 46 points. Since that post-dr's office delicious egg and bacon bagel. I was so proud of you for dropping so quickly, proud of myself for making better food choices, that I decided I would ignore you until after the New Year.

So I did. I ate brisket and bratwurst and butter and steaks and burgers and french fries. And pies. Cokes. It was glorious.

But now I am back at my house, the new year has started and school and work will begin again soon. So I suppose I will resume thinking about you nearly everyday. I will resume eating Smart Balance and whole grains and lots of veggies. And oatmeal.

Thanks for being that constant thorn in my side.

Love,
Sadie

Yule Tide Pictures

2008-12-26T21:45:00.002-06:00

Merry Christmas (one day late)!

From Sadie and Norah.

We'll be back in 2009.

Lovelovelove!

Oh Man! What's That Funky Smell! --AND Really Terrible Pictures of Books

2008-12-19T22:05:00.004-06:00

I was shopping for Norah's Christmas presents today, and bought this book for her.

I'm pretty sure I told this story one year for Story League. I was in Borders and walked by it and BAM! I was shot right back to middle school Story League meetings. I grabbed the mosquito book, and then began looking for some of my other favorites from childhood.

I am slowly beginning to build up Norah's library, very slowly because books are expensive. I'll have to make more of an effort to run down to the used book store. And as I was walking around Borders today, I became more and more excited to read to Norah, to teach her to love to read.

Anyone want to share some of their favorite childhood or adolescent books?

7 and 8 Months

2008-12-13T23:26:00.007-06:00

Dear Norah

You are 8 months old. If you look back through these letters you may notice that there appears not to be a letter for your 7 month birthday. I can totally explain that. You see first, there were the monkeys that took over the computer and deleted my fabulously written 7 month letter. And then there was the flesh eating virus that deleted all your 7 month pictures. And then I developed a painful pinkie cramp and was completely out of commission for like, 3 days.

Ok ok ok, I just made all that up. To be honest, I don't really remember much about November, your 7th month of life. It went by in a blur. You did get to meet your Aunties Lauren and Jenny, and that was lots of fun. Other than that, can't recall a thing.

When I think about it, you have accomplished quite alot in the past 2 months. You can now sit all by yourself, without any problem. Sometimes you will try to reach a toy that is too far behind you and you will fall backwards and bump your head on the floor. The first time you did that it scared me, because I thought you were actually hurt. But as it has happened more and more (because you really love your toys) I have realized that you watch my reactions and you react the same way. So when I look all scared and worried, you cry. But if I clap my hands and say "Yay Norah!" you smile and roll over. Of course, this doesn't work if you are actually hurt, like that one time I bonked your head on the roof of the car when I was putting you in your seat. Sorry about that.

You can also eat just about anything I give you. You still love sweet potatoes and applesauce and cereal, but you also enjoy green beans, eggs, cheese, Cheerios, pears, bananas, avocados, carrots, grapes, rice, noodles, regular potatoes, and...pumpkin pie. You don't really like corn or peas, but you make awesome faces when we try to make you eat them. You weigh 17 pounds and 7 ounces now, which means you have almost tripled your birth weight. I think its all the pumpkin pie.

You have just about weaned yourself from breastfeeding, Norah. This is not what I was planning. I wanted to breastfeed you for a year so that you could go straight from nursing to cow's milk. But for whatever reason, whether you are just more interested in eating real food, or my body just doesn't make enough to fill you up, you seem ready to quit. I have been sick the past 4 days, and have not nursed you at all, and you really don't seem to mind. I'm a little sad about this, because I know that our days of nursing are numbered. You won't fall asleep against my chest anymore, and I won't have that exclusive time with you, but its ok. I just have to remember that I should not feel ashamed for bottle feeding you from now on. I didn't do anything wrong, and you are a wonderful and healthy little girl.

You are on the cusp of getting your two bottom teeth. I know you are. I can see the bumps, I can feel them under your gums, and you will randomly start shrieking only to calmed by Oragel. But this has been going on for at least two weeks, with seemingly no progress and I really wish your gums would just surrender. (Give up Gums! The Teeth are going to win in the end and you are just prolonging the inevitable.) You are also not crawling yet. You're getting close, and I frequently find you on your hands and knees in your crib. Just waiting for you to figure out mobility. Once you do I don't think I will ever get to sit down again.

You like it when I sing to you, but you have some songs that you like more than others. The Itsy Bitsy Spider, for instance, will unfailingly calm you down in the midst of a Diaper Change Cage Match. And the Usher song that comes on TV...Girl what's up! Won't you be my lady? I sing that over and over to you, and you think it is hilarious. And today we were singing together. You were standing in my lap and you would go "AHHHHH! Ahahahahahahahahaha!" and I would do it back. And then you would do it again, and I would do it back. And each time we both got louder. I can't wait until you try that one in church.

Norah, you're 8 months old now, and I think that is a perfectly acceptable age to begin learning important life lessons like:

Bye Bye Toy! --You learn this lesson when you drop your things for the million and first time, and on that million and first time, I don't pick it up for you. Then you get mad and me and ball up your fists and yell. I'm not kidding here, girlfriend. The other day at the doctors office, you were leaning off my lap, dropping your toys and watching them hit the ground.

No Norah! --You learn this lesson during Diaper Change Cage Match. You roll around trying your hardest to get away from me when your butt is naked, and often, still poopy. I don't like poop on my floor, so I roll you back over and say "No!", but you don't listen. So this goes on, you trying to get away (which is pretty hard since you can't even crawl yet) and me saying "No!" until finally I get fed up and say "No Norah!" Then you get mad and ball your fists and yell.

Soft Hands --You learn this lesson when you grab the cat with the force of a thousand excited babies. You love the cats and try to grab them at any opportunity, but you often grab their feet or their tails or their ears and cats generally don't like this. Luckily we have some very even tempered cats in these parts, but to train you for future animal encounters, we are working on petting the cats with soft hands. Unsuccessfully. You usually get mad and ball up your fists and yell.

Oh Norah. On Wednesday I taught you how to bonk. Bonking is something your Grandpa Al does with his kids, me and all your aunts and uncles on that side. It is a gentle butting of foreheads, a special sign of love, and I wanted you to learn it. So on Wednesday I began bonking you, and within 30 minutes you had caught on. I was pretty impressed to be honest. And now, if the mood is right and there aren't too many people around, I can lean forward toward you, and you will lean your head toward mine, and give me a bonk.

Little baby, every time I write these letters I try to articulate just how much you mean to me, but I never even come close. But I bet someday you will understand, when you have your own little baby who yells at you and tries to escape diaper changes and gives you bonks. Then you will understand, you will maybe call me and try to explain all the things you feel about that baby, and I'll say "Norah, I know exactly what you mean."

I love you sweet girl.

Motherhood and My Steady Decline in Dignity

2008-12-12T00:48:00.005-06:00

Last night, I decided it would be a good time to give Norah some Cheerios so she could practice feeding herself, chewing, and perfecting her pincher grasp. It's so interesting to me that so many things that adults do automatically, are milestones that babies have to practice to master. For instance, the pincher grasp, grasping things with thumb and forefinger, is not something babies are born knowing how to do.

So I poured some Cheerios into one of Norah's bowls, and sat it on the floor in front of her where she was playing with some blocks. I gave her a few from my hand first, so she would know it was something she could eat, and before long she was picking them up with her thumb and forefinger and putting them in her mouth. Of course, she got frustrated quickly and would grab handfuls of Cheerios and then drop them on the floor (another thing Norah is mastering: The art of dropping crap on the floor and then crying that it's gone). I think out of 50 Cheerios, she got maybe 3 into her mouth. But the ones that did make it from her fingers to her trap were met with cheers and clapping from Mama.

So there we were, sitting on the floor amidst some Cheerios, and since I like Cheerios I picked some up off the floor and ate them too. And it was then, when I sat on the carpet eating possibly fuzzy cereal, that I realized how utterly undignified I have become in the past 8 months.

I often wear a pair of pants one day, sleep in them that night, and then wear them again the next day. Sometimes I don't brush my teeth until noon, even if people come to my house. I am not fazed by having another person's snot on my shoulder. I have a vast and intimate knowledge with Norah's poop-in-progress faces and sounds, and when changing her diaper, I regularly check her poop to make sure everything is coming out ok. Last week I saw a chunk of cheese on Norah's cheek when I was putting her down for a nap, and I picked it off her cheek, and without thinking, I popped it in my mouth.

Yeah, that last one is pretty bad.

And I suppose I could get all worked up about these bad habits. I suppose I could make an effort to get up early every morning and brush my teeth and make my bed and...change my pants. But I really think this is just part of motherhood, and for now, I am content to sit on the floor and eat fuzzy Cheerios with my daughter, clapping and cheering as she perfects her pincher grasp.

5 Notes of No Real Importance

2008-12-08T10:41:00.003-06:00

1. Norah has been sick the past few days. She has been crying and coughing and had a bad case of The Crankies. The only good thing that has come from this is that she has been sleeping with me again. (!)

2. I had to take my sick baby to the doctor with me this morning. Ear-rr-rr-ly this morning. Not for her, though she probably needed the appointment more than me. We had to go get my fat blood checked out again.

3. Even though I had not yet gotten the results from the lab, I left the dr's office and headed straight to McDonald's where I devoured an egg, bacon, cheese bagel and a cup of coffee. Fat blood tastes so good.

4. Then we went back to the dr's office and were finally seen by the dr himself at 9:30 even though my appointment was at 8:45. Alot of good that waiting did me, since the lab still hadn't finished my bloodwork.

5. Teeth! Quit torturing us! Please!

Because I Could Not Explain It Before

2008-12-01T23:30:00.006-06:00

Two weeks ago I wrote about my trip to women's group and how I was nervous and freaked out and fidgety.

I went that night, and vowed to say at least two words. Two words would be twice as many words as I said the previous week! Progress! So I got all gussied up and was feeling good about myself and my confidence in my trendy boots.

And then I proceeded to unceremoniously bawl in front of a room full of people I have known for approximately 15 days.

I didn't tear up. My eyes weren't misty with emotion. There wasn't a few cute tears tracing lines down my cheeks. All of that is too romantic. I bawled. Make up smearing, nose running, chin trembling, can't talk, gasping for breath BAWLED. It was terrible.

You see, the topic of the night was fear and as soon as I started reading through the handout I said a silent curse-word to myself because I knew right then that I was going to have to talk about Wendi and I was going to cry.

As I tried to explain that night, but was choked off by my waterworks, Wendi's death scared me terribly. Her death was a real punch in the face to me, a woman still under the adolescent impression that I Am Invincible. I have a long life ahead of me. I am a cautious person, not prone to high speed chases or pistol duels. But Wendi died, in her youth and with no warning. She wasn't old or sick. Obviously there is no guaranteed safety in life. And oh, I am indeed vulnerable to death's sting.

But even more scary, if Wendi could die, then that means Norah could die as well. And oh dear God, I can barely even say those words out loud.

Wendi died a week after Norah was born, a cruel blow to our absolute euphoria when we were all pleasantly exposed. And I have reacted by holding as tightly to my baby as I possibly can. I think if I hold onto her tight enough that I will be able to protect her, to keep her safe. Yes, I know that is illogical and false. But knowing that does not change anything. Logic has no power in the face of such love and fear.

I have absolutely crazy bouts of anxiety in regards to Norah. Sometimes I lay in bed, awake, terrified that someone has gotten into our house and is going to steal my baby and I will not know and the only way I can get any rest is if I sleep in her room where I can protect her. Sometimes I will be driving and will be hit with a vision of us flying off the road and crashing into the trees. Don't even get me started on SIDS. I suppose my anxiety may not be any more crazy than other mamas', but I cannot fully explain the gut wrenching feelings I get about her.

I was telling Rusty about this one night, and he asked me if I thought it might be a result of me not trusting God with Norah. I think that is certainly a likely cause, because I don't trust Him with her. I don't care how futile that might be. If God allowed Carol to lose her baby, then who is say that He won't allow me to lose my baby? And how can a truly good God allow that? A question as old as sin, but suddenly, the trite responses aren't answering it well enough for me.

And that brings me to an embarrassingly un-graceful outburst at women's group. I am afraid of the question of God's goodness. I am afraid of trusting God to take care of Norah. I am afraid of losing my baby, of having a gigantic irreparable hole ripped into me. And I suppose my crying that night, and my writing this now, are ways I am trying to deal with those fears.

Teefs

2008-12-01T13:58:00.002-06:00

People, we have entered The Land of Teething.

Teething sucks.

At least we only have to go through this...32 times. Bleh.

Sadie's Survival Guide to Breastfeeding-Part 2

2008-11-24T14:45:00.000-06:00

You can read Part 1 here.

I know some women who never really get into the Boppy thing. They are more than fine just settling in Boppy-less and feeding their babies. But me? I found it nearly impossible to feed Norah if I wasn't comfortable myself, and regular pillows, no matter the number or configuration, never felt right. The Boppy? A velvety soft God send.

I have this particular one, because it matches Norah's room decorations, but they are all the same thing regardless of the cover. Plus it doubles as a place for Norah to hang out.

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I know I mentioned in the last post that I was going to discuss my breastpump, but really, there isn't much to discuss. I use the Medela Pump in Style, and it works fabulously, but because I have never used a different one I don't have any comparisons. I would suggest, however, that if you are planning on using the pump regularly for storage purposes or to help build up a low supply, get an electric pump. The manual ones just don't work as well.

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Now here's the real meat of the post. Soon after Norah was born I tried to nurse for the first time, with no success. She sniffed around and latched on a few times, but didn't stay there. My mom was there helping me, and she didn't seem worried so I wasn't worried, and tried again later, but still with no success. That first night she didn't nurse at all. The next day, same story. She would sniff, try to latch on, but never really got to eat. The nurses asked me how things were going, but I was determined to do it myself. The day continued, still no eating, still not accepting help from the nurses, and it's pretty likely that breastfeeding would have ended up being a serious source of frustration and failure for me if it hadn't been for the timely arrival of one, Jasmine Brown.

She walked in, told the nurses we needed a nipple shield, and helped me nurse for the very first time. It was an incredible feeling, Norah all nestled in and content, and we owed it to the fact that Jasmine is one of those friends who can see your boobs and not make you feel awkward about it later on.

I had never heard of a nipple shield in my entire life, so when I got home (and after I laid on the couch for a few days) I started researching them and was confronted with a thousand different warnings. Nipple shields are bad! Your baby will never latch on without one! You'll never really nurse! Burn all nipple shields!

So I promptly freaked out. But Norah, stubborn from the day she was conceived, was all about the shield. She wouldn't eat without it. So I made excuses for a while, and if anyone asked how breastfeeding was going I reluctantly admitted the dependence on the shield, and vowed to myself that I was going to stop using it at 6 weeks.

We used that thing for 6 months. Eventually I just stopped caring about it. Norah was eating, she was healthy and happy and that was most important. If Norah needed a piece of silicone to help her eat, then fine.

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In Part 1 I mentioned that I was going to be trying out the LilyPadz breastpads. I did try them, and was not impressed. I felt like they were more visible than I wanted them to be, didn't really stop the flow like they were supposed to and just ended up being messy. I could see, however, using them on occasion, for very specific outfits.

For now, that's all I have. I am about to start using some vitamins that increase your supply, so I may update on how effective they are later on. Until then, happy nursing!

Norah's First Blog Post

2008-11-18T22:49:00.002-06:00

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The force is strong in her.

Communal Living

2008-11-16T20:07:00.004-06:00

"The most difficult lie I have ever contended with is this: Life is a story about me."
--Donald Miller in Blue Like Jazz

I started going to a women's group at Jasmine's church two weeks ago. I spent most of the morning before the first meeting fretting about my hair and my pants and my bag and would I need a Bible? And what about a notebook? And what if they all think I am weird? And what if they ask me to play stupid ice breaker games where you have to make up two lies about yourself and I can never think of believable yet hilarious lies? And what if I just go ahead and puke now and get it all over with? I spent at least half an hour arguing with myself over whether I should call Jasmine and tell her I couldn't go. I did go, but was just a big ball of anxiety the entire drive there.

I get nervous around new people. It's like I suddenly become very large and gangly and don't know what to do with my limbs, so I fidget and fumble around trying to find a way to get my suddenly gigantic hands into my now too small pockets. I worry that people will scrutinize my clothes and my hair and that infuriating blackhead that has been on my chin for the last 7 months. I worry that my comments will be met with the agonizing silence that often accompanies a bad joke. I worry that people will leave thinking "Dude. That Sadie girl was weird."

So I often waste an entire first meeting with people, fidgeting and distracted and very very quiet.

I very much like to stay at home or with people I already know. It's easier. It's more comfortable. I feel safer.

I like to be alone, because when I am alone I am always right. I am always the best, the prettiest, the wittiest, the smartest, the one with the best clothes, the one with the perfect-est baby. When I am alone, I can do my thing without worrying that I will upset or offend or get in the way of anyone else.

But because Jasmine is the kind of friend who refuses to let me sit at home, wrapped up in my own cool thoughts and fused to the couch, I have learned that being alone has its place. And so does being with others. I have learned that always being right leads to arrogance and inflexibility. I have learned that always being safe gets boring. I have learned that being alone lends me to self-righteousness and self-absorption. It is good to be with others. The family of God is a messed up, crazy family, but heavens, it is good to be in this family.

So I went to women's group two weeks ago. It was uncomfortable and mildly terrifying. I fidgeted alot, I think I maybe only said one word, I worried about my clothes and my hair and that stupid blackhead. And apparently, my internal and hidden feelings were clearly visible on my face (how embarrassing).

I am apprehensively excited about this week.

Weaponry

2008-11-16T13:21:00.003-06:00

When I was pregnant, especially toward the end, when I couldn't see my feet and had a pronounced waddle, people frequently held doors open for me. I appreciated this, but always thought it strange, because really, my arms worked perfectly fine when opening doors. Shaving my legs was difficult. Painting my toenails was near impossible. But opening doors was not a problem.

Now that I am no longer pregnant, strangers open doors for me much less frequently. Weird, because when I had two available arms I rarely had to open doors, but now, when I am lucky to have one available arm what with the baby, diaper bag, stroller, blanket, extravaganza that I usually lug around, people seem oblivious to my need.

So, the intrepid mother that I am, I have learned to open and close doors with my butt.

The other day I was returning home from yet another rainy shopping trip. I pulled into the garage and started taking out my 8 bags of stuff. Fully loaded, I shut my car door with my arm, but didn't get it all the way closed. So I swung my butt into the door, a fluid motion that closed the door and kept me walking toward the house, but apparently my butt is alot bigger than I thought. Not only did I shut the car door. I also left a rather large dent in the door.

I'd better be careful what kinds of doors I open with my butt from now on. I would hate to bust the glass in the Gap's door.

Six

2008-11-12T18:22:00.007-06:00

WooHoo! Another pre-determined post!

Jasmine tagged me in a 6 random things meme, and I am not one to stop a perfectly good meme, so here we go (though narrowing down the long list of random things about me to just 6? Could be tough).

1. When I was pregnant I only threw up three times. Twice because I accidentally gagged myself while brushing my teeth. The only food aversion I developed was to chicken salad sandwiches. I nursed a serious love for steak, cereal (but only at night) and that pudding that is layered-chocolate and fudge. Toward the end of my pregnancy I ate at least one pudding cup a day. Then I had Norah, and I still had a bunch of pudding cups, so I tried one and EW. Abosolutely disgusting now that I am no longer knocked up. Pregnancy is weird. There is still one lone pudding cup hiding in my cabinet. I will probably eat it one day, thinking that it will be tasty and I will be sorely disappointed.

2. I cannot bring myself to buy the same kind of shampoo twice in a row. I am very brand specific when it comes to chapstick, toothpaste, deodorant, baby wipes and to some extent, lotion. But the shampoo kills me. I simulataneously dread and love shampoo shopping. I dread it because I can never decide what is most important to me: shine? texture? volume? straightness? moisture? curl? will my hair ever be curly? anti-frizz? Why can't they just make shampoo that will give you perfect Blake Lively hair, no matter where you started? And why do they have to make the bottles so pretty and cause me to freak out with the possibilities? However, everytime I buy a new bottle, I can barely control myself long enough to finish the one I already have in my shower. I just love using new shampoo.

3. I love making Norah's baby food. I have only bought one jar of canned baby food, and it was prunes. I never thought that I would be the mom that actually enjoyed making baby food given that I hate making grown-up food. Motherhood has done strange things to me.

4. I harbor a deep admiration for Somerset Maugham and like to pretend that we are friends, on a first name basis. I have read The Razor's Edge probably five times, and each time I fall in love with Larry and Isabel and Edward Templeton.

5. When I was little I never matched. Seriously, never. Not much has changed.

6. I think I would like to own a bookstore/coffee shop/junk store so I can sell all the things I love: old books, coffee and tea, and old used crap that someone else threw away.

I tag: Noah, Matt, Lauren, and Katy.

Filler

2008-11-11T11:47:00.004-06:00

*Edit* I am SO SICK of blogger's strange formatting issues. Does anyone else have problems with it?

I am apparently still out of words. I thought they were back, but I was wrong. Oh well. So I stole this from my friend Noah, just to put something up here, so people don't think I am dead.

(On a completely unrelated side-note, my computer is acting very strangely. While I am typing, the cursor will randomly move to another place on the screen, which is really obnoxious because it messes everything up. I'm not sure if my stomach bulge is accidentally pressing the mouse again, or if my computer is just old and weird. Do any of you know anything about mouses? Mice?)

Anyway, here's the deal.

Leave your name and:

1. I'll respond with something random about you.

2. I'll tell you what song/movie reminds me of you.

3. I'll say something that only makes sense to you and me.

4. I'll tell you my first memory of you.

This should be fun. However, if 9 million people start responding to this I will probably stop, because really, I have lots of things going on in my life and I don't have time to sit around responding to 9 million people. Or maybe, I just lose interest in things very quickly.

Vicariously

2008-11-06T19:15:00.003-06:00

My friend Noah wrote this great post. I am so proud of him for so graciously and accurately expressing something I have been struggling with for a few days now. Go read it.

A Dire Need For Sure

2008-11-05T22:41:00.005-06:00

I need help.

I actually have a serious (and long!) post working in my noggin, but for now I would like to discuss what is on my noggin. This mop that I generously call "my hair-do". At this point it is less of a hair-do and more of a liability. More of a disgrace. More of a distraction. More of a reason to not look in the mirror ever.

I decided back in July that I was going to grow my hair out. This stemmed from a fantastically awful set of hair-cuts I was given by a woman who actually cut my hair while she was on heavy-duty muscle relaxers. And no, I am not kidding. So I had this terrible cut, and I kept going back to the same lady, and kept getting the same horrible cut and it has taken a solid 8 months for it to grow to a point that there is something salvageable from the wreckage. So there I am, in July, with this wreckage on my head, and I said to myself "Screw it. I'm going to grow my hair out so I can put it in a ponytail every single day and not have to worry about it."

But that was in July, in the unbearable heat of July when I never thought clearly and was prone to eating entire packages of Oreos in one sitting. And then, in my overheated Oreo heavy not sleeping baby misery, the ponytail sounded like a grand idea. But now, in the leek eating, comfortable and well rested days, I just don't know about the ponytail. I just don't know. AND I CANNOT DECIDE ON MY OWN!

So I need your help, readers of the world. Do I continue in this awful mop-haired-ness for a few more months when I know fully that I do not like my hair long? Or do I go ahead a chop it off, knowing that it will look good, but I will have to actually do it everyday? Or? Do I just quit worrying about it and find something more meaningful to fill my blog space?

(But look! My words are back! The world is right again!)

Here are some pictures to help your decision.

This is my hair at the height of longness, all done. And yes, my

face often looks like that in pictures.

This also, is my hair at the height of longness, but this is

what it would actually look like on a normal day. But

without all the other people, and without all the parade junk.

But probably with the boa.

This is my hair at the height of cute shortness.

Ignore the goofy face.

So, what thinks you?

Fresh Out of Funny Stories

2008-11-05T12:16:00.006-06:00

Baby is still sick. And I seem to still be stuck here in the middle of Nothing to Say Land. Sorry about that.

But! Here's a picture of my baby sleeping in her bed!

She sleeps with her feet in the air. *love*

It's Been a Long Day's Night

2008-11-03T14:49:00.002-06:00

Norah has been sick the past few days. She's had nose clogging and dripping, a slight fever, and a fabulous case of The Crankies. That first day, she was really only happy if she was sleeping or I was holding her and that shot me straight back to the days of The Beast. Sweet goodness, how glad I am that we got over that.

And for the most part, I handled her cold well. Until last night. The culmination of fever, nose bleed, putting the humidifier in her room,, and her waking up at 10:00 shrieking from a disgusting dirty diaper made all those stupid anxieties that I have gotten better about, come firing right back at me.

What if her fever spiked in the night and I didn't know it? What if her nose really started bleeding? What if she was humidified to death? If I could get through just one week without worrying about that baby, it would be a miracle.

I was all worked up last night, and stayed up watching Dr Drew for far too long, so when Norah woke up at 7 and was ready to go, it was all I could do to roll out of bed and bring her back to my room. I tried to keep her occupied while I snoozed, to no avail. So we got up at 8. Bleh.

All of that is leading up to this: Since I was awake and ER was not yet on, I read my Bible for the first time since...I have no idea. I read aloud to Norah. And then I pulled her in my lap and I held her in her green and pink parrot jammies and I prayed, out loud. And then I cried, for the love and grace that God extends to us sinners, for Him welcoming us back when we have been gone for so long.

All Saint's Day

2008-11-01T20:38:00.006-05:00

We celebrated Halloween today instead of yesterday. That's how we roll. One day late.

After much consideration and hilarity (mostly from seeing Rusty in my skinny jeans) we attended the Brown's Halloween Bash dressed as a ballerina princess with a snotty nose, an 80's punk rocker who's tattoos kept rubbing off onto her baby, and a Catholic priest with great fire making skills.

Several people told me I should keep the lip ring.

Several people also knew who I was because of my blog. I'm famous!

It was a grand time, and I am so glad to have friends who understand that, when you have a baby, parties need to start early in the evening.

And on that note, I would like to inform the world that One Eyed Jack and I won the Annual Brown Family Pumpkin Carving contest! Take that Jasmine's stars! And Caitlin's witch! And Garrett's...orb turned scary face.

I Rule.

Snot Nosed Skeleton

2008-10-31T20:05:00.005-05:00

Skeleton Baby

Raarrraaarraarwwww!

She's got a green aura about her.

Glow in the dark onesie!

I never knew skeletons liked green beans so much.

Time Warp Dance

2008-10-29T22:11:00.002-05:00

What No One Tells You

2008-10-24T10:26:00.004-05:00

There are alot of things about being a mom that no one tells you. Sure, you hear about the lack of sleep, the rotten diapers that will make your eyes water, the inevitable time when your kid throws up in your bed. You also hear about all the wonderful things like the heart-squelching love. But I have discovered, in these past 6 months, that there are ALOT of things no one ever reveals.

For example, no one ever explains how you are supposed to go to the bathroom in a public place when you are laden with a non-walking child, a diaper bag, and a shopping cart cover and when the store prohibits carts being brought into the bathroom (as if you could even fit that gigantic cart through the tiny door frame and hairpin hallway turns!).

So you, being a woman with less than perfect bladder control since you have had a child, will decide it just has to be done, despite the obstacles. You will hang your bag and cart cover on the tiny, practically useless hook. Then you will undo your pants with one hand, holding your non-walking child with the other. Then you will do your business, all the while holding your non-walking (but conveniently squirmy) child in front of you. Then you'll stand up. Here's the hard part: How do you pull your pants back up with only one hand? And if you get that far, then you will really be stuck with the zipping and the buttoning. So you will make the executive decision to leave the stall with your pants undone, saunter over to the changing table where you can safely deposit your child, and then, sans baby, put yourself back together. And if anyone happens to be in the bathroom when you do this, you can comfort yourself by remembering that time when a roomful of strangers saw you naked from the waist down.

After putting yourself back together you will change your baby's diaper with no trouble, because you are quite adept in the changing diaper arena. But when you reach to throw the diaper away you will accidentally knock your cart cover into a puddle of something (surely just water) on the floor. So much for protecting the kid from germs. And finally, you will want to punch your own self in the face when you leave the bathroom, winded and breathing heavily, and see a sign that reads: Family Bathroom Located in the Pharmacy for Your Convenience.

Norah: A Crawler in the Making

2008-10-19T17:06:00.004-05:00

6 Months

2008-10-11T00:02:00.008-05:00

Dear Norah

You are six months old. An entire half year has gone by since your birth. It seems that nearly every woman around me is pregnant and this makes me a little nostalgic for the days when you were a newborn, when you were tiny and wore preemie clothes and did nothing but sleep and eat. Sometimes I hold you like you are supposed to hold new babies-sideways in my arms-and say silly things like “Oh my little newborn! You are my littlest newborn! All you do is sleep and eat and you are smooshy and tiny!” and you, for whatever reason, think this is hilarious. You tolerate me for a few minutes, but then you begin doing your crunches, lifting your head and straining to sit up.

You aren’t my little newborn anymore. You are my big girl who can sit by herself, eat solid food, and has a gigantic personality. Oh, I just love you.

I would like you to take a moment to appreciate the technologically advanced era into which you were born. Back in my day, we didn’t have fancy phones that took video and pictures. We didn’t have online journals for people to spill their junk. In fact, we didn’t even have electricity! (Ok, that last one was a lie). But really, I have never seen a video of myself as a baby. However, I happen to have a few videos of you as a baby, and I would like to share one, so that one day when you are all big and grown up, you can look at this video and see what you were like when you were mostly bald, and toothless, and wore a diaper.

I like that video because it gives an accurate picture of what you are like. You are crazy. And loud. And hilarious. It took everything I had to keep from bursting out in laughter and ruining an otherwise glorious live shot of your vocal cords in action. And, your hair grows straight up from the top of your head.

Norah I just know that one of these days you are going to start crawling, and you aren’t going to give me any warning. You’ll just stick your legs underneath yourself, and start moving. Probably toward the cat because you lo-ooo-ve the cats. I am requesting now, that before you start crawling for the first time, you give me a little warning shriek of some kind, just a little something so that I know I need to prepare myself. When you do these big things, like rolling over for the first time, or sitting by yourself for the first time, and you don’t give me any warning, I get so excited that my heart starts to hurt and my voice turns all squeaky. So, prior to the crawling, let me know. You’re close, you stick your face in the carpet and put your butt in the air and you move forward a little bit, so I know it’s coming soon. (By the way, mobility with your face stuck in the carpet is not the way to go. You really don’t want to have carpet burns on your face when I take pictures of you crawling.)

We are also working on saying “Mama” because jiminy cricket, I am the one that changes all the sweet potato diapers, so I am the one who gets to be named first!

Recently, Norah, we have been spending a lot of time with Jasmine and Garrett and Isaiah, or collectively, the Browns. I need you to know what a good part of our lives they are, because when you are 15 years old and I am (…let me count here…) 37 years old and we are both still alive, it will be in large part because of Jasmine.

I won’t lie to you Norah, being a mama is hard work. The daily cycle of feeding, diapering, playing, napping and starting all over again can really make me feel very disconnected. Like I am all alone in this big world of parenting. That’s pretty silly, given that I have plenty of people here and at home in Roswell who are with me, who love me, and who will help me when I need it. Jasmine reminds me that I am not alone, and by her reminding me of that and by her willingness to help me when I need help, I remember that I can also call your G-Ma or your Gia or your Grammy if I need someone. She reminds me that it is good to stay connected with the people I love, like your Aunts Sara and Audrey and Amie or your Uncles Tristan and Ben. Having a good friend nearby to help keep me grounded and in reality is making me a better mama and I am so very grateful for that.

All my life I have wanted a friend with whom I could really share my life, and because Jasmine and I are in the same life stage, live close to one another, and share some uncanny likenesses, I feel like she and I can share our lives. And part of that involves helping one another raise our kids. She snuggles with you and makes you laugh (dude, you love Jasmine) and I like to give Isaiah the cucumbers from my plate.

Norah, I sincerely hope that when you are big, you will find a friend like Jasmine. She has become priceless to me.

Little girl, you are 16 pounds and 27 inches of pure love. You have started sucking your thumb and holding your ear just like I used to do, and I cannot tell you how happy that makes me. It amazes me, that even though you are only 6 months old, you and I have some similarities. I hope that I can be a woman that you will want to be like.

Status Quo

2008-10-06T21:08:00.002-05:00

Facebook has this nifty feature where you can update your status. So your profile can say something like "Sadie is attempting to wrangle the escaped cats while wearing nothing but a filmy negligee" or "Sadie thinks that sweet potatoes are the greatest invention since sliced bread" or "Sadie would really love a Subway sandwich right about now". Recently I have had two status (statuses? statii?) that deserve some clarification.

Saturday- Sadie is cooking and facebooking. What is the world coming to?

I recently found out that I have high cholesterol. After hearing the news I first convinced myself that it was a fluke, that breastfeeding and pregnancy had caused a spike and clearly I was fine. Then I convinced myself that there had been a mistake, and like Jasmine said, I was getting the results for some 56 year old man's tests and he was would get a phone call saying his breastfeeding was going fine.

Sadly, no. I truly have high cholesterol, way too high for a woman my age and in my physical condition (you know, all athletic and muscular and in shape...) so I really do have to make some changes in my diet. THANKS ALOT GENETICS! You have given me sideways growing hair, dark undereye circles and fatty blood. Next time I see you, remind me to kick you in the shin. Gone are the days when I called Ramen noodles and Oreos a well-balanced meal. In the name of Not Having A Heart Attack in 10 Years, I am really trying to eat more veggies and fruits, more whole grains, less red meat, so on and so forth.

Don't let me make you think that I have to go on some kind of tasteless, cardboard diet. In fact, the foods I have been eating the past week are really delicious: Roasted sweet potatoes, baked chicken and wild rice, asparagus, whole grain bread, dark chocolate. I just have to cut back on steaks, burgers, fried foods, whole sticks of butter and heavy whipping cream. Sad, I know.

But the really ironic part of this whole fat blood thing, is this: Last week I was making this huge deal about how I don't like to cook, I hate to cook, the very thought of cooking makes my heart cringe. And you know what! I don't intend to change! I can be a good wife and mother without loving to cook. It is an outdated and sexist system that makes women think they are only worth their skill in the kitchen! And just for that I'm not going to cook anything that takes longer than three minutes to prepare! HAHAHA!

Funny thing is, heart healthy food does not come pre-packaged. So we find ourselves with Saturday's status, when I was standing in the kitchen with a spatula in one hand, typing on facebook with the other.

Monday- Sadie is going to punch the guy behind her if he calls his wife one more mushy name like "angel girl". PUKE.

I was having a homework emergency and needed to use a book that is on hold in the school library. So I trekked all the way to school only to find that the book wasn't actually there. Never one to waste a trip to the library, I sat down at one of the computers to try and wade my way through some statistics homework using the infinite wisdom of Wikipedia. I hate statistics, for the record. I enjoy my major, think psychology is awesome and good and particularly enjoy abnormal psych. But anything having to do with statistics? Death on stale toast. Which is why I intend to use my degree to stay at home and psychologically analyze my children.

So there I was, drowning in z scores and Spearman-Brown split half reliability scores and SEM when the guy behind me answers his cell phone. Annoying enough, since I lost everything I had just read about reliability coefficients in that first ring, but when he answered it with "Hey Angel Girl", I knew it was going to be a rough conversation to live through. He proceeded, talking to his wife in a high pitched love-y voice and called her Baby, SweetFace, and Angel Girl one more time before mercifully ending the conversation.

I contained my simultaneous nausea and rage since he had stopped talking, and was just about to decipher other wonky coefficient when his phone rang again. Again with the Angel Girl. And this disgusting name calling continued until I, in an effort to refrain from reaching behind me and jabbing my finger in his eye socket, updated my facebook status.

Never in my life have I been so sickened by another person's pet names. But it was pretty bad.

Reflexology

2008-10-04T01:20:00.001-05:00

Here's a question.

As a parent, is it inevitable that when you are making choices in how to raise your child you will automatically revert to the way you were raised?

I will wait to expand on that until I hear some feedback.

Love and Gasoline

2008-09-29T15:49:00.003-05:00

The other day I was driving, and I happened to drive by a car dealership. There, in the lot, right by the road, was a 1983 red Volkswagon Rabbit. A convertible.

And I couldn't help it. My heart leapt from my chest, jumped across the highway and splatted itself on the windshield.

Now I am in love with a used car.

Sadie's Survival Guide to Breastfeeding-Part 1

2008-09-23T19:29:00.008-05:00

I've been breastfeeding now for almost six months.

That is nearly six months of feeding Norah roughly every three hours from 6am to 8pm and once or twice from 8pm to 6am. I really hate math, but if you would like, go right ahead and figure how many breastfeeding sessions Norah and I have been through. It would be an approximation, of course. As I said before, I really hate math, so I will approximate that Norah and I have been through A Stinking Lot of breasfeeding sessions.

Given that I have been through A Stinking Lot of breastfeeding sessions, I would like to share some of the things that have helped me survive these past six months, six months of being Norah's number 1 source of food, because honestly, in spite of all it's good, breastfeeding can be really hard.

So now that I have babbled on for way too long, I offer:

Sadie's Survival Guide to Breastfeeding-Part 1.

First, the issue of breastfeeding in public.

I know this makes some people very uncomfortable, both mothers and innocent bystanders, but I decided...the day after Norah was born that I was just not going to allow myself to be squeamish about it. Honestly, after having a room full of people witness the birth of my child (and by that I mean, see my naked from the waist down), breastfeeding was so not a big deal. I wanted to make sure I was sensitive to other people, but also wanted to make sure that I felt free to get out of the house and not have to worry about how to find a hiding place just so Norah could eat and stop screaming. So I bought myself one of these:

It's a Peanut Shell Nursing Cover (mine is in Retro Blue because that was all they had) and it has made my life much MUCH easier. I don't have to worry about a blanket slipping off my shoulder and me ending up flashing an old man in a cowboy hat. It has a wire in the neck so I can see Norah without having to move it. It's nice and light so we don't get hot, and obviously, I like that it's cute. And in a pinch it has doubled as a burp rag, which reminds me that I need to wash it. I really suggest any woman who is planning on breastfeeding to get one. It makes public feeding so much more comfortable and easy. Lately I have seen nursing covers everywhere, for a variety of prices, so they should be pretty simple for a new mama to find.

Next, the issue of bras and breastpads. People, this bra issue has been one seriously frustrating event for me. I am picky about my bras, I don't like lines or itchiness or seams or...I'm just picky. I tried several bras from Motherhood Maternity, but found their bras to be like their clothes: Cheap in every sense of the word. Those bras were awful! I have one bra from Wal-Mart and several sleep bras from Target, none of which I can find online. I also have a monster of a bra from Medela and a horrifying contraption from La Leche League.

But then. Oh then! I found this miracle of a bra, this lovely symphony of comfort and support from Bravado. I love it. It's comfy, seamless, supportive (yay!) and relatively pretty. It also has full drop cups and easy snaps.

By far my favorite disposable breastpads have been from Lansinoh, they are the least lumpy and visible under a shirt, but they are also one of the most expensive. I am currently trying some LilyPadz because they are smooth and are supposed to last for at least 2 months. I'll let you know what I think.

Norah has an obnoxious habit of getting a mouth full of milk and then dumping it down my side, so I am often sticky and have breastmilk pants. I am fully stocked with burp rags because of her penchant for puke so I always try to stick one underneath her head to catch her dribbling.

That's it for Part 1! Next I'll discuss my Boppy, my breast pump, and my wonderful precious and fabulous nipple shield. For now, happy nursing!

Honey! Soup's On!

2008-09-17T11:44:00.004-05:00

A few days ago my mom came up and bought me a stock pot so she could make me some clam chowder, which, I am still eating. It is very delicious.

Just before she left she told me she wanted me to make some good soup in my new pot (Because she knows how cooking makes me cringe deep inside my heart). So I decided to make her proud.

Also, here are some awful pictures of Saturday night's storm.

La-Dee-Da

2008-09-17T11:44:00.001-05:00

Words cannot express how much I love argyle socks.

Wondering Then Understanding

2008-09-16T09:31:00.004-05:00

Last night when I was in WalMart I wondered to myself why they didn't make industrial sized Oreo packages. That seems like an obvious necessity to me. And this morning, when I leaned forward and accidentally clicked the mouse on my computer with my stomach bulge, I understood why they make industrial sized SlimFast packages.

Softly, Softly

2008-09-14T00:40:00.002-05:00

Sometimes I really hate my job.

I hate it when I have to wipe poop off the bathroom floor. I hate when I have to run around like a crazy person trying to get a million things done in fifteen minutes. I hate it when I have to try and sort through hundreds of pairs of sock. And mostly I hate it when I have to pick nits. I really hate picking nits.

Sometimes I love my job.

I love my job when I get to play monster tag with kids. I love seeing kids that have been gone a long time, seeing how well they are doing. I love making kids laugh. I love that my job allows me to be silly and talk in funny voices. I love that my work attire is jeans and a t-shirt.

And sometimes, I just don't know what to think about my job.

Right now we have this 4 month old baby girl. Tonight was a little crazy, as opposed to all those other nights that are totally normal and mellow, so I was helping out by snuggling with the baby. She was so beautiful with her brown hair and her feet sticking out of her pink jammies I just wanted to eat her up. Or maybe bring her home and let her be Norah's little sister.

I should have known not to snuggle with a little baby, especially given the way I have been so sensitive about all things related to babies for the past...five months. I should have taken into consideration the fragile state of my heart. But I didn't, so when this little girl started rubbing her face into my shoulder, or holding onto my hands and trying to sit up, or whimpering for food, I lost all hope. She too closely resembled Norah, was too much like my little girl.

Driving home I was struck, once again, with the cruel reality that this is a mean and complicated world where babies can't have their mamas and are forced to cry out for a stranger's comfort. I fiercely wanted to give her as much love and comfort as I give Norah but I had to face the fact that I would be leaving in a matter of hours and she would wake up in the middle of the night to yet another stranger.

This has happened to me before. The last time it was a little blonde haired boy who always wore red tennis shoes. I just could not get over how much he reminded me of my little brother and it broke my heart to see him crying at night. I wanted to hug him and tell him I loved him and that it was going to be ok because I would always be there for him. But that would have been a lie and now he probably doesn't even remember my name.

Just when I think I have mastered the art of detaching from these kids, another one sneaks in and punches me right in the gut, making me painfully remember exactly what it is I do at work. Why I even have a job at all.

I have a job because there are parents who do not know how to love their children. And that's a tragedy on all sides. Tragic for the children, obviously, for they are often bounced around from place to place never really learning what home is, but also tragic for the parents who lose their children because they don't know--were never taught--how to love and care for their kids. It is tragic that the child protection system has to spend so much time coming up behind and cleaning up these disasters that there is no time left for building healthy families out of the wreakage. So my job is to love on kids who need loving, and even as altruistic as that sounds I can't help but wonder whether it makes any difference at all. I'm just another transient stranger in the end.

One time I was driving home from work thinking about how unfair it was that these beautiful kids have their innocence taken from them in such barbaric ways and I remember thinking that I would never do that to my kids. But you know, I am just as fallen as the next person, and if left to my own devices have the evil capability to hurt my own baby. What a scary thought.

So in the end, I am incredibly grateful to have the family I do because they taught me what it means to love and care for one another. My family is imperfect, but they taught me--are still teaching me--how to be a good mama. I am grateful to have the support I have, because without it I would be lost. I am grateful that God has chosen to give me the grace and strength and whatever else it takes to be a good mama. And I suppose all of this is to say thank you to everyone who has helped me.

The world is mean and complicated, but it is also terribly, almost painfully, beautiful.

20 Weeks

2008-09-12T23:36:00.005-05:00

Dear Norah!

You are 20 weeks old! 5 months! That’s crazy! I am going to continue punctuating my sentences with exclamation points because that is how you live your life! In the imperative! When you say something, you mean it! When you want something, you want it now! When you talk, people listen!

I’m not joking, kid. You are serious about the things you say, and I imagine if there were a transcription of everything you said, it would look like this: Blee! Blah Blah! Oooh! Aaaack! SHRIEEEEEEEEEEEEKKKKKKKKKK! SHRIEEEEEEEEEEEEEK! Today you were shrieking in church and afterward everyone was like, “Oh! We need to get that girl a microphone! She wants to sing!” And I was like, “No, you don’t understand. She was just warming up the vocal chords. When Norah is really ready to sing, Norah does not need a microphone. Rather, we all need earmuffs to protect our puny human hearing from her superhuman death shrieks.”

You are a little older now, Norah, and you are more like my little companion rather than my little parasite. I liked it when you were my little parasite, but I like it even more now that you are my little companion. In the mornings, when you make it clear that you are ready to get up I always try to convince you that we can stay in bed a little longer. I try rubbing your tummy and holding your hands and squishing your cheeks, but you just giggle. And eventually I give in and I roll out of bed. Then we go into the living room and I change you diaper and then we go around the house to do the morning things together, like opening the curtains and feeding the cats and making the coffee. I talk to you while we do these things, explaining what we are doing, and you talk back and you always try to grab things out of my hands and put them in your mouth. But I’m telling you Norah, you really don’t want to put used coffee grounds in your mouth.

One day last week I was having a really awful day. I was frustrated with the whole world and every single person in it. We came home and you were lying on the floor while I looked something up on the computer. You were looking at the ceiling fan and blowing the spittiest raspberries in the history of raspberry blowing and it was just so hilarious and cute I could not be mad anymore. All my anger, blown away in one spit bubble. Thanks for that Norah.

Then on another day we were sitting on the couch reading and you weren’t wearing any clothes. We finished the book and you took it out of my hands and starting chewing on it. I found that awfully funny because sometimes all I want to do is sit on the couch in my underwear and enjoy a good book. Whatever, I’m just glad you like books even if you do eat them instead of read them.

Remember last month when I told you we were going to ride on a plane and I was trying to get you to sit in my lap for long periods of time? Well. We had to take two plane rides to get to Roswell, and you were the most incredible baby in the whole world on those two flights. You ate well and played well and then you fell asleep in my lap with no fuss at all (which, I might add, was the first time you have ever done that in your life). And then in Roswell you cried a lot and didn’t sleep well. I don’t know what your deal was because I had a great time in Roswell. But we got to see our family and they all love you.

When we were coming back home from Roswell we almost missed our plane. In fact, you and I and your Aunt Sara were the last ones to get on the plane. It was an early flight so I imagine many people were trying to sleep, but you chose this to be the flight that you screamed through. Yep, you screamed nearly the entire hour and six minutes. The only time you didn’t scream was when you were eating, so once you fell asleep that way I just left you, even though my arm was hurting and you kept kicking your Aunt Sara. You weren’t crying anymore, but Aunt Sara and I were being a little silly (as we often are) and were probably just as loud as you were. I’m pretty sure that every person on the flight hated me, Norah. But it’s cool, we’ll never ever see those people again.

Speaking of Aunt Sara, she is awesome. I’ve been thinking back to when Sara and I were little and all the fun we had. Growing up sharing a room with your best friend is fantastic. We got into loads of trouble and I’m sure caused more than a few grays hairs to grow on your G-Ma and Grandpa’s heads, but Norah, it was the best. Sara and I had our rough times and we fought, but it was so worth it. I want you to have that, even if it means your dad and I go prematurely gray. I want you to have a best friend for life like I do.

You rolled from your back to your belly for the first time this month, and you had your first experience with baby cereal. You don’t love your cereal yet, but I don’t blame you. It tastes awful. You talk all the time and you love to snuggle with soft toys and blankets. By snuggle, of course, I mean you love to put them over your face and chew on them. Sometimes I go into your room and find you asleep with your blanket either covering your face or in your mouth. You also prefer to sleep sideways in your bed, so your feet and head are both butting up against the bumpers. You are a little weirdo. You think standing is the coolest thing in the world, but I am telling you now, sit down while you can because one day you will probably have a baby who is happiest when you are carrying her around the whole world and you will think to yourself “Oh, how I wish I could just sit down for a few minutes.”

Little girl, you are such a joy. I love you so much it feels like I should be crushed under the weight of all that love.

No Need to Point Out the Obvious

2008-09-09T09:34:00.003-05:00

Have you ever had one of those days when you can't find anything to wear? When none of the clothes in your closet, not any of the ones you had to buy since you had a baby and gained all that weight, are what you want to wear? When the only shirt you could possibly want to wear in the whole entire closet is the one stained with breastmilk because you didn't realize that breastmilk had the ability to leave unsightly stains on the boobs of your shirts?

Yeah that happened to me today. So if you see me, I assure you I am aware of the unsightly stain on my boob.

All In a Day's Work

2008-09-04T15:49:00.002-05:00

Today's class notes:

The bulk of my work was spent on Tiny Trees

But I am awfully excited about the beginning layout of

my new city, Townsvilleburg.

Today was a mentally taxing day, to say the least.

Rain Rain Go Away

2008-09-03T18:13:00.003-05:00

Today was the day I chose to go running around town doing non-essential errand type things with Norah. Today was also the day that Hurricane Gustav poured out buckets of rain in Arkansas. But did I let Gustav stop me? Of course not. It takes a heck of alot more than a hurricane to divert my attention from The Gap.

My decision to go shopping today was a real idiot of an idea, ranking right up there with the rest of my idiot ideas like: that time in the third grade when I was laughing at the naked people in National Geographic, that time in the third grade when I lied about laughing at the naked people in National Geographic and tried to convince my mom that I was laughing at a knock-knock joke, eating half a package of Oreos in one sitting, those green Chuck Taylors, telling my friends I would make dinner for them after they had a baby and then remembering that I don't cook, and watching three whole episodes of Secret Life of the American Teenager.

I had to go to school this morning to sell some books to other students and I should have taken it as a hint when I got to school and could not find a parking spot anywhere near the building I needed to get into. Instead, I parked super far away and dragged myself, the diaper bag, two books, Norah and an umbrella that weighs more than Norah all around campus. I nearly dropped everything, and really should have just left the umbrella in the car, that's how useful it was to me. Walking up to the student center I realized that everyone inside could see my stupid and soaked self since the whole building is made of windows. I was trying to figure out how to open the door without dropping and/or breaking anything when a nice Latin American boy took pity on me and opened the door. But not before he and his friends looked at me and laughed. Once I got inside I realized that I was not only dripping wet with a slippery baby, a useless umbrella and vagabond hair, but I was also too late to meet the girl I was selling my book to.

Still not taking the hint from the heavens I trudged all the way across the soggy campus, hitting several cars with my giant umbrella before making it back to my little Honda. I had a fleeting moment of lucidity when I thought Maybe I should just go home and drink some tea, but that thought was quickly followed by The Gap! The Gap awaits your arrival! so I went home to change into dry clothes and then kept on going, all the way to lunch with Dawn.

At lunch I had to feed Norah and was confronted with an old man in a cowboy hat who would not stop staring at me. While I was feeding her. Covered up, but still. He eventually moved tables, but not before standing up and staring some more. Perhaps to get a better view?

Then Dawn and I went to the mall where I realized how agonizingly slow the process of getting her from the car to the store can be. Especially in the rain. We shopped and shopped, and in typical fashion, Norah fell asleep just as we were leaving but not when we were trying to shop. It was still raining, perhaps even raining harder, but undaunted I chose to wade on through Old Navy and Target.

When I left Target I was carrying Norah in Bjorn, the diaper bag, a Target bag, a blanket a drink and yet another useless umbrella (that I bought for myself but was also rendered useless by the heavy duty plastic clip holding it closed). When I finally made it to my car and sat down to strap Norah into the car seat, I looked at her, with her face and head wet from the rain and her feet bare because she kept taking off her socks, it occurred to me that maybe I should have stayed home today. But then Norah, probably amused by her mother looking like some kind of damp crazy person, started laughing and I thought Eh, at least it will make for a good story later on.

All that, and I didn't even buy anything at The Gap.

I Need a Nap

2008-09-01T17:49:00.002-05:00

I work at a children's shelter, a place filled to the brim with kids, so by very nature my job entails a bit of chaos. But the last two nights had about 87456 times more chaos than normal.

We had two medical emergencies, two outings, one short staffing issue, numerous time clock shenanigans, lots of time outs, pantomimed knock-knock jokes, the longest bubble bath in shelter history, a missing fake chocolate chip cookie, poop wiped on the floor and one captive lizard.

All that would be ok if I was one of those people who is calm and organized and structured. Too bad I am one of those people who is excitable and frazzled and flexible.

I See London, I See France...

2008-08-27T22:39:00.002-05:00

I saw this today at WalMart and for some reason it made me laugh.

It looks like those grocery carts got tripped up and fell on top of one another in a jumble of exposed wheels and metal parts. They just look so undignified and embarrassed. Reminds me of the time I walked out of the work bathroom with the back of my skirt tucked into my underwear. That incident was made even more awesome by the fact that I had walked through the boys wing and past three offices before anyone told me.

Must. Stop. Blinking.

2008-08-26T21:47:00.005-05:00

Well.

I am in the process of adding a little pizazz, panache, flair, to our house. A little style, if you will. I spent a long time digging for treasures today and oh did I find some. Tomorrow I will post pictures of my finds because right now I am very tired.

But that isn't the most important part of this little story. The important part is, while Rusty and I were fighting over paint, Miss Norah rolled over from her back to her belly for the first time. And we? MISSED IT!

One minute Norah was on her back, rolling from side to side and sucking on her toes, the next, she was on her belly laughing and smiling. We suck.

But, here is a dark and wobbly video of the first time she rolled from her belly to her back. This happened quite a while ago, but I just figured out how to get it off my phone.

Um, please ignore my ridiculous yelling and squealing. It's embarrassing.

Flying Babies

2008-08-25T10:08:00.004-05:00

We are home.

We survived through four flights, two layovers in Dallas, two trips up and down looking for Einstein Bagels with no success, four gate changes, one incident of nearly missing our plane, one seatbelt pinching mishap and three in-flight breastfeeding sessions.

It was awesome.

Here we are lying on the airport floor in Dallas waiting for our flight home. After the search for bagels, before the seatbelt pinch.

North and South

2008-08-19T22:41:00.005-05:00

I know it may be hard to believe, but when I was in middle school and high school I was kind of nerdy. Nerdy, as opposed to how awesome and fabulous I am now. I was in orchestra and choir and honors classes and not very good at sports. I also went to church and was very scared of all the unchurched gangsters that wore lots of eyeliner and big earrings. But the pinnacle of my nerdiness was my participation in both Math Engineering And Science Club and Science Olympiad, both of which I was a part of from 7th to 12th grade.

Behold.

Now. Don't get me wrong, I loved MESA Club and Science Olympiad. It was great. I got to spend time with my friends and compete in competitions and flirt with the boys from Moriarty.

My friend Jenny and I always competed in Road Scholar in Science Olympiad, an event that required us to answer a series of questions using information on road maps and topographical maps and also required a good sense of direction as well as working knowledge of a compass. Jenny was always amazed that I was able to figure out which way was North. I always took pride in that ability and knew that it made my dad proud.

Today something utterly disgraceful happened to me. I took a back way home, a way I have only driven once, and I very nearly got lost. I'm almost too ashamed to even mention it...I got North and South mixed up. What should have been South was North and I went the wrong way. Me! Road Scholar champion! Went North instead of South and didn't even think twice upon viewing the sign that said 59 North.

I'm sorry Dad.

----------------------------------------------------

Tomorrow Norah and I are flying to Roswell to visit my family. I am very excited to see everyone and for everyone to see how big (and bald) Norah is. However, I am not excited about two, one hour flights and a two hour layover in Dallas. Have you met my daughter? She does not sit.

So, if you happen to be thinking of me tomorrow please pray calming and sleepy prayers. Hopefully I won't have to navigate North and South in the airport or I may end up in Montana.

Contamination

2008-08-15T18:47:00.004-05:00

The results of working in a children's shelter for over two years.

"Seven little monkeys jumping on the bed. One fell off and bumped his head. Mama called doctor and the doctor said, 'No more monkeys jumping on the bed!'"

"Six little monkeys jumping on the bed. One fell off and bumped his head. Mama called the doctor and the doctor said 'No more monkeys jumping on the bed!'"

"Five little monkeys jumping on the bed. One fell off and bumped his head. Mama called the doctor and the doctor said 'No more monkeys jumping on the bed!'"

"Four...wait. Those monkeys would have been taken by DHS by now."

Expanding the Family

2008-08-14T12:55:00.001-05:00

I used to think I wanted five kids. Then I got pregnant and decided I only wanted one kid. I remember the last weeks of pregnancy feeling like I could only handle being that swollen and uncomfortable once in my life. And in the hospital I told anyone who would listen "Look, I am not kidding about this. I am only going to go through this one time. If I want any more kids I am just going to adopt them."

Then Norah was born and three days later I was ready to go through it all over again. It was that powerful. That fact that I gave birth to this beautiful and silly little girl sometimes seems so surreal. I think back on my experience with labor and just cannot believe that it really happened. I cannot believe that I housed another person in my body for nine months and then brought her into the world. I really can't wrap my mind around that. And sometimes when I think about all the bad things in this mean world I want to take her back and keep her inside me where she is safe and I have more control over what happens to her. The anxiety that comes with being so in love with a tiny baby-I cannot fully express it.

Now that I am a little further removed from how uncomfortable I was the last weeks of pregnancy and how uncomfortable I was in labor, I suppose I can think a little more clearly about the inevitable question: How many kids do we want to have?

I wish it was an easy answer. Rusty, in typical fashion, goes back and forth daily. Some days he only wants Norah, some days he wants more kids, some days he wants to adopt, some days he wants to just get having kids over with.

I go back and forth as well. Sometimes I think I don't want Norah to have to share my love with any other kids. But when I think about that I know that my love will grow exponentially with every baby we have. It's not like I have a set limit of love and will be forced to dole it out among our children. Sometimes I go back to my desire to just adopt any more kids we want to have. And then, to add even more confusion, I start to think how scary pregnancy and childbirth can be. I feel like everything went perfectly with Norah, but what happens if things do not go so perfectly with our next pregnancy? The possibilities, and all the things that could go wrong are things I don't even want to think about.

But when I get down to it and I when I think clearly, I do want another baby. Not right now. Preferably when Norah can feed and dress herself and has the ability to use the toilet, but eventually I want to be pregnant again. As much as I try I cannot express how it feels to support another life, but any woman who has experienced it probably knows what I'm talking about.

I want to experience this at least one more time.

Keeping My Perspective

2008-08-13T19:51:00.002-05:00

Rusty and I went mountain biking today. I have not been mountain biking since some time last year because I have a tendency to fall into trees and did not want to fall into a tree while housing a fetus. So today we went. And we rode. And I thought my lungs were going to come flying out of my mouth right there on the trail. It was awesome.

I had forgotten how much I enjoy biking, the rush of flying (in my case, braking) down a hill covered with roots and rocks, the excitement of getting hit in the face with sticks and vines, the thrill of nearly smashing a half naked running man.

At one point on a particularly awful hill when I was somehow still going up though I certainly shouldn't have been, I thought about giving up. I thought I could just sit down and wait for Rusty to come back and find me and then he could carry me and my bike all the way back to the car. But I knew I couldn't actually give up. I've had a baby! I can certainly ride my bike up a hill! So I encouraged myself by thinking "At least I'm not riding my bike through the French Alps." Or "At least I'm not trying to swim for the Gold with water filling up my goggles."

The Home of the Brave

2008-08-12T17:27:00.003-05:00

I am not really into watching sports. And I am not terribly patriotic. But something about the Olympics turns me into a crazed, hollering, sports fanatic filled with pride for the Red White and Blue.

16 Weeks

2008-08-09T19:04:00.004-05:00

Dear Norah

You are now 16 weeks old. That is 4 whole months! I cannot believe that you are 4 months old, that we have spent the last 4 months with you, that a whole 4 months has gone by since you were born. It feels like it has only been 4 days since you burst into my life with your beautiful clear skin and all your fuzzy black hair. Sheesh…4 months.

I cannot even begin to name all the ways in which you have changed the past 16 weeks. But I will try Little Turkey.

Norah, I think when I was dreaming about being a mama I had this vision of life being very predictable at this point. By 4 months I expected to know exactly what you liked and what you didn’t, I expected every day to be the same as the day before it with small discoveries sprinkled in to mix things up-things like rolling and laughing and crying. I expected to be able to tell people everything about you-what makes you happy, what makes you laugh, what makes you angry, and so on. But life is not like that. Every day with you is a guessing game. We wake up in the mornings and I have no clue what is going to happen. Will you scream all day? Will you squeal and squawk all day? Will you be in such a good mood that my head explodes? It’s anyone’s guess. What works one day will not work the next. You like to keep me on my toes. But here are some things I do know about you.

Your hair pretty much all fell out. All your precious black hair was forced to surrender to your love of playing on your back. For a while you only had hair on the nape of your neck and the crown of your head and that made me very sad because I was so proud to have a baby with hair. For a few weeks you looked like a tiny toothless monk. Now it is starting to grow back so you have these long wispy pieces that stick out among much shorter pieces. And all your hair is now brown. Whatever, I’m just glad that it is growing back so I can nuzzle your fuzzy head again.

You can roll over. But girl, you are stubborn. One day when we were playing I put you on your tummy and suddenly, without any warning or hint at what was coming next, you rolled clear onto your back! Just like that! The look on your face when I freaked out with pride and surprise was one that clearly said Come on woman. That was nothing. But seriously Norah, that kind of stuff needs to be preceded by blaring horns and big neon signs.
After the initial roll you rolled a good 5 more times but then abruptly stopped. A few days later you rolled again in front of an audience.
I happened to get your second roll recorded on my phone and I have shamelessly shown it to anyone who happens to talk to me. And every time I watch or hear that video (the audio is pretty awesome; You are yelling and I am squealing) my heart swells with such awe that it feels like it will burst clear out of my chest. I love you.

Despite your rolling ability, you do not like tummy time. You will tolerate tummy time just long enough to get a few pictures, but after that you put your face in the blanket and yell, coming up to drool and breathe. Just know that in a very short time you will have no more patience for lying on your back and will spend all your time on your tummy and then your knees. Mobility is upon us.

You have an awesome laugh. There are a few things that have made you laugh out loud. First was playing Peek-A-Boo with your daddy. Then bouncing up and down on my legs. Then playing airplane. Then me singing Old MacDonald loudly to you (in public, I might add). And today, when I tickled your thighs and knees. You are hilarious when you laugh, so funny that you make me laugh too and then you see me laughing and you laugh harder and we end up in this laughing cycle that makes us both tired. I’m tired just thinking about it.

You prefer when I stand and hold you to when I sit and hold you. We are going on an airplane in a little over a week to visit your grandparents in Roswell so I have been making you sit on my lap to practice for the plane ride. We’ve worked our way up to 10 minutes. Only 50 to go!

You like to have some space. Sometimes you get mad at me if I try to hold you for too long. You like to play with me and especially when we sing and I make you dance, but you like to play alone too. You spend lots of time playing on the floor or in your swing or in your bed. You talk to yourself and suck on your toes and kick your feet. This is a good sign I think because it means you know you are ok and that you feel safe and secure. This makes me happy.

You ball your fists when you get mad or stressed. I do the same thing. Your daddy calls them “Mama Fists”.

You like your bed. In fact you like your bed so much that you can’t really sleep if you are anywhere else. This is simultaneously awesome (because you nap in the day now) and annoying (because you won’t nap in the day if we are not at home).

You can grab things and everything your grab goes into your mouth. This is a pretty fantastic and hilarious talent. Everything you touch finds its way into your mouth. And sometimes you gag yourself on accident. Silly baby.

Those are all the things I can think of right now that are consistently true about you. Most other things change frequently. Oh, except that you like to eat. Eating is probably your favorite activity.

We went to the doctor yesterday so you could have a check-up and get the second round of immunizations. You were not happy about the doctor and let everyone know it. We put you on the baby scale and you yelled and squirmed for what seemed like a year. Then they measured your length and you yelled some more. And then they measured your head and you yelled some more. Then you got kind of quiet until your Dr checked you out and then you yelled some more. And THEN! You got two shots, immunizations against some very scary diseases, and I was positive that your head was going to fall off you were so mad. You were loud. L. O. U. D. So loud, in fact, that Ms. Jasmine (one of our friends) heard you all the way in the waiting room.

You are 25 inches long, you weight 14 pounds and your head is 17 inches around. Also, you are perfect. That’s what the doctor said!

Norah, I told someone the other day that being a mama is both the hardest and most amazing thing I have ever done. It’s hard when I put you down so I can brush my teeth and you get so angry that you claw your own face and make yourself bleed. It’s hard in a million other ways. But in the mornings when you wake up and I get you out of your bed, when you hold my arm and put your head on my chest, when I bring you back our bed and when we lay down and you eat while we all snuggle, I forget the hard. It seems like there could not be anything hard in our life together when I have your tiny hand in mine, your feet in my thighs and I can hear your daddy breathing next to us.

Gud Thing Teh Baby's Cant Reed

2008-08-07T16:02:00.007-05:00

Today is August 7th and thus a letter to Miss CrankyPants 2008 is due, however I am not finished with it yet. In the meantime:

A ridiculously cute onesie

Made even cuter by the silly tu-tu on the back

But on closer inspection, I see two grievous errors

And on the back, one more!

Granted, $36.95 for a Body Suite is a pretty good deal.
But for a Body Suit? Must be from a grandma.

Regardless, Norah looks good in her fancy pants.

(Better do spell check on this post, Mama.)

How Typical

2008-08-06T16:18:00.002-05:00

Remington is asleep in my underwear drawer,

while Squid lounges on the antique couch.

A Colossal Snob. A Snob Without Shame.

2008-08-04T16:58:00.004-05:00

I tried to go to the library last week to check out some books and was rudely reminded that my card expired back in April so in order to check out any books I would have to pay $15. 15 whole dollars to check out a book at the library. Where books are supposed to be free! The injustice.

So, unable to check out any reading material I pulled out an old favorite, The Razor's Edge which I have read at least three times but still love with the fierceness of a tiger who has not eaten in three weeks. When I pulled the book off the shelf I realized that Miss Norah happened to be lying on the floor chewing on her fingers and staring at the ceiling. Since she is unable to move herself she was forced to listen to me read three chapters of The Razor's Edge to her in a British accent.

This is going to be so fun.

Blurring Lines

2008-08-03T22:02:00.006-05:00

I think I am losing my mind.

Last night I was working. I walked down the hall to the dining room and when I passed the girls' TV room I heard a crying baby. I walked into the room and saw our youngest girl (5yrs) holding one of those baby dolls that cries until you give it a bottle. She was just sitting there holding it so I said "Your baby's crying. Is she sick?" She shook her head no so I walked over to her and stuck my finger in the doll's mouth to make it stop crying. I told her that sometimes when my baby cries I put my finger in her mouth and she stops.

The resident smiled at me and then I walked out to finish whatever I was doing.

A few minutes later I walked by again and heard the baby doll crying again. I stuck my head in and said "Your baby is crying again! Is she ok?" The girl told me she didn't have a sippy cup for her doll and just sat there letting the doll cry. So I went to the giant toy chest because I knew, somewhere in that cave of toys there had to be at least one baby bottle or sippy cup. I dug and dug and dug and the doll continued to cry and the more I dug the more panicked I started to feel. I felt the tightening in my stomach and chest that I feel when Norah cries and I started to think Gotta help the baby. Gotta help the baby. It would not have been a surprise if my milk had let down, I was that into it.

I continued to dig for something, anything, to help the baby until, in a flash of lucidity, I remembered that it was a doll and that I was acting like a lunatic.

I stopped digging and handed the girl a fake ketchup bottle to give to her baby. Then I walked out of the TV room and took a deep breath, walked back to my office and told myself to get a freaking grip already.

This motherhood? Is one tough business.

Repulsive

2008-07-30T17:46:00.004-05:00

Dear Remington,

Why do you love to chew on Norah's nose suctioner? Don't you know that it goes in her nose and sucks out all her boogers?!

You are so sick.

Love,
Mama

Iron Chef America-Perkins Style

2008-07-29T14:11:00.004-05:00

On Sunday night Iron Chef America took over in our kitchen.

The secret ingredient:
Cherry tomatoes and green chile. (Because we are amateurs and not really Iron Chefs ((and because we were very hungry and The Beast only has limited patience for our silly games)) we only made one dish each.) (Are you totally impressed with my over-use of parentheses?) (I am.)

The competitors:
Sadie--specializes in microwaved cheese burritos, chocolate chip cookies and making very pretty omelets.
Rusty--specializes in making up new dishes, scrambled eggs, and macaroni and cheese.

The dishes:
Spicy Southwest Salmon with Green Chile Cheddar Quesadillas

Breaded Chicken and Wilted Spinach with Green Chile

The winner:
Plating--Spicy Southwest Salmon for its perfectly towering avocado and pleasing colors.
Taste--Breaded Chicken with its wonderful textures and combination flavors
Originality--Breaded Chicken because Rusty actually put thought into his meal whereas Sadie simply threw things together.

Overall, the Breaded Chicken won in a close race. Had Sadie not over-seasoned her otherwise perfectly cooked salmon, the competition would have been much closer.

Norah says "Psshhh. Who needs Salmon and Breaded Chicken? I love me some plastic toys and stuffed lions!"