the cow in our bathroom

We have one of those tubs that has jets. The tub is directly between the shower and the small "water closet" with the toilet. Therefore the vent for the motor to the jets is located beneath the toilet paper roll. This has never been particularly significant to me before now.

What I have failed to blog on recently is my daughter's self-potty training this past month. I have to remind her sometimes, and she still has accidents sometimes, but for the most part she's got it down and I commend her for it. I've been duly impressed and had held off for a while. (I actually chased her around with a diaper for a while as she insisted on trying to go potty before I was ready to let her since we had that Disney trip planned! hahaha!) I'm a firm believer in not making it a lot of work for myself. Either they get it or they don't. She gets it. Thank goodness!

Being pregnant, I am very susceptible to the power of suggestion, particularly if a bathroom is involved (or chocolate, but maybe that's not pregnancy-related). If Miss C must use the potty (even if it's the fourth trip in an hour), the odds are pretty high that mommy will likely need to go immediately after her. And while I have my turn I help pull up her jeans and such. Being a typically small room, she stands barely inside the doorway and has become a huge fan of the aforementioned vent.

Once she is redressed, she sits at the vent, peering into the small metal slats, telling me there is a cow inside. We both have to moo. I tried many other animals much to her delight, but in the end she is adamant that there is indeed a cow.

And here I thought cows lived on farms. But apparently, we have one living in our bathroom.

11 weeks left

How many months pregnant am I? I hate that question. I like weeks. It's easy to count either direction. At the moment, I am 29 weeks pregnant (and one day, to be technical about it) and most definitely feeling that I've reached the third trimester. Unlike my first pregnancy during which I had a picture taken every single week to compare the belly growth, I've been far more random and distinctly sparse about it this time around. Last night, I decided to get a specific belly shot to share with you.

I give you the belly that looks more like a bowling ball under my shirt:

memories

All the talk about my husband’s grandparents has given me pause to remember my own. I knew three of them, as my mom’s father died when she was still a teenager. Her mom lived alone, cross-country from us, and our visits were never quite often enough. She always returned my letters, and sent news of various family members. I loved that lady dearly though and after her death a few years ago many of my aunts and uncles (my mom was 10th of 11 kids with an endless supply of long-distance relatives that issued forth from them) spoke of how often she recalled a certain long visit I made with her. I spent a couple weeks basking in her quiet home after a long illness. We could chat or just be still. It didn’t matter. She never drove, and we walked or caught the bus any place we needed to go—the mall, the beach, the grocery store, the travel agency to confirm my flight home. I believe those weeks gave us something very special and while we did not have the luxury of frequent visits, we shared the closeness of hearts.

My father’s parents were as completely different from my mother’s as could be imagined. They lived on a farm in Kentucky, and were rife with silliness and loudness, more boisterous than calm, a true farmer’s life abounding in their home. Large meals, constant chatter, long gravel driveway and white farmhouse with a red roof. My aunt and cousin both lived on the property, and solitude was never to be found. My Papaw died when I was a freshman in High School, Mamaw the first year I was married. One of my favorite memories of going to visit was playing “Ten Fingers” for the last few miles of the trip. At some point, my dad would tell us to “put up ten fingers”, and eagerly, our palms would stretch open, taut with excitement. As we passed various land marks down the country road to their farm, he would say, “When we cross a bridge, take one down”, “When we go around a REALLY sharp turn, take one down”, “When you see a pond on the left, take one down”, and so on. Our fingers readily folded down, anxious for the next landmark. The anticipation would really build when we took one down for a gravel driveway, another pond, and finally, the engine turning off. By then, doors would be bursting open from both the car and the house, voices raised in the thrill of arrival and arms tangled in hugs.

When my Mamaw died, my parents were already with her, having stayed by her side in the last days. My husband, brother and I drove up for the funeral. As we neared the country road, I felt a sharp sense of loss that came with knowing the welcome would be far different than any before. And our finger game felt obviously absent from the end of our drive (my fingers seemed to be waiting for directions of their own accord). When I spoke of this, my younger brother, still in High School, was driving the final stretch. And he told me to put up ten fingers. . .

check it out

I'm a cloth diaper momma. Yup. I really am. (Well, truthfully, my cloth diapering days are on hold since Miss C outgrew hers in early summer and we were too close to potty training to re-invest at that point--but that's not really the point here, now is it?) And, I was invited to be a contributor over at a cool blog called The Diaper Chronicles. Which at long last I've done. So, if you are at all remotely curious or fascinated (or even if you're not!) by cloth diapers, go check it out! Just to make me feel special and important and famous, go have a look-see at my blog-name on a different site. Okay? Okay.

What are you still here for!?

tot spa?

Don't do major things on the tail of emotional weeks. I mean, really. I just did something today that I'd been contemplating for a long, long time. I just got over being very sick and, as my previous post mentioned, having a rough month in general.

But TODAY, on the tails of all that, after Miss C's bath, I decided to cut her hair. I've contemplated paying someone versus doing it myself to save money for months. Now I'm not sure if I will be paying someone anyway. Halfway through, I started shaking, wondering what I'd done. Honestly, I like the length the more I look at it, even though it's a little shorter than I'd planned. I just don't know how good of a job it is, as it seems uneven. I think I know what I did wrong, but when it happened, the lollipop had just been finished and the wiggling had commenced. She was actually a great sport considering she is anti-bow, anti-brushing, etc.

Yes, I cried when I told my husand. He wasn't bothered, and just said if it's bad we'll take her to get it fixed. He also reminded me that it might be just fine like it is. He's very good to me (as I've mentioned before).

So, you be the judge. Just how awful is it? (In my opinion, it seems too long on the left, but when it got too short on the right, I liked the effect...I just didn't duplicate it correctly since the wiggling skewered my perception of it.)

Before:



After:





And while I'm digging into my pictures for October, it reminds me that I forgot to post about a little adventure Miss C had, all on her own. It was the night before my anniversary, and I left her in my room with Baby Einstien in the DVD player -- Little B was in bed and I was making myself a quick, late bite to eat (my husband was not home just yet, having worked late). I saw her head peek around the corner of the bedroom door which meant she was not on the bed anymore, so I felt strongly compelled to check on her. She gets into things, but usually it's nothing too significant. I had my bathroom lights out to prevent curiousity, so doubted she'd done anything to really worry myself over.


I was so very, very wrong.

My daughter was proudly completing a pedicure of her toes, feet and legs. In my most favorite color of polish, Tahitian Sunrise. Or is it Sunset? Either way-- it's my favorite, by Ulta. And, since I'd so wisely left the bathroom lights off (for the sake of preventing temptation), she had taken it into the little hallway where our closets are, between bedroom and bathroom...where there was a light on! Such brilliance. Needless to say, she got a thorough polish-remover scrubbing and a second bath in less than a half hour. And there are still remnants of polish on her toenails (which she had very completely painted, not missing a single one!).

And I took pictures of it, of course, before cleaning her up (and reminding her repeatedly that it is MOMMY'S JOB to paint nails):

Anyone know how to get nail polish out of the carpet?

Some weeks and months as the mom of a child with Sensory Processing Disorder stretch on and on. I can only imagine that those same weeks of struggle feel eternal to the child involved. The past month has been that way in our house.

I won’t expose the specifics of the trials we’re enduring, but suffice it to say that I had a major meltdown over the weekend, I’ve cried nearly every day this week, I’m not getting nearly enough sleep and my heart stays very heavy for my son right now. (Oh, and the cherry on top—can we say Monistat? And pregnant hormones, of course!) It is almost as though Little B has regressed by two years in some respects. Why this season is so hard for him, I do not know. But somehow, every fall, he struggles harder than any other time of year. We start into a cycle that takes so long to break. It’s early this year, by about a month. I truly hope it’s not an indicator that this will get worse before it gets better. His self confidence is taking a beating and he almost seems lost in some other world many times. It breaks my heart. Indeed, my heart aches so much I can hardly find the words to pray for him. I must ask my Lord to intercede for me. I barely know what his needs are at the moment.

I also know he gets severe congestion each fall. He battles coughing, nasal congestion, sinus infections, ear infections and so on. I do think there is at least a mild connection between this and his SPD struggles. But even removing dairy from his diet does not eliminate this problem during the fall season (it helps considerably when spring rolls around, however). I realize there are other things I can adjust in his diet, though it seems he’d only need that seasonally—and to be specific here, how on earth do you begin removing gluten/wheat and sugar from a child’s diet in October, November, and December? Let’s be honest and realistic. This is not the time to introduce new, drastic measures. He already feels horribly self-conscious at parties or when the class has cupcakes, etc, and he has to have something different. (I desperately loathe all birthday parties on account of this.)

My son is so sensitive. He knows he’s feeling angry a lot. I know that it stems from something being “off” internally and frustrating him to this point. I recognize the signs of struggling with transition, making changes, craving tactile input, and other things. I know when all these needs are not met it shows outwardly in attitude—frustration, anger, irritability, even aggression. There are so many diverse facets to his needs that can change by the day or even hour. Knowing how to meet this is virtually impossible at times.

10 years

Today is our 10th wedding anniversary.
I remember thinking when we got married that I couldn’t wait to have been married for ten years. And today is so much better than our wedding day; I love the children we’ve grown together, the life we’ve built, the love we’ve shared and the very foundation that time alone can build. And I love the man I married so much more than I ever dreamed I could. What I felt on our wedding day was deep and strong, yet pales in comparison to what I feel today. My husband understands me better than anyone else; he respects me as a person as well as respecting my thoughts and feelings; he knows when to let my funky moods run their course and when to snap me out of it. He can laugh with me in the deep, cracked up, leaky eyed laugh. He truly cherishes me.

I pray the Lord grants us many, many more years together. I cannot fathom life without him by my side—he is my perfect match. I absolutely look forward to being old together; I can think of little else I would want.

How will we commemorate this great day? We’re going to the Fall Festival at our son’s school this evening. Something we can have a great time doing as a family. Perhaps we’ll get to have a “date” soon, but for now our trusty baby sitters are out of town (also known as my parents). And really, our anniversary to us is also celebrating becoming a family—first to each other and later adding our children. So spending it with our kids is perfect.

Our 20th anniversary will be even more fabulous. I just know it. And we’re already halfway there! Oh, the anticipation of the next ten years. . .

the game of tag about your man:

Kim at Mommy-logue tagged me for this, and since I've just arrived home from Disney last night, and have accomplished mostly nothing productive all day, I thought I'd post my answers. Hopefully I'll post about our trip in a day or two (after I make it to the grocery store and unload our suitcases and catch up on sleep in my GOOD bed; you get the idea!).

1. Who is your man? “Mr. J” per my blog nicknames. :)
2. How long have you been together? Married for 10 years this week, but we met in High School, and had a few crushes that were never simultaneous our senior year.
3. How long did you date? Well, technically, only for a couple months between my freshman and sophomore year in college. Then, I ended things for a variety of reasons, and by spring he told me he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me (statement of intent, not a proposal, that came the next year), but I moved out of the state 6 weeks later for a full year (thus his urgency in sharing his heart) then I planned a wedding when I moved home.
4. How old is your man? 31
5. Who eats more? That depends on the meal and the mood and if I’m pregnant or nursing. Too much variety to that question!
6. Who said "I love you" first? I believe he did. I’m trying to remember the occasion. . .
7. Who is taller? He is.
8. Who sings better? Most definitely he sings better. No doubting it since my son recently tried to teach me how to sing . . . ahem.
9. Who is smarter? He says I am, I say he is. I think we’re both pretty darn smart: we married each other!
10. Whose temper is worse? Uh, mine.
11. Who does the laundry? Me. He pitches in occasionally, and messes up my system which frustrates me, but I know he’s only trying to help out. He’s GOOD at helping out. I’m keeping him!
12. Who takes out the garbage? He does. I do the reminding.
13. Who sleeps on the right side of the bed? I always wonder about this question; I assume it refers to the right side when you LOOK at the bed, not when you sit in/lie on your back in the bed, correct? If it is indeed when you LOOK at the bed, he does. We’re thinking about switching sides, though. Haha!!
14. Who pays the bills? I do! (Except during the cycles when I force him to participate so he gets a reality check on what's up in the accounting department in our family.)
15. Who is better with the computer? He is.
16. Who mows the lawn? He has until this past month when we hired someone to do it. Thank goodness.
17. Who cooks dinner? It varies. These days, I loathe cooking and often don’t have much appetite even though my morning sickness is gone, so he has to do more than usual which is hard when it’s past the kid’s meal time. Can we say carry-out?
18. Who drives when you are together? Typically, he drives, but sometimes I do.
19. Who pays when you go out? He does.
20. Who is most stubborn? Uh, probably me, but we can share that job. Ha.
21. Who is the first to admit when they are wrong? Most likely him, but again, we take turns.
22. Whose parents do you see the most? Mine.
23. Who kissed who first? He kissed me. And told me he wanted to because he did not feel like getting hit if his timing was bad. . .I’d never kissed anyone before, and he knew it was an important point to me.
24. Who asked who out? He asked me out. We had a friend along (who I credit with our introduction a few years prior), so our first “date” was kind of unofficial. However, we were supposed to see Nell and it was no longer playing, and we had to settle for Dumb and Dumber. I’ve loathed that movie and Jim Carey ever since. NOT a good first date movie, but I still liked the man who took me.
25. Who proposed? He did. At a waterfall when I was home visiting from Seattle. I moved home sooner than planned to marry the man!
26. Who is more sensitive? That can vary, too!
27. Who has more friends? Me.
28. Who has more siblings? We each have one: he has a sister, I have a brother.
29. Who wears the pants in the family? “And the two shall be one. . .” I’d say we share a pair. :)