34

Part I.
Today was my 34th birthday; just a normal day, really. Got up a little later than normal but before everyone else still, L waking as I was putting on my clogs to go outside. Let out the chickens; one little hen ran out the wrong door of the coop and was in with the mean old hens and the pubescent roosters, so I had to chase her down and get her back on the other side. Harvested Roma tomatoes, and checked on the progress of the heirloom tomatoes and bell peppers. Made my way back inside, got showered and dressed, which now includes homemade deodorant, the current recipe of which isn't really working, but I've been off of conventional deodorant for seven months now and I'm determined not to go back. Dressing now includes hand-me-downs from my aunt and about eight days worth of different shirts, some with holes. My favorite purse is fraying too. These are days of completely wearing things out, still feeling a little like a have-not. Oh well.
Mom called on my way out the door; otherwise, not sure if I would have called anyone this morning. Going through something where I don't really feel like talking to anyone. Feeling isolated and alone, not sure if anyone would understand. Taking refuge in music during my time.
Office all day. Too much sugar, and personalities, and stuff coming in from every which direction. But it will be there again in the morning.
Home. Kids have had a fever this week, and lying around. Pizza Hut, my choice, a treat these days, for dinner, and ice cream cake for dessert. One of the only things NT would eat all day, and possibly one of the only things she smiled about all day. Poor kid. Cool bath, books, bed. AD is in bed with LG, taking a break from his nightly Prime or Netflix binge, and thus the laptop is available.

Part II.
I remember last year on my birthday taking and posting a selfie of myself crying in my car, trying to be transparent to all about something I'd not been letting on about--that my parents were divorcing and I was stuck in the middle, trying to support everyone, as I do. While there were not any tears today, I'd be lying if I said there has not been an amount of heartbreak and sorrow in my life this past year. There's the realization that "home" as I knew it has completely changed. The house I grew up in, and the house I started my own family in, now belong to other families. The stuff I grew up with, a pot used for popping popcorn, dishes, silverware, tables, blankets, and people, all familiar, are now in two different and foreign places. Other family getting ready to move away, to places I may not go for a long time. It's a realization that I can never really go home again. And because this place doesn't completely feel like MY home, there's just this feeling that creeps in sometimes that I don't really belong anywhere. Here, there are missing parts. Friends with whom I have a history and memories. People who care about me, get me, seek me. There's a feeling here, that if I were to just disappear, people would probably be over it in about a month. That is aside from my family, of course. Perhaps its our age, or season of life, but everyone here seems so set in their ways, and they are not without their friends for which they have history, memories, for which they care, get, and seek, that there's not room for me. From season to season, month by month, it does get a little better, but I wonder how long it will take. So, to put it plainly, I am lonely.
And stressed.
And anxious.
Work is busy, and demanding, and competitive. And it's all we have to keep afloat, and it's barely enough, which makes it all seem very heavy. There's an overarching feeling that I need to be "on" all the time, at work and at home--that I should be paying attention and listening very closely, that every word and action should be considered and deliberate. It's thinking too much and yet not enough both at the same time.

Part III.
I think about my children, and how they will look back on their childhood, and how they will remember me. Will they not be able to remember times when I played with them, because they are few? Will they remember me getting up early, rushing to leave, with them for a few hours after work before bedtime, staying up late, always tired? Will they remember all the projects that I started for them, but never finished? Will they remember that I cared a little too much about food, that many of our days together I'd be looking to food as a fix? Will they one day understand that I had a sadness that existed apart from them, that I harbored alone?
The things I think they may remember -- that I always let them play in the bath longer than their father did -- that I always pushed bedtime back so they could be read books -- that I sat at the dinner table with them for a long time while they finished eating (or not eating) -- that I held their hand walking around the yard.

Part IV.
There is simple joy in the everyday. Pulling a firm tomato, saturated with color, from the vine. The striations in the rind of a growing watermelon or pumpkin. Tucking a chicken up under my arm. Striding up the hill. Noticing my muscles changing beneath my skin. Watching the fields change with the season, and observing what the farmers are doing that day (today it was the height and color of the corn and soybeans, hay raked and in the process of being baled).

I think I'm at my capacity tonight. I had meant to be in bed two hours ago. There are still chickens and guineas to be put away outside (though I'll be honest, the guineas are not intelligent enough to go into the coop in the chicken tractor, and they feel funny in my hands--maybe dusty?--and they were free, so I am probably not going to go the effort of trying to get them in their coop).

These days, these nights

[Annual blog post here]. 2015 has been quite the year thus far. We started out knowing that it would take us from the metro Detroit suburbs to the mid East coast by the halfway mark, but the timing and circumstances were unexpectedly changed. God most definitely orchestrated every detail--everything lined up, and I have a new job, A has a new role, and we have a new home. There is a lot to be done on the property before winter comes, and a lot to be done at my work before annual enrollment sets in [and so much that I would like to be done within these walls for my mind's organizational wellbeing, and my soul's creative satisfaction]. The days can be long here, with fewer friends and neighbors, and greater distances between everything (from the mailbox to the closest place to buy milk). The work is hard here, with little shade where you need it and an unrelenting sun. Learning curves and heavy loads. But at the end of the long, hard day, you ease into bed knowing you've pushed yourself a little further physically and mentally, and will pick up where you left off when the morning light wakes you (or your alarm/four-year-old insists you get moving).
 

A few more minutes

NT is in the throes of teething right now, and has been chomping and pulling when she eats, so there will be no pumping tonight. However, I can throw a few minutes out for this here blog's sake. Theoretically, I would pick up where I left off last night, but today has made me weary.

This morning my mom and I took the kids to the Farmington farmer's market, and they were also having their [very small] art fair downtown, so we did that for a few hours. We had lunch and each commandeered a cart and a kid at Target so I could pick up some essentials that were on sale (I saved $37 and got a $15 gift card, so I did pretty good and was very thankful for Mom's help). That portion of the day was nice, aside from the time that LG would not go to the bathroom as my mom and I had been telling him to do, and I got to watch him do the potty dance and then pee himself right in front of me while I was nursing NT. I was pretty pissed; he's been potty trained since January, and this was not really an accident, this was just him being defiant.

The rest of the day kind of followed in that vein. LG would not take a nap and made such a ruckus that it woke NT up. He was sassy with me during dinner. Then he dumped a pile of landscaping pebbles on the lawn after I told him not to. Praise Jesus that he didn't put up too much of a fight with bathing, and that my parents stopped by right as NT was about to lose it, so I got to put her to bed right away and Mom did all the bedtime prep work for LG. And he went down okay.

It's a good thing for LG (and all toddlers, I'm sure) that the good half of the things that come out of his mouth outweigh the naughty. Today he asked me to put butt paste on him, had sunscreen applied, and had a sprayer bath, and after each he said "that feels so much better."

As always, there is much to be done around the house that is mentally nagging and pulling at me, but I am in bed (after a very short and refreshing shower). Hopefully a little extra rest will help me cope with whatever tomorrow brings.

10 minutes: Go!

Six and a half months later...

I am starting to run low on my freezer stash of breastmilk, so I've started pumping before I go to bed. There has been no alarm setting to pump in the middle of the night like there was with LG. There is no compression to get every last drop of milk out. I just start the pump and go for ten minutes (more, if there is more). I thought instead of paying bills, clipping coupons, or doing Facebook or Pinterest, I'd put some sort of update up here.

Our baby girl, who we'll call NT in the context of this blog, came the day after my last blog post, at 37 weeks 4 days--the same day in the pregnancy as her older brother. Apparently my body has an eject timer. I woke up at 7:30am that morning, got up and sat on the toilet, and felt some sort of internal pop or a drop, which I noted as interesting. Right about then LG found me, and he had pooped in his Pull Up (he did that a lot in those days, as well as trying to change it himself and getting it everywhere). I took him upstairs to change him, and just felt like I couldn't handle sitting down and doing it right then, so I woke up AD and told him about the pop/drop and asked him to change LG. I got in the shower and AD came to discuss what might be going on; I was starting to feel a little achy/crampy, so I told him to go upstairs and start breakfast--I'd finish showering, we'd have breakfast, and regroup from there. Well, the contractions started, breakfast got left half-cooked on the stove, LG went to the neighbors, and set off for the hospital at 8:34am. Luckily the rush hour traffic was headed the opposite direction and we made it to the hospital in 9 minutes at 8:43am. I think I had three pretty intense contractions in the car. I had another while we were waiting for the elevator. When we got into the room I really felt like I needed to sit on the toilet. While I was there, I had another contraction and started screaming. The nurses rushed in and ordered that I come out of the bathroom and get on the bed. They checked me and I was at 8cm (read: transition). The nurses got busy calling all sorts of people in and hooking up the fetal monitor. I had one or two more contractions and the on-call doctor was getting suited up. My OB was the on-call doctor from our practice and was luckily in the office (right next to the hospital), and got there just in time to relieve the other doctor. She checked me and told me I could push. Three pushes later, NT came out all in one push like a water rocket (the pop/drop was my water breaking, but her head was so low it had corked all of the water so there was no leakage prior to birth). She was born at 9:13am, 7lbs 12oz, 22+ in, with a very nicely shaped head that was covered in dark brown hair.

Okay, so that was about 20 minutes of typing, but a good stopping place. More to come at my next nighttime pumping session (maybe...)

Well, I guess I should start where I left off: 
Wednesday, November 20, 2013, 37 weeks 3 days pregnant with baby #2. 

I had little energy or motivation that day, so I hung out with AD while he finished cleaning up the kitchenette area in our basement where he'd just processed a deer (he jokingly told me I could have the baby as soon as this was cleaned up). I shared with him my anxieties about when and how the baby would be coming, and we both decided that we should just let the baby come when she was ready.

I put LG to bed that night. During the week or so prior, we'd been telling him that it was almost time for him to be the big brother--that little sissy was going to need a lot of attention when she came out, and while he didn't have to go to sleep, he needed to stay in his room and be quiet at bedtime--and it was actually kind of working. That night, however, I laid down with him. He put his arm around my neck and asked me to hold him, and I thought about how this could be one of the last nights where I could stay with him until he fell asleep.


And on to:
Thursday, November 21, 2013, 37 weeks 4 days pregnant with baby #2.

I woke up around 2:30 that morning. I braced myself and tightened core my muscles to roll from one side to the other and up to sitting, which I'd become accustomed to doing over the past few months as my hips loosened up. I went to the bathroom and something told me I had better have something to eat, so I had a bowl of cereal.

Nervously waiting

On this day in my pregnancy with LG (37 weeks 3 days), I spent a Sunday afternoon with my dad's side of the family for Gami Brunch, where I was told by my family that I would either be having the baby the next day (on my cousin's daughter's birthday) or before Christmas (that Friday). I told them they were all crazy, as there was no evidence that the baby was coming soon--I hadn't "dropped," had any real contractions, lost my plug, or even had effacement/dilation checked by my doctor. However, a couple hours later at home, standing at the bottom of the stairs wrapping up a casserole and talking to AD, I felt a giant blub and told AD, "honey, something just happened in my pants." My water had broken, contractions started up, and LG was born the next morning. 

So here I am again at 37 weeks 3 days, one month shy of three years later, with a different set of circumstances. Almost two weeks ago (35 weeks 4 days), huffing my way back to my car after dropping LG at daycare, I was ragged and weary from the pace of working full-time and being a single mom part-time. I called the doctor, expecting them to have me come in, but since I'd been having Braxton Hicks and cramps, they insisted I go to the hospital to get checked out. I was 3-4cm dilated and 70% effaced, and since this was my second baby, they kept me overnight, then released me from the hospital and from work the next morning with instructions to take it easy and try to get to 37 weeks (or more). The following morning, I lost my plug. Almost two weeks later- I'm about the same, though getting even bigger, more uncomfortable, and starting to get anxious. 

I've been having a hard time falling asleep when I lay down in bed at night, even though I tell myself that this could be the last good rest I get before labor begins. I get this nervous feeling in my chest and have to concentrate on breathing. Though I've now read Ina May's Guide to Childbirth two times in the past months, have ideas of what I might do differently this time, have evidence that things might be different this time, and have a positive attitude, I'm still anxious. So, I think it might be helpful to just put out there some of the things that are worrying me:

- AD has not had to work since the 9th. He'll go back to work on the 26th--the Tuesday before Thanksgiving--and work through the 30th--the day after Thanksgiving. If I go into labor while he's at work, he's going to have a hell of a time getting home with the holiday travel. So I'm wondering, should we try to use some natural labor induction methods to get things moving so Baby Girl Meyer arrives before he goes back to work? Or would it be best to just let her come when she's ready and risk AD missing her birth? My next doctor appointment is tomorrow, so I guess we'll just wait and see what she thinks.
- Due to the fact that I have Group B Strep, that I'm already 4cm dilated, and since this is my second baby and my labor (not pushing, unfortunately) with LG was relatively short, the doctor has stressed that I need to get to the hospital right away when I go into labor. But what if this labor is different, and going in right away leads to Pitocin or C-section?
- This is going to sound really silly coming from someone who had her first child, and is planning on having her second child without any pain medication, but the IV I had at the hospital two weeks ago hurt the whole time it was in and for a couple days afterwards. Not looking forward to having another. Also, my doctor has said that I can just have the IV put in and injections of antibiotics put through without having fluids (I swear all of the fluid ended up in my feet last time), but I fear I'm going to have to argue with hospital staff about it.
- Finally, there are aspects of LG's birth and postpartum that I do not want to repeat: I pushed for three hours, different positions did not seem to help, and was really worn out by the end. I tore really badly. 10 days after he was born, I had severe bleeding and clotting, had two excruciating pelvic exams in the ER (seriously more painful than actually having LG), and a D&C to remove placental tissue.

So there it is, my fear. If you're the praying type, please keep these things in prayer for me.

Tonight

All day, I had an idea of what I would do with the quiet part of my evening once the toddler feeding, bathing, and bedding were complete--I was either going to work on the basement portion of "the great shuffle" that will be going on in our house throughout the next few months to get LG's big boy room ready, or I was going to work on some (non-post) bloggy stuff I need to do.

But the evening played out differently. I was able to pick up LG from daycare a little earlier than normal, and it started storming right as we pulled in the driveway (he was thrilled at the opportunity to use the umbrella, or "la" as he calls it). It was so dark inside the house that I turned a lamp on. We played with his cars, and he helped me get dinner ready.

During dinner, I realized that these days of just him and I, so simple--no working on projects or running to the hardware store like when his dad is home, but an easy meal, a brief task like watering the garden or taking out the trash, bath, and bedtime--are numbered. Soon we will have to navigate a whole new routine that meets the physical needs of an infant and the emotional needs of a toddler.

While I was rocking quietly in LG's darkened room as he settled down into his crib, I was at peace, and decided I was just going to clean up the kitchen and go to bed. You see, AD had been home the two days prior, and kept me up on feet well into the night working on plans and designs for the garden and basement. And to be honest, I've been sleeping much better when I have the whole bed to myself. Finally, yesterday was the first time I can definitively say that I felt this new baby move, and it moved over and over again throughout the evening, as if to assure me of it's presence. 

So tonight, I will put my plans aside, and hopefully drift off into a long sleep to the tappings of this little one.

100%

I know I've shared some things before about how AD's profession as a pilot affects our lives (if you want to read about it, click on the "life of a wife of a pilot" label to the right). While I'm not about to do a full out post about the ins and outs of being a pilot's wife, I had a realization today that I want to record.

AD and LG have been visiting AD's family this week, and I have had a bit of free time (which could have been a bit better structured--but hey, I'm pregnant, so what my mind wants to do and what my body will do are two very different things). One of the things I've done with my single girl time is watch a couple of chick flicks. Today I browsed new releases and picked "Friends with Kids," mostly because it had Maya Rudolph and Kristen Wiig in it, and also because it was a comedy about people in their 30's with kids. The storyline is basically that a gal and guy who are BFs decide to have a baby together because the clock is ticking and neither have found the one. And, you guessed it, they realize they're in love with each other and end up together. But not before one realizes it before the other and they spend some time apart.

At first, the friends-with-a-kid-but-not-romantically-involved thing seems to be working really well for the friends, especially regarding mundane, everyday life. When the female protagonist tells the male protagonist that she wants to be a real family, he's not ready. So they spend their time apart, and in the last scene when he's winning her back, he tells her that they were wrong in thinking that they would raise a kid together [as friends] so they could still have the "romantic part" separately, but that he realized that the raising a kid together was the romantic part.

And in a lot of ways, I agree. Mundane, everyday life, and being a family is romantic to me. So I was thinking about what everyday life is like for AD and I. I work Monday through Friday, and he works Thursday/Friday through Monday/Tuesday, so my weekend is Saturday and Sunday, and his is Tuesday through Thursday(ish). There isn't a regular day (or two) when one of us isn't waking up to an alarm and going to work. We don't get to wake up together and spend the whole day together.

I get him after he's worked four days with very little sleep. He gets me after I've been up and worked eight hours. I've been saying lately (though not to him, at least in a direct manner) that AD is going to run me ragged, because when I get home after work he wants to work together to make some progress on projects--this summer it's been the garden box, compost container, basement shelving, etc. While I'm so thankful to have a husband who wants to spend time with me and has the motivation of the Energizer bunny, all this pregnant lady really wants to do after work is have dinner, have some playtime with the kid before he goes to bed, do a load of wash or something low key, and go to bed.

And while I am happy and our life works--Logan usually only has to go to daycare three days a week and we each get two days off with him, we get three/four days each week when we spend as much after-work time together as we can--I can't help but think that I want to wake up and be with them all day. I want to wake up and give them 100% of myself, not what's left over after eight hours of work, because I love them so much and they deserve it. 

I am not saying that anything needs to change; I'm just sharing this realization, and this longing in my heart.

Happy Father's Day

To my husband:  

 

And to our fathers:

And since we missed Mother's Day (on the blog), a belated Happy Mother's Day to our moms:

Monday, Monday

Today was a lousy day, and I am weary. This is one of the verses that the Lord has really put on my heart this year: 

Source

 

The coast and the city

I can barely believe that it’s the end of May. Not a lot of posting up in here this month, for a few reasons:

1.       The first part of the month I was getting us ready for vacation. Lots of shopping for the perfect pair or sandals for me, 
      boardies for AD, and small items to keep LG busy during his first airplane ride, along with paying bills, washing, packing, etc.

2.      We were on vacation for a week, during which time I unplugged. No email, Facebook, blogs, Internet-anything. It was 
      amazing.

3.      I was pregnant the whole month. How’s that for a super low key life event reveal? I am currently 12 weeks and due 
     December 8^th. I’ve been tired, nauseated, and hungry.

Besides the vacation and pregnancy, I was also a perfectionist throughout the entire month (okay, throughout my entire life). Though I know things don’t need to be perfect and have come a long, long way, perfectionism still trips me up, wedges itself between me and my dreams, and sometimes paralyzes me. If I don’t have the (time, energy, resources) to do this (blog post, DIY project, event, meal) to an acceptable level I’ve created in my head, I just won’t do it at all.

In terms of the blog, I don’t have the time or energy right now to make it read, look, feel the way I want it to, which has been a stumbling block to recording and sharing what’s been going on in our lives, in my head, and in my heart this year.

Though I wanted to do something fun to highlight my first blogiversary (and Mother’s Day, and the new bebe) this month, it didn’t happen. I did go back and read my first blog post, and realized that I need to get back to where I was a year ago: simply writing as a way to share memories, work out some things going on in my head/heart, and hopefully glorifying God. Not posting photojournalistic snapshots with each post, using the perfect graphic and font, getting followers, getting my projects pinned, etc. So I’m going back to basics for a while. If I have time to get my photos uploaded and edited, great, but if not, it’ll just be memories and meaningful content.

Source

So, here’s what I’m noodling on right now:

Part I

My family (AD, LG, and I) and the fam I’m from (mom, dad, brother, brother’s girlfriend) spent last week with my mom’s aunt’s family at a gorgeous beach house on St. Simons Island, Georgia (it’s on the coast between Savannah and Jacksonville). We had a wonderful time—I will definitely be doing a detailed post about our trip with pics at some point—but what’s really struck me since I’ve been home is the simple beauty of that place.

Last week it was the ocean, beach, and marshes, lush foliage and hanging moss, colorful homes of all types of architecture, vintage-style bikes, the sunshine, the breeze. And this week, driving to the grocery store and looking around, I’m seeing concrete, powerlines, restaurants and strip malls, and house after house after house in one of four styles with grass and one or two trees (in one of five species) in the yard. This culture shock of sorts made me realize what an effect being surrounded by a beautiful environment can have on your spirit. Now, I know comparing an upscale vacation destination and working-class metropolitan area isn’t quite fair. And I’m not saying that I don’t see some beauty in some parts of the suburbs or city, but as indicated in my use of the word “some” in the first part of this sentence, it is often an exception, not the norm; something that must be sought out or looked for, not simply taken in. There are a lot of people who would tell me that I need to  choose to find the beauty in the everyday, blah blah blah.

All that said, I know there are a lot of beautiful places--city and country, in all directions, near and far--that working people can live. While it has been in our family plan to eventually move out to a big piece of land with hills and trees and water and be as self-sufficient as possible, traveling to this beautiful place confirmed it that much more, and brought the goal into finer focus.

Part II
On Tuesday, AD, LG, and I hopped in the car as soon as I got home from work, headed to a nursery down by the airport that has quality plants for cheap. When we got there, we were greeted by a sign telling us that they were sold out and closed until they'd have farm produce in late July. So we took a different way home, one in which we'd pass a few more nurseries. A little way down the road, in a city we only ever pass through, I made AD pull over because my stomach was getting empty and making me feel like I was going to puke. 

The next place to pull over was a gas station with a McDonald's. So we got out of our decade-old car, all of us in t-shirts, jeans, and flip flops, and ordered dinner. And the overwhelming feeling while we were there was that we were not welcome there, mostly because we were not black.

And I just thought, this is BS. I live in this county, my taxes help out here, and I can't get some chicken McNuggets without dealing with crap? And then all of the ranting I hear from my father, who grew up in Detroit but now calls it a dump (among other things), and the comments from my aunt and uncle when they get back from visiting my cousin's family in Charlotte, all started to make sense. I was asking myself, why should I deal with a corrupted city that can't help itself (can we say Kwame?), horrible roads, high gas prices, when I don't have to?

And these musings bring me to an ongoing internal struggle between optimism and pessimism, and a question I ask myself all the time about a lot of things: When do you keep trying, and when do you give up on (your city, job, family, friends, religion, sports team, ____)?

This city has me feeling this way this week, but even more so over the past year, I've felt this way towards the behavior of some people in my life that I care about. As I've grown older, I've become more complacent; less likely to speak my mind if I feel that something or someone has done wrong. I've been wondering whether it's that I'm afraid of the lasting consequences of being really straight up/standing up to someone, whether I'm being complacent because these people are not a part of my everyday life and dealings, or whether an appropriate opportunity just hasn't come along yet. The one thing that resonates with me, though, is that doing and saying nothing just perpetuates a bad cycle that could at least change, and maybe one day end.

Well, this post was...
...all over the place?
...moving in the right direction
...cathartic

 

Dress code

Today I took a huge load of clothes to the consignment shop. The majority of it still fit, but don't quite fit with my lifestyle anymore--I don't have to dress up for work, I like my tops longer since having a baby, etc. 

But the dresses. Oh, the dresses. You see, I don't really buy or wear dresses except for special occasions, and so the dresses hold some sentimental value. Included in the load were:

- The dress I wore at my high school graduation party

- The dress I wore to AD's friend's wedding during my first trip home with him

- The dress I wore to AD's best friend's wedding and caught the bouquet:

circa 2006

 
- The dress I wore to my tea party bridal shower:
 

Aunts

 - The dress I wore to my official bridal shower:

BFF

 - A dress I wore on our honeymoon.

All were five years or older. Sad to see them go. I wonder what I'll have to part with five years from now...

LG the bookworm

If you've ever spent time with a toddler, you have likely experienced the moment when you realize that it's been a while since you been pulled away from the task at hand, and your child is very quiet. Luckily for me, lately when these moments strike while LG and I are upstairs, I can usually find him in his room like this: 

And then one night after LG had gone to his room while I was rinsing out the bathtub, I found him like this:

I had even told AD that LG's reading habit afforded me an extra 20 minutes of dozing one Saturday morning. 

And then this past Thursday AD and I were both up and getting ready for work. I came upstairs from the shower, and no sooner had I sat down to dry my hair did LG start screaming in his room. So I got up and went to open his bedroom door, but was met with some resistance--it was LG! 

I started freaking out, thinking my glorious days of toddler-containment were over because he had finally climbed out of his crib. Thank God AD told me a few minutes later that he had put LG in his reading chair to see if he could get a few more zzzz's (but failed to turn on the lamp for him--Dads!). 

 

A good date

Thirty years ago today, I was baptized.

Two years ago today, AD and LG were baptized. 

We did not plan this purposefully; it was entirely coincidental,

and I didn't realize the significance until after the date was set. 

We chose the date because AD's sister and her family would be visiting that weekend;

that Sunday was actually Palm Sunday, and since our congregation does a passion drama on Palm Sunday

(you can watch this year's here--it was amazing), we had our ceremony at home.

 

LG actually wore the same suspendered knickers and cap his father wore for his dedication some thirty years earlier.

 I may be partial, but wasn't he the cutest little baby ever?

Personalized mason jar glass DIY

Today, my friend Emily announced the dates for the next Flourish retreat. In her post, she also included the contents of the last retreat's welcome bag, including the personalized mason jar glasses I made.

I've been working on a post about my journey to Flourish (I went to the first retreat--yes, I am one of the women who took a leap of faith and traveled across the country to spend a weekend with people I had never met), but for today, I'll share with you the details on the mason jars glasses.

After the first retreat, I knew I wanted to do something to contribute to the second retreat. My mom, my dad, and I have been to Via de Cristo retreats, which are based on Spanish Catholic Cursillo methods, and have retained a lot of the Spanish influences, one of them being the concept of palanca. Via de Cristo retreat participants receive symbols of palanca throughout their weekend in the form of notes and/or trinkets, but palanca is really prayer for the participant. So these mason jar glasses were my palanca for the women of the second Flourish retreat; I prayed for Emily, KK, and all of the women who were going to be at Flourish as I made them.

I also knew that I wanted to do something that would be useful for the women while they were at the retreat. Since we mostly marked our names on disposable cups at the first retreat (with the exception of Emily's grandmother's awesome vintage peanut butter glasses), I thought it would be useful to do personalized, reusable glasses, and since the retreat has a rustic/vintage/shabby chic vibe, mason jars were perfect. 

So. I'm sure you've seen 1,001 types of mason jars and 1,001 things you can do with them all over Pinterest. If you're buying them new at the store, they generally come in packs of 4-12--they usually have the brand name on one side, a picture on the other, and then measurements somewhere in between, so they're kind of busy to begin with. Therefore, I opted to go for Ball quilted jelly jars, which are sold individually (at least at Joann's, which is the only place around here that I've seen them). 

For the personalization, I used Martha Stewart Crafts Glass Paint, which is supposedly cured and dishwasher safe after 21 days, or by baking in a 350 degree oven for 30 minutes (I opted for the second option). I used the gloss opaque finish in Pool, Camelia Pink, Arrowhead, and Vanilla Bean (color not pictured below). Since I have perfectionist tendencies, I also opted for the Martha Stewart Crafts Adhesive Stencils instead of going freehand; I used the typewriter script and fair isle dot sets. Martha Stewart Crafts also makes a ton of other tools and accessories to go with their glass paints, including squeegees, pouncers and daubers, brushes, and scrapers, and I did actually buy a set of assorted pouncers, daubers, and rollers, but honestly liked the generic pouncer I already had (pictured below) better because it was more stiff and dried faster. I bought all of this stuff at Joann's or Michael's [with coupons].

The process was pretty simple: apply adhesive stencil to glass, dab the pouncer in a little bit of paint, dab it on the stencil, and remove the stencil before the paint is dry. I washed my stencils with water right away, and they held up through many uses.

I'd basically do the first letter one day, let the glasses sit for about 24 hours (Martha Stewart Crafts provided no guidance regarding how long the paint should cure before placing an adhesive stencil over it), do the second letter and the first accent the next day, and then do the final accent the third day. As I said above, they sell scrapers made specifically for removing paint from glass, but I found that a metal dental scraper worked just fine :) 

Another thing Martha Stewart Crafts would like to sell you is patterning tape. I did find that I wanted to cover up certain parts of the stencil designs, so I cut up pieces of the adhesive border on the film the stencils came on (see above).

Here's how the personalized mason jar glasses turned out:

 

Finally, let me say that the opinions on products mentioned in this post are my own, and not influenced by any sponsorship whatsoever (though if anyone wants to send me products to review, I'm game. Just saying).

A letter to LG at 27 [and a half] months

Well, LG, it’s been five months since my last letter to you. And a busy five months it has been.

At the writing of my last letter, your Nana and I were busy working on your Halloween costume, which is probably the last costume for which you have no input. Since the first animal noise you could consistently make was a growl and I had a good idea for a DIY costume, you were a lion (tutorial coming later this summer for all you blog readers). You went around the cul-de-sac and across the street; we probably hit about ten houses, and you were starting to the hang of trick-or-treating. 
 

 

Sometime during the fall, owls became your favorite animal, which inspired the theme for your 2^nd birthday celebration. Currently, the animal you’re most interested in is a “durtle.”

Luckily, your father’s one week of vacation (airline pilots bid their vacation, and it is awarded based on seniority) fell during the week before Christmas, so we were able to spend your birthday with Daddy’s side of the family in Maryland. For our owl theme, we had the Dubs next door make you a personalized birthday shirt; the front had an owl on it, and said “Look Whooo’s Two!” and the back had your name and birth date. We also had the Dubs make shirts for your cousins on Mommy’s side of the family for Gami brunch, as shown below with your Birthday Buddy CD:

Mommy made owl ornaments, which served as a decoration and favor for the cousins:

And your father and I made owl cupcakes for dessert. You liked the “cookas” on top more than the cupcake or frosting. 

Your birthday gift from Mommy & Daddy was a camping set, which you and your cousins all crammed into:

Besides celebrating your birthday and spending time with family, I would say the other highlight of our trip was a visit to the village firehouse to see their annual train garden display, along with a glimpse of the fire trucks. 

I’m always surprised that the book of Genesis doesn’t explain why God created little boys to be crazy about anything with wheels (or why all children love Elmo), but it’s certainly the case with you, and “dooh-dooh”s are by far your favorite. You were thrilled that Nona and Pop Pop sent home the wooden train table that has now replaced (two times over in size) the coffee table in our family room. I’m not going to lie, your father hates it and is already trying to get rid of it.  

Maybe because we were with you 24/7 that week, or maybe because you were away from home and out of your routine, but it seemed like your "terrible two" symptoms kicked into high gear while we were in Maryland. Evidence: 

-         Your grandparents keep juice boxes, cheese, and other little snacks in the lower part of their refrigerator for your older cousins to help themselves to while they're over. We don't really give you juice at home, and when we do, it's watered down and definitely not in a colorful box with a straw; however, we thought it would be fine if you had one of these little boxes per day while we were at Nona and Pop Pop's. Well, after you got your fix on the day we arrived, any time someone would open the refrigerator, you'd have a meltdown, crying "my joo, my joo."

-         Your grandparents have put together an adorable room that can sleep all four of your cousins; it has a twin bunk, two toddler beds, and a pack 'n play. Since the pack ‘n play was set up for your little cousin CZ, we pulled one of the toddler mattresses onto the floor for you to sleep on. Getting you down for the night wasn’t too bad, but we struggled with your naps; the biggest contributing factor, I think, is that you’re used to room-darkening shades at home, and the kids’ room at Nona and Pop Pop’s only have shutters across the bottom third of the windows.  So naps were very difficult, and some days they didn't happen at all.

Because your sleeping arrangement in Maryland was different than it had been at home, we were able to switch up your bedtime routine when we returned home. Prior to the trip, we were reading several books before bed, and I was rocking you to sleep and then placing you in your bed. When we returned from Maryland, we whittled it down to just two books each night, and the same books every night (Thomas's ABC Book and Goodnight Goodnight Construction Site). After the books, I rock you for precisely four minutes, and then put you in your bed and tuck you in. Since you have made no attempts to escape, you’re still sleeping in your crib, and will continue to do so until a) you try climb out, b) you’re too heavy to be lifting in and out, or c) someone else needs it.  

So that was our trip to Maryland. The next week, we celebrated Christmas at home in the Mitten with Nana and Grandpa and Uncle BZ (Daddy was working), and the week after that, we hosted Gami brunch for Grandpa's side of the family. The holidays were busy, but not overdone. They were meaningful, but relaxed. Mommy closed out the year feeling very happy and very blessed.

When people ask me how you are, I tell them, "he's two." You throw tantrums, whine, and disobey on a daily basis, and I am frustrated with you on a daily basis. Some days I wonder if every single component of our day together (which is not that much, considering--and this is sad, but true--we probably spend forty-five minutes together in the morning and two and a half hours together in the evening during the week) has to be filled with drama and hassle and tension. It wears on me differently some days than it does others. I try not to take your behavior personally, but sometimes it's hard not to. I think your father and I have done a good job at balancing the routine and structure we provide for you with compassion and flexibility. Your time with us is pretty predictable, but if you show interest in doing something outside our routine, we'll usually oblige. We'll usually let you do things yourself, time and safety permitting. So why do you fight me so?

The biggest thing I've noticed over the past few months is that you have a hard time making and sticking to your decisions. We usually try to limit you to two options; you'll pick option A, then want option B, but when option B replaces option A, you want B again, and then nothing can make you happy. A few examples:

-         Everyone seems to be finished with dinner. We go to take your food away, and you holler and cry for it back. So we put your plate back in front of you, and you push it away. So we take it away again, you want it back again, but you don't really want it.

-         We come upstairs for the evening and go into the bathroom. I ask you if you if you want to try and sit on the potty, and start pulling your britches down. You throw a fit, so I pull them back up and tell you we'll go to your room to get in your jammies and read books, and start heading that way. You do not follow, because you are still in the bathroom, trying to pull down your pants. You will fight me whether I go back in the bathroom and help you with your pants, or take you to your bedroom and try to change your diaper.

I've learned to simply avoid these situations if I can predict them, to be firm, and to ignore your behavior if I've given it fair attention. But some mornings, after I've had to hold you down to get you dressed, pin you down to get you buckled into your carseat, pick you up and carry you all the way to your classroom at daycare because you've refused to leave the the side of the car in 20-something degree weather/leave the sofa or fish tank in the lobby/go through the security doors/run down the wrong hallway/leave your hood in my hand when I try to grab you/kick off one of your shoes as I'm carrying you, and then you throw a fit when I try to leave, I can't help but be riled up. And that's all before 7:30am! Or some afternoons, when you've run back into at least two of the already-tidied toddler classrooms and gotten into stuff, sat on each of the seats on all three baby buggies outside of the infant room, crawled down the hallway, bust into the administrator's office or copy room, and then collapse into a heap of spaghetti when I finally try to carry you to and get you in the car, I yell at you. Stop it! You're hurting Mommy! Other times, there are two swift hand slappings.

I am not trying to say that you're the worst toddler ever; in fact, I'm pretty sure you're a rather typical specimen. I'm not trying to say that I'm the worst parent; I know that's not true. I'm just trying to put out here what out everyday interactions can be like. 

This letter is getting long. You'll probably be in high school before you have the reading skills and attention span to read this, so I'll close out this post with a list:

- Any aircraft you see--whether it's Jeremy the Jet on Thomas & Friends, the Hess helicopter Mom Mom sent you for 
  Christmas, or an airliner cruising at 8,000 feet you see out the car window--is "Daddy's nee." Likewise, any pick-up truck is 
  "Daddy's truck."

- Any phone (or calculator, or remote) is a "lo" (as in hel-lo).

- If we tell you something is like "MacCheese," you're much more likely to try it. If you won't eat something one night, there is 
  a good possibility you'll eat it the next night if we make it into a quesadilla.

- You love "cookas" (cookies), and have applied it to any type of baked good or dessert. Crackers, breakfast bars, muffins, 
  popsicles--all cookas in your book.

- You have the hands splayed/puzzled face expression down to a T.

- While you can't put two fingers up to show you're two, you can cross those two fingers, and are very proud of it.

- You can walk sideways, and sometimes require that I do too (or that I walk backwards) on our afternoon walks.

- Your favorite toys are your play kitchen and parking garage. You do not really like to color :(

- We recently created you a hangout nook in your closet, which you love, and are excited to show visitors.

- You have a crush on a little girl named Abby at your daycare. She sometimes refuses to ride in the buggy at pickup time (she 
  is lovably sassy), which gives you an opportunity to giver her a hug (and sometimes make smooching noises) on our way out. 
  If we mention school at home, you'll immediately start saying her name.