The Morning After

You know when you leave a party.. you get into the car.. and you can't wait to ask your husband, "Did she REALLY say that?" That was certainly the case for me last night. However, the question wasn't did she really say that.. the question was more like, "Did I really say that?" Ugghh. We received a gift.. a very personal sweet gift that someone spent a lot of time on. Everyone at the party got one. It was our 'party favor' so to speak. This sweet person went to a lot of trouble to make these wonderful ornaments with a picture of each couple on it. It was such a great idea. Very creative, very thoughtful. However, the picture that Craig and I sent to her wasn't exactly ideal for the amount of space on the ornament. You see, these hand crafted ornaments were a surprise to us. We were only told to send a picture of the two of us. Something extremely difficult to do since we have none. The only recent picture we have of just us was taken as I was being wheeled into the operating room for Presley's birth. Considering we were both in surgical gear and I was the size of a barn, that's not exactly the picture we wanted to send. The picture we ended up finding was from three years ago at Christmas. It was a close up of me and Craig. Apparently, it was so close that our heads were too big so they asked us to send another picture. Aside from using our wedding picture from seven years ago, we have none. So this sweet little crafty mama used what she had. She had nothing else to go on. She had lemons so she was attempting to make lemonade. Her husband later told us she spent days on it. Cutting, pasting.. trying to get it perfect. The problem was, because of the photo we sent, perfection was not attainable. So, God love her, she cut my head out.. and glued it next to a much smaller photo of Craig. My head looked quite large next to his.. nearly 3D. When we received the gift, instead of opening it and being gracious.. we opened it and died of laughter. We made several little jokes about it.. she has a marvelous sense of humor and laughed as well.. and then came the big whammy. I actually said to her, laughing, trying to be funny, trying to be a comic, thinking I was the funniest person in room, "Did you make this and actually think, 'Wow, they will really love it!'" Ok, what?!?! Who is that rude?!?! Who would ever have the nerve to make such a comment. I mean seriously! For the love of Peter, Paul and Mary - who says that?! I would love to blame it on the alcohol. But I just had one glass of wine. I did however drink an entire pitcher of Crystal Light. Maybe the aspartame made me say it. Maybe aspartame has some 'stupid comment' side effect when consumed in large quantities. Maybe I'll write to the makers of aspartame asking them to put a warning on the product so others can avoid such tragedies. Later when my husband and I got into the car, I asked the big question. I was somehow hoping maybe I didn't in fact say it. That it was just a bad dream. Unfortunately he informed me, I indeed opened my big mouth and inserted my foot. It was a long car ride home. An hour and a half actually. This morning when I woke up I felt terrible. I wish it was that terrible hang over feeling because it would go away. Unfortunately it's that terrible, "I can't believe I really said that" feeling that only goes away over time. A long, long time. I'm debating whether to send flowers, a card, chocolate, wine, a new car. Next year, if we're invited, I will drink lots of alcohol. Then if I say something stupid maybe I won't remember it. The long car ride home won't be so painful. The next morning won't be so brutal. We have another Christmas party tonight. I know what I won't be drinking (Crystal Light is the devil) and saying.

The 'New' Bedroom Set

When I was about ten or eleven years old, my parents bought me a new bedroom set. It was very special to me. We went to several stores in Topeka to find some furniture.. but they didn't have anything I liked. I wanted white wicker.. and nothing else. So, one evening after my parents got home from work, we drove all the way to Kansas City to look for one. It was a thrill because we rarely went to Kansas City.. I got to stay up late.. and I would soon be done with my hand-me-down furniture that looked like it could implode at any given moment. I was so excited once my white wicker furniture arrived. Everyone who came over 'got' to see it. I absolutely loved it. Twenty years later that same bedroom set now sits in Piper's room. Craig and I put it in there recently. When we were cleaning it up for her, it was funny to think back on all the little markings that are on it today. When I got my Laura Ashley bedding (a huge deal back in the 80's.. it was like wearing Izod when you were a kid) I proudly displayed the Laura Ashley stickers on the side of my dresser. Part of those stickers are still there (we are working on removing them.. they're not so cool today!). When I was in middle school I taped up pictures of my friends on the hutch above my desk.. when I took down the pictures, a little bit of paint peeled off with it. It's still there. On one of the shelves I used to have a tiny little black and white TV that only got one or two channels.. and only if the antenna was placed in just the right spot. The scratches from moving the TV around to get a decent signal are still there. It's funny to see Piper so excited about 'her new' bedroom set. She too takes everyone up to see it when they come over. I wonder what marks she'll make on it. The memories she'll have from it. Today I just laid in her (my) bed thinking about all those marks and what they represented. New memories that Piper and I will share together.

Oudated Running Tights

This morning on my trail run, I wore my favorite running tights. They're super comfy.. they've got lots of color and apparently they're really outdated. Upon arrival, my sister informed me they were bad. Really bad. Then during the run (we run with about eight people), one of the guys told me I was probably scaring off all the wildlife because my pants were so loud. Keep in mind, this guy isn't exactly Mr. Trendsetter. He was wearing a neon yellow vest. So the fact that a guy who is not the snappiest dresser noticed that I was wearing outdated pants concerns me. They must in fact be... outdated. I did buy them at the Nike outlet store in Colorado in 1998. I remember it vividly. It just doesn't feel that long ago. I also had on my 'Sigma Chi winter formal' windbreaker that is from 1998 as well. It proudly displays the date so that everyone knows it's old. I'm old. I love that jacket. Just as much as I love those pants. They just go together. This afternoon I was going through old clothes.. making piles to donate, etc. I had to call my sister to see if a pair of cargo pants I have are still in style. Before she could answer, she informed me the first pair of pants that need to go are the running tights I wore this morning. Ugly and unflattering she said. "Get black," she told me. I wasn't sure whether to be mad at her for her brutal honesty or to thank her. I'm a bit infamous for my outdated workout pants. In college I had a pair of bright blue sweats that were so ugly and outdated I couldn't not wear them. They were too funny. Then someone stole them and it became even funnier. My friends and I would make special announcements at very serious meetings requesting my 80's sweats back. Which makes me laugh uncontrollably even today. They were pretty bad. So I'm still on the fence about whether to keep my pants or to donate them. I can wear them and joke about them.. just like the 80's sweats. Or I could just get a 'black' pair. Boring. Well, I do have a pair of bright purple running tights that I could probably wear instead. They're far from boring. Wait a minute though. I think I got them on the same shopping trip in 1998. Well, I guess there's nothing wrong with boring.

A Hard Hitting Journalist

In Journalism school they teach you a lot of things. Things like, if your mother tells you she loves you, check it out.. don't be afraid to ask the tough question, etc. You know, hard hitting stuff. What they don't teach you or prepare you for is exactly what's happened to me over the past two days. I'm doing some freelance writing for a new weekly newspaper here in town. I'm currently writing about a construction project gone bad. I'm getting close to my deadline and I need to talk to people now if not sooner. So, I absolutely had to make a phone call to the construction company late this afternoon.. I needed to get to the bottom of it. The only problem.. Presley was screaming because she was starving.. and Piper and Brooks were acting nuts-o because they refused to nap. So as I'm calling the project manager, I am warming up baby food for Presley. I clearly didn't want him to hear the microwave beeping so every time it would get close, I would run downstairs... wait for it to beep, then come back up to stir and reheat. Fortunately I had a microphone attached to the phone so I didn't have to write anything down (a huge infraction in the journalism world.. I'm sure feeding your child baby food during a tough interview would've also made the list but I don't think someone could've ever imagined that happening). Once the food was warmed up, I was feeding Presley sweet potatoes and green beans drilling this guy about why his project was so screwed up. I was thinking the entire time.. oh, if he only knew. When he was about to 'buckle' under intense questioning (ok, a bit dramatic.. but it was getting good).. Brooks comes running into the kitchen whining about something. Quickly, I handed him a bag of chips (something I NEVER DO), gave him the 'mean mommy' face to quiet down.. and shooed him out of the kitchen. If that wasn't bad enough, yesterday I had to call the Mayor to interview him for the same story.. never thinking he would actually take my call. I had Piper (she's four) watching Presley (she's seven months) while Brooks (he's two) was upstairs napping. About two minutes into the interview Brooks wakes up and starts screaming bloody murder while the Mayor is expressing extreme frustration with the project. I was thinking, ok.. what is going on up there.. his hand is getting cut off.. his head is stuck in the rails of his bed.. someone is climbing up a ladder to his room attempting to break-in and kidnap him.. meanwhile I'm on the phone interviewing the Mayor about a roundabout project. Thank you sweet baby Jesus for Piper. She goes upstairs.. takes care of the situation with Brooks (fortunately, nothing traumatic was happening to him and I still don't know why he was screaming).. helps him down the stairs.. and quietly goes back into the room with Presley to continue watching her. Amazing. Simply amazing. She wins babysitter of the year award at the ripe old age of four. Of all the times I imagined being a journalist in college, this was never part the dream. I never once aspired to be a no-nonsense reporter who feeds her baby homemade organic sweet potatoes and green beans during tough interviews. I have another interview tomorrow at 6:00 a.m. (random time, I realize.. but that's the only time it would work for him). I'm sure Presley will right there with me.. this time she'll have bananas and applesauce... and the kids might just have chips for breakfast.

Hush Little Baby

It's currently 2:04 a.m. If I were a smoker, I'd be lighting it up. If I were a drinker, I'd be pouring myself a tall one. However, I'm none of these things. I am a mom trying to let her seven month old cry it out. It's been going on for about twenty minutes now. Her screaming. I have no idea how long she will cry. We've never really let her cry that long before. The past few nights she's been up three times to nurse. Yes that's right. She's been up three times in the middle of the night to nurse. It's killing us. As my husband says, instead of going forwards, we're going backwards with her sleeping. So tonight's the night. We're done. It's for the sake of sanity. Survival really. We can no longer wake up three times in the middle of the night and expected to be bright, happy, cheery people the next day. It is physically impossible. Our pediatrician said cut her off. She's getting no nutritional value from it. I feel like yelling under the door, 'this is not our fault.. your doctor told us to do it... so please.. don't be mad at us.. don't hate us.. it's for your (our) own good... really (i think).' But I'm not sure that would do much good. She'd probably be like, 'whatever lady, just get in here.' I just don't know why this is so hard to do with Presley. With Brooks, it was no big deal. We were like, you're done waking up in the middle of the night.. and that was it. He cried a few nights for a little bit and then he was good to go. Snoozing all the way through. We didn't think twice. Apparently, we had tougher skin. It was tough love and that was fine. But with Presley, this is really hard. Maybe it's because she's our last.. maybe I've gone soft. Maybe it's because we live in a different house now and it seems like her screams are on an intercom system that carries through the entire house at full blast. I'm not really sure. I just keep picturing her sweet little face crying, crying, crying wondering why I've not come to rescue her. 'Mom, what's the deal. What in the world did I do? Why are you being so mean to me?' I'm just sure those things are going through her mind right now. Maybe I'll go drive around... grab an ice tea, maybe a magazine, some peanut M&M's. I could just sit in the garage and hang out. I know I couldn't hear her in there. There would be no risk of me caving.. flinging open the door to rush in and pick up my sweet baby. Oh wait, she's calming down. Maybe this is our big break. Nope, she's firing up again. Ok, now she's calm. I hear her little voice getting sleepy. I had to read my Bible earlier tonight to stay strong.. to prep for this. I need divine intervention in a big, bad way. Hummm, I think she might be asleep now. Nope, I just heard her again. But I think she's tapering. It's now been quiet for about three minutes. Oh Lord. Please, let this be it. Ok, we've made it a few more minutes. Not a peep. The knot in my stomach is slowly going away. I did it. She did it. It's 2:41.

Fit For a Queen

You know it's time to take your child out of the bassinet when their feet hang over the edge. That was the case for Miss Presley. My husband woke up the other morning and found her feet dangling off the side. At nearly seven months, she has officially outgrown the bassinet. Craig informed me that she outgrew it at four months... but who's counting. It's not like she sits up in the morning and goes, 'hey guys, what's for breakfast?' Frankly, I've just been a little afraid.. petrified actually.. to move her out of it because of the screaming. If we go backwards and she starts screaming again.. I'll die. Or go Crazy. Or both. But Craig made the switch. I walked upstairs and saw the bassinet in the hallway. A true sign that we were done. She was done. So she's temporarily sleeping in the pack and play. The funny thing is.. she seems to love it. She's taken her best naps since the switch. She can roll around.. lay on her belly.. snuggle up in a little ball. She's found freedom. In a pack and play. Our next step is trying to get her to sleep through the night. She still wakes up twice a night. It's killing us. We're mentally preparing ourselves to let her cry it out. But we're not there yet. At least I'm not. It's tough on a mom. Maybe she needs even more space to sleep. Maybe she needs an even bigger bed.. like our queen size. A bed fit for a queen.. and she certainly is that.. or at least a princess anyway.

We Like Mike

"Autism Speaks". What a fabulous slogan for the autism community. Well today in Kansas City, autism wasn't just speaking.. it was yelling.. 'find a cure, find treatment options, find the cause'. Nearly 10,000 people gathered this morning for a benefit walk at the Kansas Speedway to raise money and awareness for this disorder. We were there in support of our dear friend, Michael. He has autism. He is very high functioning. Upon meeting him, you'd probably never know anything was different about him. He is loving. Encouraging. He always puts others before him. He loves kids, they love him.. and he'll be the first to tell you. What I love most is that he's endearing. He sincerely cares about you. He's genuine. He also works hard at his job. Loves movies. Loves life. Before he reads a card, he always looks at the back to see how much it costs. He's fun to be around. He always kicks my rear when we run together. But he's never rubbed it in. Like so many others, this disorder has robbed him. His family. His friends. The Autism Speaks organization says that one in 150 people are diagnosed with this disorder. That's mind blowing. It's not fair. How would Michael's life be different if he wasn't 'the one'. What would he do. What would he be. Questions that have no doubt rattled through the minds of his family members millions of times by now. Michael had a very large group walking on his behalf today... raising over a thousand dollars in his honor. And that 'speaks' volumes for Michael.

Chatty Cathy

When you feel very passionate about something.. and feel like you need to be heard, it's hard to keep quiet. I can appreciate that. I am a passionate person myself. I get it. I support it. I'm on board. But, when you feel the need to get your point across at 4:30 in the morning every day.. it's a little exhausting. My sweet little Miss Presley has decided that she needs to get a few things off her chest every morning. She wakes up and just starts talking. She can go on and on without the need to really even catch her breath. Her 'speeches' are often very emotional. She'll throw in a little cry, a scream and sometimes even a laugh. She's never quiet though. She's a pretty loud talker. She doesn't really know what an 'in-door' voice is yet. I'm not sure why I should be surprised. She's been making herself heard from the get-go. She's one determined little girl. She was determined to enter the world much earlier than expected.. so she decided to pop on out about 4 1/2 weeks early. Then she was determined not to eat so she spent ten days in the NICU. When we got her home she was determined that just because she was a third child.. oh no, she would not be forgotten or overlooked. So she basically screamed her head off the five months of her life. And now she's determined to make her voice heard in the form of chatter. She too wants a say in this family. She wants to get her point across. At whatever time fits her schedule. She has apparently penciled it in at 4:30 a.m. every single day. Weekends included. The thing about Presley is.. she does not want to be told what to do. When my husband or I gently tell her, 'shh.. go back to sleep.' She's not happy. She's like.. 'Oh no. No one tells me to shh.' And she'll often cry at that point. My husband then typically hands her over to me to nurse her. That usually quiets her down. It gives her a chance to collect her thoughts again. To come up with some good talking points for later. I actually enjoy hearing what she has to say. Just as long as it's not in the form of a scream. So carry on Presley. But if you could decide to just push your speeches back a couple of hours..

Bad News Bears

Let me just start by saying I nearly broke my foot, lost my voice and almost threw my back out today. It's all due to what else... but coaching Piper's soccer game. Her team is bad. Really, really bad. And that's putting it mildly. Her coach wasn't able to make it to the game today so she asked Craig to fill in.. who then asked me to do it. I can't blame the coach for not wanting to come. We've only lost every game by lots and lots. I can't blame Craig for not wanting to coach again either. The last time he filled in, the other coach came over and apologized because they won by such a landslide. This time it was my turn.. and I was determined to do whatever it took to get our team a victory. Or at least on the scoreboard. On our way to the game.. we prayed. Asking God to allow us to play with excellence. He can move mountains.. surely he can help a little league soccer team. I had visions of 'Miracle on Ice' and 'Hoosiers'. I was fired up. If only my team of Bad News Bears felt the same. When we got there, one of the girls was crying because she didn't want to play. Her parents forced her out on the field. Literally. We all started chanting her name so she would get it together. Thankfully it worked. She was willing to at least just stand there. I told all the girls they could do cartwheels down the field if the scored. They informed me they didn't know how.. so we settled on forward rolls. My sister threw in a trip to the snack bar. Which they loved. Craig promised an all expense paid trip to Disney if they won. Yes, we're that desperate and not above bribery. While we were 'warming up' I was a total spaz. I wanted to get those girls on fire!! So just as the game was about to start, the other coach asked me if I was going to be this excited throughout the entire game. I was thinking, 'listen buddy... I'm the third string coach here. I'm doing whatever it flippin' takes to get us on the board.' The first quarter was good. We indeed got on the board.. but were still a few goals down. The second quarter.. not so good. They had an All-American on their team who was five feet taller than the other girls and could've been on the US National team. Every time the ball came within 12 feet of her, she somehow managed to score. Third quarter.. a little better. We got a couple of goals again.. the girls were turning on the heat. To continue this inspiration and motivation, I was throwing girls up in the air, waving their hands around, encouraging forward rolls, you name it. The final quarter.. a bit of a beat down. Mia Hamm was back on the field. Our girls got discouraged quick. One of our players refused to run and started yawning... complaining how tired she was. No forward roll would turn her attitude around. She was done. And fortunately, a few minutes later so was the game. There would be no trip to Disney since it was obvious we didn't win. But we were headed to the snack bar since we at least got on the board. And wouldn't you know it.. that little girl who wouldn't run.. ran all the way to the snackbar. Next week is our last game of the season. I was thinking about having Mickey and Minnie come to the game to cheer them on.. but it looks like all I need is a Snickers bar.

New Adventure

I am really excited to announce I have started a photography business. Writing is such a passion of mine.. and so is photography. I would love to capture images of your family! Please check out my photography blog at www.jamieborgmanphotography.blogspot.com. Have a wonderful day!

Carrot Top

Who knew carrots could be so powerful.  I know they're good for your eyes and all.. but I had no idea they could be life changing.  For the past three days Miss Fussy Pants has eaten carrots for dinner.  For the past three days, we've been Fuss-Free.  I can't figure out why all of a sudden she's been so darn good.  Other than the carrots.  She sits contently in her car seat even when we're not moving.  She seems happy to just lay on the floor.  She's just changed.  It's gotta be the carrots.  When I feed them to her she inhales them.  She can finish an entire container in about two minutes flat.  And when she eats she keeps her elbows up at all times.. as if she's prepared to block out anyone trying to snag her beloved carrots.  She's even pooping better now.  It's nothing short of a miracle.  However, since she's started eating/inhaling the carrots, she hasn't really been napping all that great.  She's basically boycotted her morning nap.. and her afternoon nap is only about an hour long.  But still.  She's happy.  Maybe she's afraid to sleep because she thinks she'll miss out on eating her carrots.  I've debated giving them to my two year old son to see if that'll make him a happier child too.  Or heck, maybe I'll start eating them.        

A New Chapter In Fitness

Every Fall it seems like God breathes new life onto things. After summer vacations end groups pick back up again.. activities resume full speed ahead. Sometimes it feels like we're being pulled in a thousand different directions.. feeling a bit chaotic, possibly even frantic at times. But all in all, fun things. A new chapter began in my life today. I started teaching a fitness class (yes, you can die laughing if you'd like) at the YWCA. It's called Boot Camp. I have never taught a class before.. in any arena. I had no idea what to expect. The fitness director just started promoting the class a few days ago.. so I wasn't even sure people would even show up. It starts at 5:45 a.m. Crazy early I realize. But it's the only time I can really workout due to my husbands work schedule. I had taken a similar class at the fitness center I belonged to in Kansas City. It nearly killed me. I thought it would be fun to teach here. Plus, by teaching we get a greatly reduced membership fee.. the facility has two pools which my kids are excited about.. and it pays. So, I'm getting paid to workout.. not bad. I wanted to leave my house at 5:25 a.m. It would give me enough time to get there, make sure I was organized, etc. I wanted to wake up at 5:00 a.m. Instead, I woke up at 5:18 a.m. My alarm didn't go off. I think I didn't set it right or something. I was now in a dead sprint. I had to nurse Presley and I didn't leave until 5:37 a.m. I got to the Y at 5:46 a.m... ran into the class.. told people to start running around the track.. and tried to look calm, cool and collected. That's when I met two sweet little ladies, Debra and Margret. Both 70 years old. There for Boot Camp. Neither one had ever worked out a day in their lives. Margret was wearing black jeans. Debra had on a shirt with sequins on it. I was totally unprepared for this. I just assumed everyone would be super fit.. dressed head to toe in their Nike Fit (for the record, I am soo not super fit). Just like my gym in KC. Well, not quite. I had four people in my class total. All different fitness levels, all different desires. I quickly altered how I had planned to teach the class. Debra and Margret would get the scaled down version (no pun intended). And they were quite simply, amazing. They tried so hard. They had wonderful attitudes. They never gave up. When they were done they gave me high fives.. it was incredible. I asked them how they felt. 'Awesome,' they said. It was awesome for me too.. despite the fact that I'm still in an aircast and can't do anything.. but other than that! I'm excited for this new chapter. To see the progress in Debra and Margret. To encourage others to lead healthier lives. To live healthier myself. Next time I'll just be sure to set my alarm for it.

Man Down

When you run, there are wipe outs.. and then there are wipe outs. My fall yesterday was of epic proportions. It was a beautiful morning for a run. Perfect actually. I was on a trail run at Clinton Lake. It was a fairly large group of us. It was a little mini-race. I was going to attempt to run 8.5 miles. My furthest since becoming a mom. When you run, you naturally form little packs based on how fast (or slow in my case!) you run. I was with two other ladies. We had a great pace. We were just starting to settle into the run. Then, boom. The lady behind me wiped out. We stopped, made sure she was ok. She sprung right back up and we kept going. We talked about her fall, how it happens to everyone on at some point, especially on a trail. And I was thinking to myself, I have never fallen on a trail before. About two minutes later I was jumping over these vines and boom, boom, boom. I was done. As I was jumping over the vines, I awkwardly stepped on a rock that was poking up out of the ground. I felt approximately three pops in my ankle. Before I even hit the ground, I knew it wasn't good. The pain was insane. Not childbirth pain, but it hurt pretty darn bad. The ladies I was running with immediately stopped. They knew I was finished. After only 1.56 miles in, my run was over. Another little pack of runners caught up to us.. stopped.. they knew too. I was in pretty bad pain. Fortunately someone had their cell phone. Unfortunately, because the trees were so dense, it wouldn't work. One of the women ran back to get help. I pleaded with the others to go on. I didn't want to ruin their run. After begging them to continue on, finally they left. I decided to attempt to walk for help as well. There was a road about a half mile back. As I hobbled along, I could see a little tendon that had popped out of my ankle area. I wasn't sure what that meant. Could it be broken.. a bad sprain? I didn't know.. except for the fact that it was so not good. I wasn't sure why I decided to start walking. I felt a bit like a survivalist at that point. Showing my determination and will to survive (ok, I'm clearly being dramatic here, but don't you ever wonder if you'll have what it takes to survive if you were really forced into it??). As I was getting close to the road, help arrived. A man named Gary. He found a walking stick for me. Held my hand as I cried. And encouraged my every step. We made it to the road. He flagged down a biker and asked him to get help. Several minutes later a Park Ranger and a nurse from the race met us. She drove me back to the finish line where I would wait for my sister and the other ladies who went out there with us. As I sat waiting in the car I just felt so bad. Bad for my husband who would now have to take on a huge burden of taking care of the kids, house and me. Bad because I wasn't sure how I would manage watching four children with a hurt ankle. And just simply bad because it hurt. After about a half hour of sitting there wondering how I was going to break the news to my husband, I made the call. "Hon, we're going to have to go to the hospital." He was of course very caring, compassionate and understanding. The x-rays showed no broken bones. Just a bad sprain that would require crutches and an aircast. This little incident has been a wonderful opportunity to see into my daughter, Piper's heart. She has been by my side nearly every second. Taking my plate to the kitchen, cleaning up, getting me ice. You name it. There's not a job that's too big or too small for this sweet little four year old. As I was taking my shower, she even pulled her little rocking chair out of her room and put it in front of the bathroom door so she could hear when I was finished. She was there in case I needed her (she told me she pulled her rocking chair out so she wouldn't get tired of standing. Cute!). I know I'll recover quickly. I already feel a bit better today. In the meantime I have three good feet. One of mine. Two of my daughter's.

A Dead Fly

I think my day could best be summed up by the fact that I drank a dead fly floating in my water. I'm totally not kidding. Today was borderline awful. There were some definite bright spots.. but overall, not so good. Let's see.. it all started with Miss Fussy Pants screaming from about 3:00a.m. until 8:00 tonight. I have no idea what caused this insanity. It just came out of the blue. I wish I knew whether it was something I ate.. the new medicine (she's now on Prevacid).. or what. I don't get it. Yesterday she was awesome. Beyond awesome. She was angel baby. I actually got to enjoy her. When she cried (which was very rare yesterday) I actually felt a huge amount of compassion.. I felt so much joy because I actually felt compassion (I know that sounds terrible but when you have a child who screams all day it's hard to muster up. So it was nice to know it's still there.). But today was a totally different story. She only slept about thirty minutes. Total. That's it. All day. Every time I tried to put her down.. she would scream. Even after I held her for awhile she would scream. I gave her a nice warm bath, which she loved. But the second we got out.. she screamed. I changed her clothes. Maybe she didn't like the ducks on her little jumper I thought.. so we changed into stripes. I changed her diaper a thousand times. We drove around. Nothing worked. There was one point in the day that I just couldn't take it anymore. So, I dropped the f-bomb. I'm not proud of it. I try not to say it very often.. but it just came out of me. To make matters worse, I actually dropped the f-bomb and then said.. 'strike me down Lord.' I know. I was losing it. Not five minutes after I asked God to strike me down.. that's when the ol' fly in the water number happened. I seriously think it was God telling me to shape up. You see, I hate flys. And to think that I had a dead fly swooshing around in my mouth makes me sick. And He knows it. So, the point was well taken. Fortunately I had a meeting tonight so I was able to escape the looney bin for awhile. When I came back I was much calmer. Very brain dead, but calmer. As I put Presley down, I was basically begging God for mercy. "Lord, I am turning this over to you." She has now been asleep for about 54 minutes. The longest she's slept all day. Thank you Father, Son, Holy Spirit. I haven't had any water since I was nearly struck down. I've been too scared. But frankly, I'm dying of thirst. I haven't cussed since my little 'episode'. I'm thinking I should be ok at this point. But, I think I'm going for bottled water.

Locked Out

I had quite the excitement this morning. Craig and Piper are in Austin. So it's just me with Brooks and Fussy Pants. The one thing I have trouble with when Craig is gone is giving up my morning runs. Running is even more essential when he's not here. When I run it gets my brain working properly. I think like a normal, happy, sane person. Three very important qualities even when your husband is home. In order to get my morning fix, I hired a babysitter to come over super crazy early. Her family goes to our church. She's absolutely adorable and always very happy. The kids don't know her too well.. but I thought since I was leaving so early the kids may not even wake up. I had a fabulous run. It was nice and cool. Very little humidity. I wasn't worried about the kids. I kept telling myself, 'what's the worst that can happen.' That may have been my kiss of death. When I left this morning, I locked all the doors and told this sweet young sitter I would use a key that was hidden outside to let myself in (the last time she came over, she had trouble unlocking the door). When I returned home from my run, I went to the little hiding spot where I kept the key. It wasn't there. You've got to be kidding me. No big deal, I thought. We can figure this out. I gently tapped on the backdoor hoping the sitter would hear me. Nothing. I knocked a little louder. Again, nothing. I couldn't see any movement, I couldn't hear anything. Maybe she fell asleep I thought. So I went to the front door. I knocked again. Still nothing. I said her name.. told her it was me.. no response. So I started yelling her name.. telling her it was me.. no answer. Well, I'm just going to have to ring the doorbell. The doorbell rings.. the dog goes crazy.. no sign of the sitter. I ring the doorbell again and again and again.. the dog is going bananas at this point. A couple of seconds later I see Brooks come down the stairs.. still looking half asleep.. trying to figure out what in the world is going on. 'Brooks!' I yell. 'Go upstairs to mommy and daddy's room (that's where Presley sleeps) and get the babysitter!' He starts crying. Hard. Clearly he has no idea what's going on and he's scared. About this time, I notice my neighbor outside watering his plants. I'm pretty sure he thinks I'm a little off my rocker anyway, so this was total confirmation for him. I go back to the backdoor.. Brooks sees me there and he's still crying. I'm trying to calm him down and beg him to go upstairs to get the babysitter. 'NO!' he tells me (don't you just love two year olds). Finally the babysitters dad shows up (he had planned to pick her up to take her to school). He is in law enforcement. So my neighbor who already thinks I'm wack-o is outside, hears me screaming, then sees a man dressed in police gear show up at my door. Lord only knows what was going through his mind. Thankfully the dad is able to call his daughter on her cell phone to come downstairs and unlock the door. I told him I was a little concerned about her being able to unlock the door since she had trouble with it last time. But then I thought, considering his profession, he'll be able to break in no problem. The sitter comes downstairs, unlocks the door easily and we're able to get inside. She explained Presley was screaming and she was trying to get her to fall asleep. She had the door closed to our bedroom and because the white noise CD was on, she didn't hear anything. Makes sense. Everything is fine now. Then her dad who is cool as a cucumber goes, 'Same time tomorrow?' I said, 'Sure.' Thinking to myself, 'what's the worst that can happen.'

Trying to Catch Some Zzz's

It just dawned on me that maybe Little Miss Fussy Pants wants to lay down. We've had her propped up in the swingless swing for several months now. She was in the bassinet for about a week or two until she caught a cold. I put her back in the swing so she could sleep at an elevated position. But she just isn't the best sleeper and we can't figure out why. My husband thought maybe she's cold at night so we put her in a onesie with sleeves. That didn't seem to help. We tried turning her music on when she wakes up in the middle of the night. No dice there either. She wakes up every single hour from about 3 or 4a.m. on. She doesn't always take the best naps. What is the deal. Mama needs sleep. Seriously. So tonight I thought, I have nothing to lose. I zipped her up in her little sleep sack (yes, total side note.. she also outgrew the miracle blanket) and put her in her bassinet. Which by the way, she barely fits in anymore. I suppose bassinets are not designed for 5 month olds. So far, so good. I just went in there and I could hear her snoring. Few things are cuter or sweeter than a baby snoring. So maybe this is the answer. Maybe she's like, 'come on people, just get me a flippin' bed. I want to sleep too. That swing is driving me nuts.' She could also just be really worn out from crying for two hours straight today. I suppose time will tell. Let's just hope it will not tell me at 3 or 4 in the morning.

Thumbs Up

Perseverance over defeat.  Fall down seven times, get up eight.  These are two awesome quotes that are boldly written on one of my favorite running shirts.  I love wearing it.  It inspires me the second I put it on.  I wore it running this morning.  It seemed like it was going to be a great morning for a run.  I had my inspirational shirt on.  The weather was nice and cool.  It just felt like a good morning to run.  However, about a block into it I wanted to stop.  I don't know why, I just didn't feel it this morning.  I kept telling myself, 'give it a mile, you'll get into it.'  But that wasn't working.  I wanted to stop.  I wanted to go back home and curl up in bed (however, I knew that wasn't going to happen since Fussy Pants was screaming her head off when I left).  So I walked a block.  As I was approaching a busy street, I told myself to get after it.  There's no way I wanted to be caught walking on a busy street.  So I turned up my i-pod a little louder and tried once again.  The past few days have been particularly difficult at our house.  My poor husband is having this weird stomach issue.  Piper isn't feeling well.  Brooks is definitely testing the waters.  And Fussy Pants has been just that.  Fussy.  So I knew if I didn't run this morning, my day would stink.  Running makes me a better person.  For about 40 minutes I am not a mom, wife, cook, babysitter, maid, dishwasher or triage nurse.  I am a runner.  But this morning I did not feel like a runner.  I felt like a mom who had just had a kid plodding along trying to shed her baby weight.  So I started to pray.  I prayed for a sign that I could make it.  Make it through what, I wasn't sure.  Make it through the run.  Make it through the day.  I just wanted to make it.  That's when I saw this couple walking with their two dogs.  They looked a little blue collar.  She was fairly overweight.  She had brown hair pulled back with a grey tank top on.  I'm not sure she had all her teeth.  He was wearing a black, loosely fitted tank top with tattoos on his arm.  He had on jeans and workmen boots.  He reminded me of Sgt. Dan in the movie Forest Gump.  He was limping.  It was evident that he had been in some type of accident.  I thought maybe he was a war veteran.  As I approached them, I could see him looking at my shirt.  Reading it.  'Perseverance over defeat' it said.  I smiled and said hello.  He looked at me, looked at my shirt again and gave me a thumbs up.  This may sound crazy, but that thumbs up turned it around for me.  It was like we had a connection.  He was saying 'heck yeah!' to my shirt.  To me.  It was so inspiring.  It was evident that he had persevered over something.  If he could do it, so could I.  His little thumbs up motivated me to have a pretty good run this morning.  It was the sign I needed.  I feel like I've been doing a lot of falling lately.  Fall down seven times, get up eight.  I'm back up now.  Thumbs up.

Hush Little Babies

Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever sleep again.  It's been at least nine months since I've slept through an entire night.  When I was preggers, I couldn't sleep unless I took Tylenol PM.  And now with Fussy Pants, I'm up about twice a night.  One of our good friends is an anchor for ABC's World News Now which is on from 3a.m. - 5a.m.  It's fun to watch him.  However, it's not that fun.  I would certainly pass it up for a good night's sleep.  Piper and Brooks have now decided the middle of the night is a wonderful opportunity to spend some quality time with me as well.  Last night it was Brooks.  At 2:00a.m.  He climbed out of his crib and was walking around yelling (yes, yelling at 2:00a.m.), "I WANT MILK!"  When I refused to give it to him (I could not give into that insane-o behavior even if he is only two), he flipped out.  Massively.  He already had a sippy cup full of water.  I was not giving him milk.  Especially not when he's yelling at 2:00 in the morning.  Thankfully Craig stepped in.  Otherwise I may be in a looney bin right now.  Two nights ago Piper came tip-toeing into our room around 4:00a.m.  Her stomach hurt.  That was legitimate.  I can't fault her for that one.  She laid down with me and kept squirming around.  I asked her if she wanted to go back to her bed.  'Will you lay with me mommy?'  I so badly wanted to say no.  I should've said no.  It would've protected my sanity to some small degree but she was sick.  And I felt bad.  'Ok.'  I told her.  She proceeded to do donkey kicks across my legs until about 6:00a.m.  That's when I had to leave her room because Presley started crying again.  I've been praying that Presley would sleep through the night but apparently I need to start expanding those prayers to include Piper and Brooks.  So here goes, 'Please God, will you pleeease let every single living creature big and small, black (we have a black dog) and white sleep through the night tonight?!  Did I mention, please?'  Gotta run, starting to nod off.  V tired.  Did you hear me God...

Ode to The Swing

It stopped.  The swing.  It stopped (panic sets in immediately).  Maybe it's the batteries.  Quick.  Change batteries.  No, it's not the batteries.  The music works fine but the swing doesn't... swing.  What do we do?  Stay calm.  This is basically a word for word conversation between my husband and I when we discovered the swing, the swing that has allowed us to survive the past few months.. died.  Several weeks ago we thought we were done with the swing.  Presley had seemingly transitioned into her bassinet.  But we were forced to put her back in it when she caught a cold.  She needed to sleep at an elevated position.  I had originally refused to turn the swing on so she wouldn't get used to that constant motion again.  But, one thing led to another and in a few moments of weakness, we flipped the switch.  We turned it on.  Repeatedly.  She was swinging again.  How it happened, I don't know.  We were desperate I suppose.  My husband offered to drop everything to rush out to Target, Walmart, Baby's R Us.. where ever he could go to find another swing just like it.  No, I tell him.  We have to move on.  But it's not that easy.  It was our safety net.  And now it's gone.  Just ripped away.  So once again, she's sleeping swaddled in her 'miracle blanket' strapped into the swing that won't swing.  Those little eyes looking up at us, wondering whether we'll turn it on.  'Please?'  I can just hear her saying.  'Sorry my little sweetie.  The swing is broken.'  I tell her.  Maybe it's for the best.  Maybe this is what we needed.  Maybe this will force us to break all ties with the swing.  There won't be the temptation now.  There's no going back.  We're done with it.  We need to accept it.  As night falls the bassinet awaits once again.  Once again I will be forced to make that difficult decision.  Do I or don't I.  Do I have the courage to try it again.  To give it another shot.  To try the bassinet.  I suppose it's inevitable.  She can't sleep in the swing forever, right?  However, I wonder if there's a swing repair man.            

The Drug Search

Zantac.  Could this be the answer to our colic prayers?  Could sweet little Fussy Pants not in fact be colicky, but instead be inflicted with acid reflux?  It appears the answer may be 'yes'.  After talking with several other moms who have acid reflux babies, Presley's symptoms are strikingly similar.  The constant crying, inability to lay flat on her back without going berserk and all the spit ups.  She spits up so much somedays it's like she has the stomach flu.  It's just like a jet stream pouring out of her mouth.  It's so bad on certain days that it reminds me of that scene from Stand By Me where that little boy starts throwing up his blueberry pie.  It just keeps coming and coming and you wonder when on earth he's going to stop.  Ok, so Presley clearly hasn't eaten blueberry pie and she hasn't made anyone else throw up like in the movie, but the force is incredibly similar.  If she doesn't end up drenching her own outfit, she does mine.  Last week at her four month checkup, I pleaded my case for Zantac.  I was prepared to throw myself at the pediatricians feet so we could at least let us try it.  Much to my surprise, the pediatrician was more than willing to prescribe it.  In fact, she went full throttle and gave us the max dose possible.  One week she told us.  In one week we'll know whether this will be a 'miracle' drug for our little Miss Fussy Pants.  So a week has come and gone.  We've noticed less spitting up, but the constant crying continues.  My dreams of having a generally happy, content baby have once again been squashed.  But, I refuse to let optimism die.  We just started her on rice cereal.  We were/are hoping the combination will do the trick.  That this beautiful baby girl with sparkling bright blue eyes will wake up and become and angel baby.  Ok, as heavenly as that sounds, I'm also a bit of a realist.  I'm calling her pediatrician again tomorrow.  I've heard Prevacid may be good...  

National Lampoon's Colorado Vacation

Vacations in our family tend to be a bit dicey.  I have on occasion, referred to my husband as Clark.  As in Clark Grizwald from National Lampoon's Vacation.  Something always happens when we travel.  I have gotten to the point that now I just hope whatever 'it' is, it doesn't result in someone losing life or limb.  We just returned from a vacation in Boulder, Colorado.  An annual trip for my entire family.  There are 13 of us who make this long trek.  We visit my uncle, celebrate my daughter's birthday and escape the crazy Kansas heat and humidity.  Nearly half of the group is six and under.  We rarely have a dull moment.  Someone is bound to be throwing a fit, sitting in timeout, tormenting someone, screaming, not feeling good, on and on.  But somehow, we always return home on speaking terms, at least so far.  This year Craig and I decided to take his company car.  He gets a certain amount taken out of his paycheck each month so we can drive it unlimited.  We thought with gas prices being so high, it just made sense.  But were we really willing to sacrifice a few extra dollars (ok, more like several hundred) for sanity?  I didn't really have a say in the matter.  We were taking his car.  He drives a Chevy Impala.  Not the roomiest vehicle for three little people crammed in the back seat.  Not to mention the trunk space.  Due to the fact that we had to take Presley's swing, we were limited on what we were allowed to pack.  Two outfits per person, travel size containers only and only enough snacks to get us there (a bit risky in my opinion since snacks are often wonderful bribes).  I felt a bit like we were flying since we had such tight restrictions.  Fortunately, my husband did not inspect our bags since I snuck a few extra clothes on board.  On the way there, we battled a faulty DVD player (a HUGE lifeline), snacks that weren't good enough and a screaming baby.  We stopped every two hours.  One of the stops included a 'hike' around an abandoned gas station looking for hippos, mice and a treasure chest.  But finally after an eight hour trip that turned into a 12, we made it.  We hiked down Dream Canyon with all the kids.  It was not an easy hike.  My sister got lost with Brooks and Maggie (the two year olds).  However, she knew help would soon find her since Brooks was screaming bloody murder.  She was right.  On another hike Piper and my nephew Jack chased each other around with deer poop.  They were detoxed the second we got 'home'.  We rode horses through beautiful aspens and meadows.  Presley got to ride too.  She rode in the Baby Bijorn with the trail guide.  The guide said she was the first baby that's never fallen asleep (shocker!).  She held the reigns the entire time and cried when the guide had to pry them out of her hands.  On Piper's birthday, half of the frosting slid off her cake since we didn't refrigerate it.  However, watching nearly every episode of Ace of Cakes clearly paid off for my husband since he was able to fix it (Geof rules!).  Then just before we sang happy birthday to Piper, Jack accidentally hammered the cake with his little wooden gun.  Piper was upset that the cake didn't have Tinker Bell on it and made us promise her next cake would have Tinker Bell's picture on it, but it could not spell Tinker Bell, she said.  Only her picture.  My goodness, the demands of a four year old.  We had a few leftover cupcakes from the party (thank goodness since the cake clearly wasn't cutting it!).  Early the next morning, Brooks somehow climbed out of his pack and play without waking Piper (she was in the bed next to him), snuck downstairs without waking us, climbed up to the table and proceeded to eat a bite out of every single cupcake.  He came upstairs with a huge grin.  Proudly showing us the chocolate ring around his mouth and his gooey fingers.  We bought these cupcakes for $3 a piece at a trendy 'cupcakery' in Boulder.  One of them had chocolate frosting with bacon sprinkled on it.  So I rationalized it was somewhat of an acceptable breakfast for him.  The journey home was less eventful.  Less screaming, fewer problems with the DVD player, better snacks, not as many stops.  Our trip was certainly filled with little dramas here and there but all in all it was a fabulous get away.  Even for the Grizwald's.    

Are You There God? It's Me, Jamie.

God knows exactly what we need, when we need it.  I got a call from a friend last week that left me feeling hurt, puzzled and a bit blown away.  Not 20 seconds after I hung up the phone with her, one of the happiest people I know called.  God knew I needed to hear her joy and positive attitude.  She made me feel so much better and I didn't even tell her what had happened.  It was just hearing her joy and feeling her friendship that made such a difference.  God knew.  A month or so ago I was having a really rough day.  The kids were acting like crazy people, I felt under appreciated, I was basically a complete grump.  I knew I needed to exercise.  It helps me clear my head.  It's therapy.  That day I decided to ride my bike.  The first ten minutes on Pimp Juice (that's what I named my bike.  It's after that Nelly song that was popular a few years ago about a tricked out car.  I'm so cool.  ha!) I was still so grumpy.  I was telling myself some very positive things like, 'I don't want to be out here.  I'm going to have a terrible ride.  I just want to throw the covers over my head.  This totally stinks.'  So, I started talking to God about it.  I wanted him to hear just how bad my life was.  About how difficult things really are for me (whatever Jamie!).  It was a full blown pity party.  After a few minutes of venting, God started to bring me peace.  The pity party was winding down.  Not two seconds later, I caught something out of the corner of my eye.  It looked like a page out of the Bible.  'It couldn't be' I thought.  This is a very busy street, there's no way.  So I kept going.  I dismissed it.  But of course curiosity got the best of me.  I had to go back.  And there it was.  A page ripped out of Ecclesiastes just laying there in the grass.  I can't remember the exact verse but it was about the angels rejoicing and singing in heaven.  A great reminder that this earth is not perfect or fair.  We're not promised that this life will be easy.  Our real treasure is in heaven.  I left the page there on the grass.  I thought someone else might need it as much as I did at that moment.  I'm so glad I went on that bike ride.  His timing is perfect.  I have had countless other experiences where God's presence was so evident it's eerie.  For example, the time I had to spend the day with a difficult boss.  I prayed that God would give me a clear sign He was with me.  I was at Kinko's at the time.  When I walked out of the store, I saw a tiny little silver cross right by the door.  I had a great day that day even with my not-so-happy-about-life negative nelly boss.  My mom tells me she thinks I have some special connection to God.  That's so not true.  We all have the connection.  We all have an open phone line to Him.  It's a matter of using it.  It's a matter of listening, of waiting, of being observant, of having faith.  He knows.  He will show Himself in His perfect time.  If only, we ask. 

Of That Which Brings Us Joy

It's so interesting what brings people joy. For my neighbors it's their dogs. They don't have actual children, so their dogs are their babies. For the people across the street it's their garden. It's stunning. For me (other than my family), it's my writing. An outlet for me to laugh at my crazy life. For my husband it's watching the Texas Longhorns play football or his fantasy football league. Not really sure what to say about that. And for my mom, it's her band. She plays the clarinet in a band. It's totally hysterical. At least it was at first. Now, I'm really proud of her. She absolutely loves it. She's played in two free concerts in the park. We've been to both. I guess you could say we're kind of groupies. My kids get to dance in front of dozens of people who are well into their 80's. It brings Piper joy because she thinks she is the star of the show. It brings Brooksie joy because he gets to eat an entire box of popcorn. It brings me joy because I know how much it means to my mom to have us there. To support her doing something she really loves. She started crying the first time we saw her play. She told me it's not very often a grandmother could do what she got to do that night. It was very touching. I'm so glad she's found something that brings her such joy. Who would've thought in a million years it would be playing the clarinet in a band. But that's not the point. The point is, she loves it. And you can tell. The announcer said tonight their band is one of the oldest, if not the oldest remaining industrial bands in the country. I have no idea what that means, the industrial part anyway. But it made me proud. It made me proud to see my mom apart of such amazing history. They play a lot of marching band songs, patriotic songs.. songs that are a rich part of our country. Many 'older' people come up after the show and tell me how much fun they have watching my kids. My kids bring them joy. Wow. One lady said she appreciated me taking my kids to the concert so they're exposed to this kind of music. That made me feel good. I never thought watching my mom play the clarinet in a band could bring me joy too. But it does. Sometimes joy comes in ways and in places you least expect. But the important thing is to find your joy. Even if it's playing the clarinet in a band.

Memories of 'The Greatest Night Ever'

Last night was one I won't soon forget. We were having a girl's night. It was me, Miss Fussy Pants and three four year old girls (Piper turns four in a week so I'm rounding up). I told Piper she could have some friends over to play on the waterslide and make cupcakes with her Disney 'no bake' oven. It sounded so fun. So harmless. We would make memories that would last a lifetime. The girls would think back on that night with such nostalgia. 'Remember that fun summer night at Piper's house. That was the best,' they would say for years to come. Well, it started with the three of them having a screaming match to see who could scream the loudest and the longest with the highest pitch possible. I was trying to 'grin and bear it' knowing that's what little girls do. All the while reminding myself, we're making memories here Jamie. So I endured that for about 20 minutes. My head nearly exploded and I'm sure my neighbor who was outside watering his plants felt the same (he basically ran inside and wasn't seen or heard from again). After the screaming match ended in a tie (there was no way one was going to outdo the other), they played on the waterslide. I took lots of good 'party pics' so the girls would have a picture to go with their fabulous memory of the greatest summer night ever (or at least when they were four years old). Then it was time for cupcakes. We've tried this Disney 'no bake' cupcake thing once before. I knew it was a bit risky. The first time we tried it, it didn't go so well. It's one of those little ovens that allegedly bakes with ice. About the time we were getting ready to cut open the cake mix, Miss Fussy Pants starts crying and the girls start fighting over who gets to pour the mix, stir, open the oven, etc. What? This wasn't what I had envisioned. These were supposed to be happy memories. After consoling Miss Fussy Pants (the girls helped), we were back on the cupcakes. I followed the directions to a 't'. I allowed each girl to have a 'very important' job. And...... the cupcakes flopped. Wait a minute here. This is not going as planned. But where there's a will, there's a way. We had to give it another shot. I was determined to salvage this night. I was desperate to make those cupcakes amazing. Well, the second time around Miss Fussy Pants was screaming harder and instead of grabbing the cake mix, I grabbed the frosting mix (the packaging looks identical and given the situation it could've happened to even the greatest domestic goddess, which I am not.). They clearly did not turn out the second time around either. At that point I realized 'the greatest night ever' would certainly not be tonight. At least not how I envisioned it. So I let the girls watch 102 Dalmations for a few minutes, popped a bag of popcorn, split up the first batch of cupcakes (they were more like little dough balls) and we headed outside. The dough balls didn't look so bad since I slathered them with frosting and put a bunch of sprinkles on them (everything looks better with frosting and sprinkles). I turned the music on outside so they could dance (we have a speaker that looks like a rock and Piper calls it the singing rock) and suddenly the party took a different turn. We all started movin' and groovin'.. I was teaching the girls how to do the 'monkey' and they were teaching me some very interesting moves that only a four year old girl could dream up. A bit later both of their dads showed up right on time (when they dropped them off I jokingly said, 'Not a second past eight!' But I was so not joking and thank goodness they knew it.) And I was sort of sad to see them go. But Piper was exceptionally tired. She was crying that the light wasn't on in the bathroom, she had a splinter in her foot, etc. When I was putting her to bed she thanked me for a fun night and asked me if we could do it again. But next time, she said, "I want bigger cupcakes." Now that's a funny memory. A memory I hadn't planned on. Ya know, I think it really was a great night.

Silence is Golden

Nap time is sacred around our house. It's my one or two (and on a good day three!) hours of peace and calm. However, getting my kids to nap is so exhausting it makes me want to nap. Brooks HAS to climb into his crib himself. If you even attempt to lift him into his crib you've just set yourself back about 15 minutes because he flips out. He runs around his room and yells repeatedly, "No I do it! No I do it!" Once he's in his crib, which usually takes him about 5 minutes, he goes wild. He jumps up and down cheering, "I did it!" You try and act so excited for the little guy.. even though you're so tired and he's only done it about a thousand times before. The real trick is getting him to actually lay down. Typically he refuses and has a death grip on the rails of his crib. If you try and physically lay him down he pops right back up. And if you just leave the room with him standing there, watch out. He yells at the top of his lungs, "MOOOMMMMM!!" Which then wakes up Presley and then you've got a whole other mess on your hands. So lately I've started acting like a complete spaz when he lays down. I tell him, "put your head on the pillow and I'll cheer for you." Once he does I go bananas. I wave my arms in the air and swing my head around like I'm at a rock concert or something, "YOU DID IT!" I try to yell in a very quiet, yet very excited voice. He thinks it's the greatest thing he's ever seen. I feel like a total moron but it works (it's amazing the things you do for a little peace and quiet). After I've completed my victory dance for him, I sing Twinkle Twinkle and follow it up with a prayer (which by the way, instead of calling them prayers he calls them 'Dear God'. Sooo cute.). There are many days that I have to sing it at a much accelerated rate because Presley is screaming her head off. Sometimes I worry he'll think that's how fast the song is supposed be. Fortunately, Piper is pretty good about going to bed. If you tell her all the fun things you're going to do after naps (fun is so relative. We're talking simple things like printing Caillou coloring pages) she'll usually go down pretty well. But, that's when she takes center stage in her world. She usually spends about 15 or 20 minutes singing in her bed. And when I say sing, I mean belting it out. She puts on a full concert. So after about 30 minutes of hearing my little song bird, and occasionally hearing Brooksie chatter to himself.. it's usually quiet. I don't like any noise. I don't like any commotion. I don't like any movement from anyone other than me. Even the dog has to go to the basement. It's my one chance during the day to just catch my breath. To remind myself I'm not crazy. To just 'be'. Silence is golden... shhhh.

Walkie Talkies

I love Target. I cannot go very often because it’s so tempting. Upon entering I always have to tell myself, ‘stick to your list. stick to your list.’ Sometimes I’m really good at it.. others, when I don't really have a list, not so much. One thing that always interests me at Target is their customer assistance. They have those walkie-talkies that are always BLARING that say, “Customer assistance needed in electronics. Who is responding?” I wish I had those walkie-talkies at home. For example, it would be so great to have one when I’m upstairs feeding Presley and I hear Piper and Brooks downstairs ripping each others eyeballs out. I could just get on my little walkie-talkie and announce (in that same tone you hear at Target), “Parental assistance needed in the living room. Who is responding?” Ok so Craig would never in a million years go for it. But it makes sense. Maybe Craig doesn't know that I'm upstairs feeding Presley. Maybe he's waiting for me to 'respond' and I'm thinking surely he knows I can't 'respond' because I'm feeding the baby. Then I wouldn't have to yell, "Craig, can you see what's going on in there?!" I can just calmly pick up my walkie talkie and address the situation. Hum, I think I'm on to something. I think I'll start making my next list for Target now.

Plastic Bubble

Sweet little Miss Fussy Pants has a cold. Her cough sounds like it should be coming out of a grown man it sounds so bad. She also has green goop coming out of her eyes. Poor thing. You can tell she feels terrible. She cries even more now, if that's possible. She was completely out of the swing (that's the only thing she would sleep in for months) sleeping ever so contently in her bassinet but those days are gone. At least for now. She's back in the swing so she can sleep at an elevated position. I refuse to turn it on however, so she doesn't get used to that constant motion again. She just sits there in her little swing all swaddled up completely stationary. Sometimes after I put her in it I swear she looks at me and says, 'are you going to turn the thing on or what?' I think Craig heard her say it last night too. He caved and turned it on for her. Yesterday we were visiting with a dear friend and she asked Piper what Presley likes to do. Piper's reply, "she likes to cry." Especially now. With that manly cough and green eye goop. I'm trying to think back as to how she could've gotten sick. Maggie had a cough recently and I caught her putting her sippy cup in Presley's mouth (no one can fault her for wanting to share!). It was one of those slow motion moments like.. is she really going to do it.. is she really going to put her sippy cup in her mouth.. surely not.. yep, she did it. But I have learned that unless you're willing to put your child in a bubble (which I have strongly considered), it's impossible to keep them from germs. Either the germs will find them or they will find the germs. Piper was especially good at finding germs. When Piper was a 'crawler' we were at the airport and she pulled a piece of gum from under a seat and started chewing it. I had to fish it out of her mouth. GAG. On the same trip I caught her teething on the doorstop in our condo. We were in Mexico of all places. I flipped. I'm a bit of a germ freak but I think that would make even a 'normal' mom flip out. I've tried to be especially cautious with Presley since she was in the NICU for ten days after she was born. When we got her home from the hospital we literally kept her quarantined in our room for six weeks. You could not visit her unless you had on a face mask. I'm thinking about going back to the face mask requirement. This time maybe I'll add rubber gloves too. Or maybe I'll look into that plastic bubble again.

Lipstick & Sushi Pink Eyeshadow

All I wanted was some lipstick. It has been at least a year since I've been in a department store. Oh, that sounds terrible. Since I decided to stay home with my kids I don't shop like I used to. Not to mention I've basically been pregnant for the past four years and haven't been able to wear 'normal' clothes. But I'm starting to get restless. I NEED to look cute again. It's only been four months since I had Presley so I'm not down to my ideal weight. Therefore I'm not ready to blow out the bank on a ton of new clothes quite yet. But I thought I would just go look. Check out the latest fashions.. and I desperately needed some new lipstick. So I walk into Dillard's. Granted, Dillard's is not Nordie's but it'll do. The second I stepped foot in the store I could feel myself come alive. The lights, the music, the clothes, the purses, the shoes, the accessories. Wow. It's been waaay to long. I wasn't sure which direction to head first. Lipstick, I reminded myself. I walk up to the Mac counter and ask the salesperson what the color is 'in' right now. I am so not 'in' right now. She steered me towards this really pretty peach. I liked it. So then I thought, 'well, I really need some Studio Fix (a very light foundation).' So she put a little on me and told me she wouldn't recommend it because my face needed 'more life'. Hum, ok. I can be flexible. Then I saw this really cute girl buying some really fun shimmery blush. Oh, I need that too. So I thought, ya know, I have had the exact same makeup since 1999. I am so not joking. I've been wearing the SAME makeup that I bought at the Mac store since 1999. I remember the day vividly. So I got a little carried away. I bought lipstick, three different eye shadows (one was sushi pink - love the name!), blush, brushes, a new foundation that makes me 'glow' and a product to wear under the foundation. As she was ringing up box after box, I was a little worried about the cost. I had a little number in my head. Please don't be over 'x' amount. Oops. It was nearly double the 'x' amount. I'm trying to justify this in my head right now (or at least preparing myself so I can justify it to my husband). I've had the same makeup since 1999. I am so not fashion forward right now. I have very few clothes. In fact, one of my dearest friends just held some clothes for me at TJ Maxx.. she promised it wasn't because I wear the same thing nearly everyday.. but I can't help but think it had something to do with it. I guess I don't really need all that makeup. I will probably take a few things back. But I'm keeping the sushi pink eye shadow. And, I really need to glow so I've got to keep that foundation.. and the product that goes under it helps it stay on longer so really I'm saving money by keeping it. Of course I've got to have that shimmery blush (that girl who was looking at it really was adorable). And I absolutely need lipstick.

Rock Star Parking

I took Miss Fussy Pants with me to Sam's Club this afternoon. Not a good idea. When we pulled into the parking lot I thought it was going to be the greatest trip ever because I got the best parking spot in the world. It was total rock star parking. That always makes me think I'm going to have a good experience somewhere. If I can get the best parking spot, I just know it's destined to be a good trip. Well, my theory could not have been more wrong. When we walked in the store (Presley was in her car seat which was in the cart) she started fussing. I was thinking, this could go either way. Either she'll fall asleep and I could stay here all night if needed, or she'll scream bloody murder and I will be sprinting through the store. The latter happened. I was literally running through the store grabbing things and throwing them in my cart. I got all the way to the check out counter and realized I forgot diapers. The whole reason I came to Sam's. The diapers are at the opposite end of the store. As I'm sprinting back to get them, something gets lodged in the wheel of the shopping cart. I try moving it forwards, backwards - whatever it was, it wasn't coming out. In fact, the right front wheel was barely moving. So this forces me to basically bend half way over to push my cart. So there I was. My child was screaming and I was bending half way over pushing my lovely cart as fast as I could. In addition, I'm sure I had a frantic look on my face. We were certainly quite the pair. As I'm rushing, I bump into someone I know. Go figure. I did my best to look as happy and friendly as ever. 'Would love to talk,' I say, 'but my child is freaking out!' I'm sure she was thankful not to be seen with me at that point. We get to the check out line and of course there are a million people there. So finally it's our turn. One of the things I threw in my cart was a display for a book of stamps. Buying stamps at Sam's is a pain. They have to get on their walkie-talkies and page the manager who then has to drop what he/she is doing and bring the stamps to you. Well, given the situation I specifically ask the check-out guy whether it's going to take long to get the stamps. 'No.' He says, 'he'll have them right away.' Wrong. The manager guy is on the phone chatting up a storm. All the while Presley is still screaming and people are staring. Some with looks of compassion. Others, who are clearly baby-haters, look like they are so annoyed. It felt like Presley and I were on center stage and every eyeball in the place was dead set on us. Finally the manager gets off the phone and saunters over to us. I'm thinking, 'Seriously. Pick up the pace. It's obvious we have a situation over here.' A year later we get the stamps and we're outta there. And thank goodness for the fabulous parking spot. We get into the car and race out of the parking lot. Presley fell asleep rather quickly so I decided to take my chances and grab dinner at Chipotle. Once again, rock star parking spot wide open. Are you kidding me? This can't be happening. I couldn't pass it up. This time, my theory held true. Not a peep out of her. Whew. I love rock star parking.

On a Good Note

Today is one of those days when you think, what else can go wrong? It started with the fact that I didn't have time to shower this morning. I'm not one of those people who can get away with not showering. It's just something that is required of me. So first of all, I'm disgusting. And I feel disgusting. Secondly, my mini-van had a flat tire. I discovered this as I'm rushing around trying to get everyone dressed, fed and loaded in the car so Piper can make it to her final day of gymnastics/dance camp. I really wanted her to be on time because they were performing in a few hours and she had A LOT of polishing to do. But, it was obvious that wasn't going to happen. Fortunately, my brother-in-law showed up right after I noticed the flat. His first words, 'you're not going anywhere with that thing.' Thanks for stating the obvious and so not what I wanted to hear. But, I knew he wouldn't let me down in my time of need. He agreed to change it. He did it in record time. He's a huge racing fan. Maybe he was pretending to be in the pit or something. Anyway, God love him, he did it. As I was looking at the spare tire on my mini-van, I was thinking.. 'This can't be right. This tire cannot go on this van. It is way too small.' It looked like a tire from a golf cart. Once I got the kids loaded in the car, it felt like we were all tilted to one side. I found myself leaning to the opposite side like you do on a sailboat to prevent it from going over. Fortunately, we weren't terribly late. When we got home, I decided it was time to vacuum the basement. A very rare occurrence. As I'm down there, I notice a section of our carpet is saturated with water. What?!?! It wasn't coming in from the window.. the wall felt dry. It's like coming from the ground up or something. This is very troublesome considering it hasn't rained in about a week and the ground is bone dry. Not good. We have someone coming to look at it tomorrow. He'll also be checking to see why the bathroom ceiling that we just spent lots of money on to have repaired now has water damage and looks like it could fall in at any second. Ugh. Tonight as I was making dinner, I completely burned the beef tenderloin. They looked like little balls of coal. I tried cutting the burned edges off which left us each with like four or five bites of meat. Piper informed me that she didn't like this cow. I told her to dunk it a bunch in ketchup. I think we went through nearly an entire bottle. But with every dark cloud, there's a silver lining. My mother just informed me that she's in a band. That's by far the funniest thing I've ever heard. She is actually playing the clarinet in a band (thankfully she's not singing). She's performing in a free concert tonight in the park. I cannot wait. So it looks like my not-so-good day will end on a good 'note'.

Have Fun with Your Challenge

I have four kids with me each morning. Piper (nearly 4), Brooks and Maggie (both turned 2 recently) and Presley. The 'older' three are actually pretty good when we go places. They listen really well when I tell them to get out of the street because they're about to get hit by a car. They're not terribly loud. They're usually willing to help me. They respond really well to bribes. If I can put Presley in the Baby Bjorn she's usually pretty content. I think she likes the constant motion, the sound of my voice and the direct contact. Despite how good they are, without fail, people always feel the need to make a comment about me and my team of bandits. Yesterday for example. I was outside playing with the kids at my parents house and some random lady walks by and yells, 'looks like you've got your hands full!' Instantly I was so annoyed. Ok, I realize I sound a little sensitive. But there's not a day that goes by that someone doesn't say that to me. Not sure why it irritates me so much, it just does. Especially when my kids are being angel children. Today someone said something that really caught me off guard. We were playing at this really fun playground and I noticed this woman who appeared to be with her daughter and grandson. She looked like a nun without the nun clothes (ok, I'm not Catholic but I've seen the movie Nunsense). She had on a big cross necklace. Her hair was dark, short and tidy. She was dressed very conservatively. She had a very calming presence. As we were leaving, I couldn't help but smile at her. She was just so peaceful looking. You know what she said to me? In a thick European accent she goes, 'have fun with your challenge'. I was totally appalled. How could a 'Sister' be so rude? I was so upset. I was thinking, 'challenge, what challenge? My kids are being so good right now.' Here I thought this woman was so nice and peaceful. I was totally irritated. We get into the car a few moments later and Brooks has the biggest meltdown ever. Screaming that his shoe fell off, that his sticker was gone.. on and on. And I thought back to what that woman said. Have fun with your challenge. Ya know, she was right. And her timing was perfect. Raising three children is a challenge. A challenge that I absolutely love (most days), but certainly a challenge. I had various other 'challenges' this morning but I kept thinking about what that woman said. Have fun with your challenge. Have fun with your challenge. Have fun with your challenge. So when things got a little hairy this morning, I didn't get frustrated. I just kept thinking.. have fun with this. My kids are only this little once. We only get one shot at it. Have fun with it. Thanks Sister.

The Good Samaritan(s)

When Presley first developed colic, I almost tried to keep it a secret.  I didn't want people to know how terrible things were.. how bad it really was.. how desperate I felt.  'Everything's great' I would say.  'She's a little fussy, but other than that.. absolutely perfect!'  We're perfect, our kids are perfect, life is perfect.  Whatever!  I'm not sure if I was living in denial or fantasy land.  But the truth is, it's been hard.  Harder than hard actually.  I think this experience has really given me a heart for people with difficult children.  Babies especially.  It's easy to think it's the parents fault.  They're too uptight.  They're too strict.  They don't do this.  They need to do that.  Well, I'm living proof that sometimes people just have fussy babies.  Period.  Our first child was a dream boat.  No problems.  We haven't done anything differently now.  Some babies are just fussy.  And it's hard.  One of the most difficult things about having a colic child is going places.  Craig and I love our church.  It's a very relaxed environment filled with loving people who are trying to live their lives more like Jesus.  But, we haven't been able to go as frequently since Presley was born.  Presley screams and sweet little Brooksie has developed separation anxiety and flips out every time we walk in the building.  Two kids screaming their heads off.. we're quite the spectacle!  But today at church some Good Samaritans jumped in to help.  Presley hopped from lap to lap.  My mom took over, my sister offered to help, a wonderful lady (she was one of my nurses at the hospital) held her.  And the nursery coordinator offered to personally take care of Brooks.  It was awesome.  I felt so blessed.  It's so discouraging knowing you can't go to the one place you want to go for encouragement.  So thank you to all of those Good Samaritans.  You have blessed us more than you know.  BTW, are you free later?  :)

The Swinger

Little Miss Fussy Pants loves her swing. She will not sleep anywhere else. We have the routine down to a science. I swaddle her in her 'miracle blanket', tell her I love her (but there's not a lot of time to chat due to the fact that she's usually screaming bloody murder), give her a kiss, put her in the swing, strap her in, turn the thing on full speed, dash to the CD player and turn on the white noise pretty loud (yes, I am afraid she'll go deaf but Craig assures me she'll be fine). It takes approximately 12 seconds for the CD player to turn on after I hit play. I have to count because otherwise it seems like an eternity with her screaming. Then last night something happened. When I was done nursing her around 3:00 a.m. she was totally out. Like out, out. I have no idea what came over me. I saw the bassinet from across the room and I went for it. I quickly, yet carefully walked across the bedroom all the while thinking, 'what am I doing? am I crazy? will this actually work?'. And then I slowly, slowly, slowly placed her ever so carefully in the bassinet. I quickly put the ginger bread cookie man on her tummy (a dear friend let us borrow it.. said it helped her colic child), held my breath and literally tip-toed to bed. I could hear her rustling in the bassinet. 'Oh no, it's over' I thought. So I closed my eyes really tight and started repeating, 'Please God let her sleep. Please God let her sleep.' Over and over again. It worked. The Lord heard me. I didn't think she would last more than three minutes. But I was wrong. She slept a full three hours in her bassinet. That's huge for us. Craig and I were both stunned. Shocked. Blown away. I went for a run this morning (my mental health break) and she got fussy. Craig went for it too. He put her down in the bassinet. No 'miracle blanket', no ginger bread cookie man. He went cold turkey on her (ok, he did turn on the white noise). And again, she slept. Craig and I were in such disbelief neither one of us could talk about it. But I had to break the ice. I had to understand what was happening here. My voice shaking a bit due to the fact I was still so stunned I asked Craig, 'how did you do it? how did you get her to sleep like that?' So very methodically, very precisely, he told me the story of how it happened. I hung on every word. I didn't want to miss a beat. Could our child actually be ready to sleep without the constant motion of the swing? Well, not quite. Her afternoon nap didn't go so smooth. I caved and put her in the swing. But tonight I gave it another shot. Again, no 'miracle blanket', no ginger bread cookie man, nothing. I put her in her bassinet and walked out of the room. She cried. Hard. So I went in and went through the process of swaddling her, kissing her, and just as I was about to put her in the swing I did a u-turn and headed for the bassinet. I just simply put her in there. Held my breath. And she was fine. May I repeat, she was fine. I have no idea what's going on here. I don't know if this is just a good day or what. But today, today was a really a good day. Finally.

Laughter is the Best Medicine

When your child has colic, you will do about anything to sooth him or her.  The intensity of the screaming, the inability to calm your child, the length it draws on.. it's all so frustrating and difficult.  You scour the internet hoping to find a cure.  You walk up and down the aisles of Walgreens praying you'll see something that might work.  You plead with God.  You plead with your child.  You take your child to the doctor.  If you're nursing you think, 'maybe it's me'.  So you go to the doctor.  You go to the breast feeding clinic.  You stop eating this, start eating that, try different nursing positions.  You try natural herbs and remedies.  You hear success stories about taking your child to the chiropractor.  So you try it.  If someone told you they heard standing on your head singing the national anthem backwards worked, you would do it.  You are that desperate.  We've tried organic gripe water.  We've tried Mylecon.  We've tried giving them together.  We've tried them separate.  I can honestly say we've tried everything.  Nothing has worked.  We've read it goes away at three months.  Presley is now almost four months.  And still -- no relief.  The one thing that has worked, laughter.  My husband, Craig and I try to laugh about it as much as possible.  As much as our nerves will allow anyway.  We try singing over it.  We try pretending it's super quiet in the car, for example, when really she's screaming her head off.  We know we'll get through it.  We know the days will soon be easier.  The nights will be calmer.  Brooks went through it, we survived.  We are colic survivors.  One day we'll be able to print t-shirts that say, 'I survived colic'.  And all of those parents out there with colicky children will be able to relate.  Perhaps even get a good laugh.  And maybe even want a t-shirt too.            

Bodily Fluids

So.. being a mom of three (and one child with colic, let us not forget!) is demanding to say the least. But when you add barf and diarrhea into the mix, things get really interesting. We currently have the stomach flu going through our house. It started with my sweet little niece Maggie last week (she's two and I watch her in the morning). As she was throwing up all over our leather couch and carpet, Fussy Pants starts screaming and then the oven timer went off signifying our pizza was ready. You have got to be kidding me. Somehow I simultaneously carried Maggie outside to continue barfing (not sure why I didn't go to the bathroom), flung the pizza out of the oven (it was cooked perfectly, thank you) and sprinted up the stairs to turn on the white noise CD (aka chainsaw) for Presley. That was only the beginning. About two days ago, my two year old son Brooks got it. Just as I'm going to bed thinking to myself, 'I've lived through another day', the poor guy wakes up vomiting. So, what's a mom to do. Of course I have to comfort him during his time of need.. he's scared to death, crying my name and puking all at the same time. I put a towel down on the train table in his room and while I was holding him I was literally doing a back bend so he could puke over my shoulder and onto the train table (again, not quite sure why I didn't rush to the bathroom). Yesterday, Piper (my nearly four year old) sees a ginger snap cookie on the table. It was a cookie that Brooks had licked only moments before and decided he did not want. Unbeknown to her (she saw a cookie and went for it), she took a bite. Unfortunately, I did not see this go down until she was almost done with it. I knew that contaminated cookie would claim yet another child in my house. Sure enough, this morning, Piper starts throwing up all over her bed, her stuffed animals... you get the picture. I pray, pray, pray that little Presley does not get it. Poor thing. That's the last thing she needs. It's the last thing we all need. Bodily fluids are so gross.

Me and My Little Fussy Pants

Hi, my name is Jamie and my daughter has colic. I feel like Presley screaming all day is defining me at this point in my life. It seems like every conversation I have in someway leads to my daughter screaming. If someone compliments me on my hair.. I always bring it back to 'oh thanks, my daughter has colic and fixing my hair is very rare these days.' Or if someone compliments my shirt.. 'oh thanks, my daughter has colic and I actually got to run to Target to buy a new shirt.' It's totally comical when I think back on the day how I respond to people. My favorite is when she's smiling or content for a short while and someone comments on what a happy baby she is. I almost get a little panicky.. 'Oh no! She has colic! She cries most of the day!' What is that about?! It's just so all consuming, so tiring and so frustrating. I troubleshoot, I cry, I pray. The good news.. we can typically sooth Presley by swaddling her in the 'miracle blanket', strapping her in the swing (which has to be on high) and turning on some really loud white noise. We have a CD that sounds like a hairdryer for 14 minutes and is followed by rainstorm (it actually sounds more like a chainsaw and rain on a tin storage shed.. but we'll go with it). Before we found the CD, we had been running my hairdryer most of the day. I was convinced we were going to burn our house down. I will say, however I am totally amazed my hairdryer has lasted so long ($15 Walgreens -- I'll get the brand later). More to come...