I hate for my first post of the month to be a rant, but...
I get it.
You stopped giving Christmas gifts to make a point about consumerism. You're superior to everyone who still gives gifts.
I get it.
You and your family didn't exchange gifts this year because your children were acting ungrateful. You're superior to those of us who wouldn't take it that far, and your children will never behave in an ungrateful manner again.
I get it.
You bought your children four million gifts because it's only once a year and you want them to experience the magic of Christmas with a whole bunch of presents. You're superior to everyone who only gives a few gifts, for whatever their reasons are.
I get it.
You labeled all your small gifts from "Santa" and all the big gifts from, "Mom and Dad" in order to prevent the less wealthy children in your child's class at school from feeling like Santa discriminates against poor kids. Or something. You're superior to those of us who do it the other way around.
I get it. You don't do the Santa thing because it distracts from the true meaning of Christmas. You're superior, and more Christian, than anyone who lets their kids sit on Santa's lap.
Right? Because you deserve a great, big pat on the back for doing things the best way for yourself and your kids - you know, like families have done since the beginning of time, but now need validation from social media for.
Just be your own family and drop the sanctimony, please. Big gifts, small gifts, expensive gifts, cheap gifts, handmade gifts, no gifts, a million gifts, three gifts, one gift, two gifts, red gifts, blue gifts...none of it has to do with the baby in the manger and they're not what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown.
OK, rant over.
Peace and Blessings.
December 23, 2014
November 27, 2014
The Thanksgiving That Almost Wasn't
Eighteen years from now, when we have two kids in college and one in graduate school at Yale, so we can't afford a turkey, DWH and I will be sitting in our rocking chairs on our enormous wraparound porch, waiting to see their cars appear in the driveway so we can celebrate Thanksgiving with our babies. We may have to wait a while, because it's a long drive from New Haven, so we'll reminisce about Thanksgiving 2014.
We'll say things like, "Remember that Thanksgiving, right after we moved to North Carolina, and we lived in that little apartment? Sweet Pea was almost five and she caught a stomach virus that thwarted all our Thanksgiving plans? And, Goo was ten months old and would scream so loudly it shook the windows whenever I walked away? Remember when he used to let us call him Goo?
"Remember how you went to K&W Cafeteria to pick up a couple of Thanksgiving dinner plates, because we had planned to go to South Carolina and Alabama for the holiday weekend and we didn't have any food in the fridge? Remember how Buddy wouldn't eat anything but peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, but he ate some applesauce with pumpkin and cranberry? Remember how the dressing tasted suspiciously like a crab cake, but the pecan pie was heavenly?
"Remember how you went and searched out a candle for me to put on the table, just to make the atmosphere a little more cheerful, and because the whole apartment smelled like stomach virus poop?
"Remember that? Do you remember how grateful we were to have our family all together, just you and me and our awesome three? Even though we were disappointed to miss the chance to see everyone else, even though there was fever and yellow gravy and piles of laundry to do, it was OK. We were thankful. We had what we needed. Remember?"
And, we will remember. We will laugh. We will still be thankful. And, then, we'll laugh some more.
We have had much to overcome this year, but God has tempered the obstacles with blessings. All that we have, we owe to his grace. It has always been and will always be thus.
“Those blessings are sweetest that are won with prayer and worn with thanks.”
― Thomas Goodwin
We'll say things like, "Remember that Thanksgiving, right after we moved to North Carolina, and we lived in that little apartment? Sweet Pea was almost five and she caught a stomach virus that thwarted all our Thanksgiving plans? And, Goo was ten months old and would scream so loudly it shook the windows whenever I walked away? Remember when he used to let us call him Goo?
"Remember how you went to K&W Cafeteria to pick up a couple of Thanksgiving dinner plates, because we had planned to go to South Carolina and Alabama for the holiday weekend and we didn't have any food in the fridge? Remember how Buddy wouldn't eat anything but peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, but he ate some applesauce with pumpkin and cranberry? Remember how the dressing tasted suspiciously like a crab cake, but the pecan pie was heavenly?
"Remember how you went and searched out a candle for me to put on the table, just to make the atmosphere a little more cheerful, and because the whole apartment smelled like stomach virus poop?
"Remember that? Do you remember how grateful we were to have our family all together, just you and me and our awesome three? Even though we were disappointed to miss the chance to see everyone else, even though there was fever and yellow gravy and piles of laundry to do, it was OK. We were thankful. We had what we needed. Remember?"
And, we will remember. We will laugh. We will still be thankful. And, then, we'll laugh some more.
We have had much to overcome this year, but God has tempered the obstacles with blessings. All that we have, we owe to his grace. It has always been and will always be thus.
“Those blessings are sweetest that are won with prayer and worn with thanks.”
― Thomas Goodwin
November 13, 2014
It's Just Safer that Way
A friend posted this hilarious list on Facebook today. Well, I thought it was hilarious. I can see how some people wouldn't, either because they are the target of the list, or because they take themselves very seriously and are, therefore, easily offended.
Anyway, the list addresses twenty phrases that almost every mom I know has heard at one time or another. Many of them are uttered by well-meaning people who are under the misguided notion that because they raised their own children, they know what's best for mine. I can appreciate these comments in the spirit in which they are intended. That doesn't mean that they don't make me clench my jaw shut until I hear my back teeth beginning to crack, but I do understand that there is no malice involved.
Some people are just mean. Or nosy. Or both. I cannot be held responsible for what flies out of my mouth and hits these people. They deserve my snark, and they deserve it in droves!
So, here's the list:
And here are my responses:
1. This one doesn't bother me, although I understand that it flies all over some people. It could be a lot worse. Read on.
2. What?! My child isn't supposed to live on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches?? Yes. I have tried fruits and veggies. I am not stupid. He eats fruit, but if you can think of a solution to his "I don't like to eat" phase, I am all ears. I worry about it enough, thanks. Oh, and please don't shame him about it. It makes me madder than a wet hen.
3. I don't give my kids soda, either. No judgment. Your kids aren't my kids.
4. Really? How should I let him lie on the floor? He has a short attention span and he's bored.
5. I'm torn on this one. I don't know if the person speaking has gone to a kids' movie expecting peace and quiet, or if the masochistic mother has taken her children to see a romantic comedy. If the former, why would you do that?? If the latter, why would you do that??
6. I laughed until tears ran down my face at this one. That's like saying, "When I buy a house, none of the light bulbs will ever need to be replaced."
Kids are not dogs. You can't coerce them into behaving the way you want them to with Snausages. They are people, with ideas and personalities and minds of their own. I wish you good providence in your endeavors as a parent. (Insert maniacal laughter here.)
7. And, this is why we practice good oral hygiene in our house. Everything in moderation, folks.
8. Hm. You seem pretty upset that he's pretty upset. Should you just go home? He'll forget what he's upset about and calm down in about 90 seconds. Will you?
9. I've never had anyone ask me if they could give my kids candy because they were sad. I have, however, had the bakers at Publix and Fresh Market yell out, "Hey, can they have a free cookie?" Uh, sure. It's almost lunch time, but I didn't want them to have anything healthy, anyway. Go ahead, because now that they've heard you, I will never hear the end of it until they get their free cookie.
10 & 11. Don't. Just don't. For this one, like many of the others, let's just assume that I know my children better than you do, because they're mine. I know you mean well, and I appreciate it, but you're saying this because you have no idea that my Buddy is very warm natured and if I put a jacket on him right now, the process will go like this: 1. He will begin to complain that he's too hot. 2. He will make a desperate attempt to take off the jacket, with or without unzipping it. 3. He will be red-faced and sweating buckets. Please just assume that I know my kids well enough to know whether or not they are comfortable, unless it's snowing and they're wearing tank tops and flip flops. Thanks.
12. Probably. Are you offering to babysit? I'll pay you with cookies.
13. Again, I'm torn on this one. If you say this when my kids are mad because I poured their milk into the yellow cup after they asked for the yellow cup and then changed their minds, go for it. Hug all you want. If you say this while I'm trying to discipline my kids, may God have mercy on your soul.
14. So...what? Yes, I chose to be a parent. Now, I'm going to choose to admit that it's hard.
15. Tony Danza. Also, see #6.
16. Maybe, but how do you know that child doesn't have developmental delays? Be kind, please.
17. Funny. I never gave anyone time to say that to me. But, my mom could give you an earful about it, I'm sure.
18. Absolutely! Why don't you bring your lunch and sit on the public toilet and eat it, too? No? I can't imagine why...
19. That's between the parent, the kid, and the pediatrician or dentist.
20. No. I'm saying this as both a dog lover and a mom. I spent some wonderful years with my dog, and I know how it feels to truly love a dog, and a cat, for that matter. Dogs are our first lessons in unconditional love. But, no. It is not the same. Until you have either carried your child in your body or brought your chosen-in-love child home, maybe it's hard to fully understand. But, it's not the same.
We're all on this journey together, y'all. Be kind. Our ultimate goal is the same. We all want to raise kids who love and are loved. Your kids are not my kids. My kids are not your kids. Our homes are not the same. Let's just arrive at our destination the way that's best for our own families, without judgment. And, even if you think you know better than that mom who is doing it totally wrong because you read it in a magazine or your friend's cousin's next-door neighbor's aunt's chiropractor said that kids shouldn't eat that, keep it to yourself. It makes it hard to enjoy the itty-bitty years when your parenting methods are being critiqued. And, the itty-bitty years are only here for a minute.
Peace, Love, and Cheerios.
Anyway, the list addresses twenty phrases that almost every mom I know has heard at one time or another. Many of them are uttered by well-meaning people who are under the misguided notion that because they raised their own children, they know what's best for mine. I can appreciate these comments in the spirit in which they are intended. That doesn't mean that they don't make me clench my jaw shut until I hear my back teeth beginning to crack, but I do understand that there is no malice involved.
Some people are just mean. Or nosy. Or both. I cannot be held responsible for what flies out of my mouth and hits these people. They deserve my snark, and they deserve it in droves!
So, here's the list:
And here are my responses:
1. This one doesn't bother me, although I understand that it flies all over some people. It could be a lot worse. Read on.
2. What?! My child isn't supposed to live on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches?? Yes. I have tried fruits and veggies. I am not stupid. He eats fruit, but if you can think of a solution to his "I don't like to eat" phase, I am all ears. I worry about it enough, thanks. Oh, and please don't shame him about it. It makes me madder than a wet hen.
3. I don't give my kids soda, either. No judgment. Your kids aren't my kids.
4. Really? How should I let him lie on the floor? He has a short attention span and he's bored.
5. I'm torn on this one. I don't know if the person speaking has gone to a kids' movie expecting peace and quiet, or if the masochistic mother has taken her children to see a romantic comedy. If the former, why would you do that?? If the latter, why would you do that??
6. I laughed until tears ran down my face at this one. That's like saying, "When I buy a house, none of the light bulbs will ever need to be replaced."
Kids are not dogs. You can't coerce them into behaving the way you want them to with Snausages. They are people, with ideas and personalities and minds of their own. I wish you good providence in your endeavors as a parent. (Insert maniacal laughter here.)
7. And, this is why we practice good oral hygiene in our house. Everything in moderation, folks.
8. Hm. You seem pretty upset that he's pretty upset. Should you just go home? He'll forget what he's upset about and calm down in about 90 seconds. Will you?
9. I've never had anyone ask me if they could give my kids candy because they were sad. I have, however, had the bakers at Publix and Fresh Market yell out, "Hey, can they have a free cookie?" Uh, sure. It's almost lunch time, but I didn't want them to have anything healthy, anyway. Go ahead, because now that they've heard you, I will never hear the end of it until they get their free cookie.
10 & 11. Don't. Just don't. For this one, like many of the others, let's just assume that I know my children better than you do, because they're mine. I know you mean well, and I appreciate it, but you're saying this because you have no idea that my Buddy is very warm natured and if I put a jacket on him right now, the process will go like this: 1. He will begin to complain that he's too hot. 2. He will make a desperate attempt to take off the jacket, with or without unzipping it. 3. He will be red-faced and sweating buckets. Please just assume that I know my kids well enough to know whether or not they are comfortable, unless it's snowing and they're wearing tank tops and flip flops. Thanks.
12. Probably. Are you offering to babysit? I'll pay you with cookies.
13. Again, I'm torn on this one. If you say this when my kids are mad because I poured their milk into the yellow cup after they asked for the yellow cup and then changed their minds, go for it. Hug all you want. If you say this while I'm trying to discipline my kids, may God have mercy on your soul.
14. So...what? Yes, I chose to be a parent. Now, I'm going to choose to admit that it's hard.
15. Tony Danza. Also, see #6.
16. Maybe, but how do you know that child doesn't have developmental delays? Be kind, please.
17. Funny. I never gave anyone time to say that to me. But, my mom could give you an earful about it, I'm sure.
18. Absolutely! Why don't you bring your lunch and sit on the public toilet and eat it, too? No? I can't imagine why...
19. That's between the parent, the kid, and the pediatrician or dentist.
20. No. I'm saying this as both a dog lover and a mom. I spent some wonderful years with my dog, and I know how it feels to truly love a dog, and a cat, for that matter. Dogs are our first lessons in unconditional love. But, no. It is not the same. Until you have either carried your child in your body or brought your chosen-in-love child home, maybe it's hard to fully understand. But, it's not the same.
We're all on this journey together, y'all. Be kind. Our ultimate goal is the same. We all want to raise kids who love and are loved. Your kids are not my kids. My kids are not your kids. Our homes are not the same. Let's just arrive at our destination the way that's best for our own families, without judgment. And, even if you think you know better than that mom who is doing it totally wrong because you read it in a magazine or your friend's cousin's next-door neighbor's aunt's chiropractor said that kids shouldn't eat that, keep it to yourself. It makes it hard to enjoy the itty-bitty years when your parenting methods are being critiqued. And, the itty-bitty years are only here for a minute.
Peace, Love, and Cheerios.
October 28, 2014
Clumsy, or Normal?
You've seen Goo, right? The final installment of the Head trifecta? The baby who was wearing 18 month clothes at 7.5 months old? My child who is now nine months old and wears 2T-3T socks? The one who wears the same Alabama jersey his big brother wore two years ago, but looks like he should actually be playing football in it?
I love that kid.
I think he might be a little clumsy, though.
If you've seen him, you have doubtless seen him with a bruise on his head or a scratch on his face. Ever since he started crawling, he has been in a much better mood. However, he smacks right into stuff. Today, it was the TV stand. And the table leg. And his bedroom door. Last week, he had a big ol' goose egg on his forehead from crawling directly into Sweet Pea's bedpost. I spend a good portion of each day consoling him after he has crawled himself into an injury.
Now, he is much faster and more mobile than either of my other two, who have mostly been content to play a game or to occupy a lap and read. So, that leaves me wondering if this perceived clumsiness is actually a normal part of the active infant's life, and I just don't know about it because my first and second children were so calm and relatively quiet. I know that's the case with the sleep thing. Sweet Pea and Buddy sleep like champs and always have. Not Goo. He's getting better, though.
He is just so different from his brother and sister. If you roll a ball for him, he crawls at lightning speed to retrieve it and giggles with sheer delight. So, I'm thinking he might be athletically inclined. Great.
People always look at him and say, "Look how big he is! He's going to be a snerginflergin!" (That's what I hear when you use football words. Every time DWH watches ESPN and I hear someone say, "Nickelback," I'm terrified that I'm going to have to suffer through "How You Remind Me.")
That's great if he likes the whole sports thing, but if this continues, I'm a little nervous about letting him play.
But, this is normal, right? It's a normal part of being a nine month old with lot of energy and I shouldn't worry that he has depth perception issues. Right? RIGHT??
I love that kid.
I think he might be a little clumsy, though.
If you've seen him, you have doubtless seen him with a bruise on his head or a scratch on his face. Ever since he started crawling, he has been in a much better mood. However, he smacks right into stuff. Today, it was the TV stand. And the table leg. And his bedroom door. Last week, he had a big ol' goose egg on his forehead from crawling directly into Sweet Pea's bedpost. I spend a good portion of each day consoling him after he has crawled himself into an injury.
Now, he is much faster and more mobile than either of my other two, who have mostly been content to play a game or to occupy a lap and read. So, that leaves me wondering if this perceived clumsiness is actually a normal part of the active infant's life, and I just don't know about it because my first and second children were so calm and relatively quiet. I know that's the case with the sleep thing. Sweet Pea and Buddy sleep like champs and always have. Not Goo. He's getting better, though.
He is just so different from his brother and sister. If you roll a ball for him, he crawls at lightning speed to retrieve it and giggles with sheer delight. So, I'm thinking he might be athletically inclined. Great.
People always look at him and say, "Look how big he is! He's going to be a snerginflergin!" (That's what I hear when you use football words. Every time DWH watches ESPN and I hear someone say, "Nickelback," I'm terrified that I'm going to have to suffer through "How You Remind Me.")
That's great if he likes the whole sports thing, but if this continues, I'm a little nervous about letting him play.
But, this is normal, right? It's a normal part of being a nine month old with lot of energy and I shouldn't worry that he has depth perception issues. Right? RIGHT??
October 3, 2014
And, the Difference Is...?
Recently, I read a blog post that was written by a young wife and mom whose husband asked her to stop wearing yoga pants everywhere. At first, I was appalled that her husband would take it upon himself to make his wife's fashion choices for her and worse, that she would allow it to happen.
But, the more I read, the more I saw that he actually had a valid point and was glad that the wife chose to look in the mirror and see what he was saying. In fact, I had caught myself thinking along the same lines, although my reasoning is a little different.
As a husband, and apparently a very pious one, he was concerned about his wife wearing clothes that are tighter than her own skin, especially when men are around, because it was making men have lustful thoughts about her, thereby forcing them to commit adultery in their hearts. That kind of thinking suggests that anyone with a Y chromosome should be released from the burden of personal responsibility, and also lends itself to the oh-so-popular American cultural assertion that all men are too dim-witted to control themselves.
Here's my thing:
You're walking around Target with your children in the cart, wearing your yoga pants and your monogrammed, chevron-patterned tank top that shows your bra and probably a little side boob. You hair is in a perfectly positioned pony tail, and you are wearing your pristine, multi-colored tennis shoes. Don't look at me like that. I just described 90% of the women in Target and at the park.
Guess what?
I can see every single nook and cranny God gave you. All of it. You are leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. And, based on my knowing several of you, I'm going to venture a guess that you are a champion of the "modesty movement" and monitor every article of smocked clothing your little girl wears below that giant bow.
You may also be the type who wonders why, on the football games that come on Sunday, the cheerleaders are essentially wearing nothing but sequined bras and panties. Or, maybe that's just me. At any rate, I can see yours. Bras and panties, that is.
I'm not just picking on yoga pants, though. I can imagine that if your babysitter showed up wearing this:
You would ask her, politely, to go home and change clothes, and then come back when she was dressed appropriately to be with young children. And yet, if you change the fabric and add a Nike symbol so that it looks as if you've just come from working out, it's entirely appropriate for a suburban mom to wear to the grocery store.
Why? What's the difference? You're still showing just as much skin and wearing shorts that are just as tight with that tank top and sports bra.
Julia Roberts had on more clothes than that in the first thirty minutes of Pretty Woman.
Let's have a little fun and show my age for a second. Twenty years ago, if I had tried to leave my house wearing "workout shorts" that showed most of my leg and probably some of my underwear, or pants as tight as the yoga pants that moms wear today, I would have been swiftly sent back to my room and told that I forgot some of my clothes.
I'm not kidding, ladies, you can see everything.
Why is it that if those skin tight pants were sold at Hot Topic and came in zebra print, you would accuse the wearer of looking slutty and trying too hard to get attention for her body, but when those same pants are purchased at Academy Sports in basic black, they're fine because they're "yoga pants?"
If your argument is that the other woman is trying to entice men by dressing that way, let me ask you something. What is it that you think entices them? Isn't it the fact that they're skin tight and show off all her body parts?
Um...
I know that not everyone notices things like this and I'm sure it doesn't bother everyone the way it bothers me. But, I am the queen of pet peeves, right?
I guess my problem isn't really that I can see all your body parts while I'm shopping for toothpaste, but more that I hope you're not telling your little girl to keep herself covered when you're not doing it yourself. Or, that you won't be shocked when she wants to wear next to nothing when she goes to middle school. She's just following your example, right?
OK, one last thing, and it has nothing to do with revealing clothes and everything to do with my own quirkiness.
I have chosen to make being a stay-at-home mom my career for a few years, while my kiddos are itty bitty. Did you see what I called it? My career.
If I were going to a paying job every day, I would be showered and dressed in real clothes. Why is that? Because my job is important to me, so I should look like I care about what I'm doing and that I'm putting my absolute best into every aspect of it.
If Dad wears nice clothes every day because what he's doing is important and meaningful and he needs to be at his best in order to do his job, what does it say about my job if all I do throw on some yoga pants and a ratty old t-shirt without so much as a quick shower?
I do understand that I'm a morning person and that it's harder for some to get that done than it is for me. Again, it's my own issue inside my own head, but I thought it might be a little food for thought.
But, the more I read, the more I saw that he actually had a valid point and was glad that the wife chose to look in the mirror and see what he was saying. In fact, I had caught myself thinking along the same lines, although my reasoning is a little different.
As a husband, and apparently a very pious one, he was concerned about his wife wearing clothes that are tighter than her own skin, especially when men are around, because it was making men have lustful thoughts about her, thereby forcing them to commit adultery in their hearts. That kind of thinking suggests that anyone with a Y chromosome should be released from the burden of personal responsibility, and also lends itself to the oh-so-popular American cultural assertion that all men are too dim-witted to control themselves.
Here's my thing:
You're walking around Target with your children in the cart, wearing your yoga pants and your monogrammed, chevron-patterned tank top that shows your bra and probably a little side boob. You hair is in a perfectly positioned pony tail, and you are wearing your pristine, multi-colored tennis shoes. Don't look at me like that. I just described 90% of the women in Target and at the park.
Guess what?
I can see every single nook and cranny God gave you. All of it. You are leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. And, based on my knowing several of you, I'm going to venture a guess that you are a champion of the "modesty movement" and monitor every article of smocked clothing your little girl wears below that giant bow.
You may also be the type who wonders why, on the football games that come on Sunday, the cheerleaders are essentially wearing nothing but sequined bras and panties. Or, maybe that's just me. At any rate, I can see yours. Bras and panties, that is.
I'm not just picking on yoga pants, though. I can imagine that if your babysitter showed up wearing this:
You would ask her, politely, to go home and change clothes, and then come back when she was dressed appropriately to be with young children. And yet, if you change the fabric and add a Nike symbol so that it looks as if you've just come from working out, it's entirely appropriate for a suburban mom to wear to the grocery store.
Why? What's the difference? You're still showing just as much skin and wearing shorts that are just as tight with that tank top and sports bra.
Julia Roberts had on more clothes than that in the first thirty minutes of Pretty Woman.
Let's have a little fun and show my age for a second. Twenty years ago, if I had tried to leave my house wearing "workout shorts" that showed most of my leg and probably some of my underwear, or pants as tight as the yoga pants that moms wear today, I would have been swiftly sent back to my room and told that I forgot some of my clothes.
I'm not kidding, ladies, you can see everything.
Why is it that if those skin tight pants were sold at Hot Topic and came in zebra print, you would accuse the wearer of looking slutty and trying too hard to get attention for her body, but when those same pants are purchased at Academy Sports in basic black, they're fine because they're "yoga pants?"
If your argument is that the other woman is trying to entice men by dressing that way, let me ask you something. What is it that you think entices them? Isn't it the fact that they're skin tight and show off all her body parts?
Um...
I know that not everyone notices things like this and I'm sure it doesn't bother everyone the way it bothers me. But, I am the queen of pet peeves, right?
I guess my problem isn't really that I can see all your body parts while I'm shopping for toothpaste, but more that I hope you're not telling your little girl to keep herself covered when you're not doing it yourself. Or, that you won't be shocked when she wants to wear next to nothing when she goes to middle school. She's just following your example, right?
OK, one last thing, and it has nothing to do with revealing clothes and everything to do with my own quirkiness.
I have chosen to make being a stay-at-home mom my career for a few years, while my kiddos are itty bitty. Did you see what I called it? My career.
If I were going to a paying job every day, I would be showered and dressed in real clothes. Why is that? Because my job is important to me, so I should look like I care about what I'm doing and that I'm putting my absolute best into every aspect of it.
If Dad wears nice clothes every day because what he's doing is important and meaningful and he needs to be at his best in order to do his job, what does it say about my job if all I do throw on some yoga pants and a ratty old t-shirt without so much as a quick shower?
I do understand that I'm a morning person and that it's harder for some to get that done than it is for me. Again, it's my own issue inside my own head, but I thought it might be a little food for thought.
September 21, 2014
Finally!
My Crock Pot has been returned to me, safe and sound. I can't say that much for my bread bowl, but the casualties of the move were few, and we are all together again in a home that does not require a plastic card to open the front door.
This weekend, we attended our first traditional Winston-Salem annual event as a family. We went to Apple Fest, which is a nerd's paradise if I ever saw one. Therefore, we fit in perfectly and had a great time! We bought apple butter, drank apple cider, smelled apple pastries being baked, and watched a woman in Colonial-style garb bake an apple pie in a Dutch oven over an open fire. We saw people party like it was 1799. Sweet Pea, of course, wanted to sample every morsel of apple-y goodness we saw. Buddy wanted to climb rocks. Then, he didn't. He wanted to make a craft. Then, he didn't. He thought he might want to sample some honey. Then, he didn't. But, if you know our Little Buddy, you know that he is always easy going and happy to be wherever he is. Goo fell asleep, because that's what you do when you're eight months old and your parents drag you to their dorky festivals.
I assume DWH would have preferred to spend the entire day watching football, but he was a great sport and I'm pretty sure he had a good time, too.
So, who wants to be the first to come visit us and get dragged to stuff like this? We're taking volunteers!
This weekend, we attended our first traditional Winston-Salem annual event as a family. We went to Apple Fest, which is a nerd's paradise if I ever saw one. Therefore, we fit in perfectly and had a great time! We bought apple butter, drank apple cider, smelled apple pastries being baked, and watched a woman in Colonial-style garb bake an apple pie in a Dutch oven over an open fire. We saw people party like it was 1799. Sweet Pea, of course, wanted to sample every morsel of apple-y goodness we saw. Buddy wanted to climb rocks. Then, he didn't. He wanted to make a craft. Then, he didn't. He thought he might want to sample some honey. Then, he didn't. But, if you know our Little Buddy, you know that he is always easy going and happy to be wherever he is. Goo fell asleep, because that's what you do when you're eight months old and your parents drag you to their dorky festivals.
I assume DWH would have preferred to spend the entire day watching football, but he was a great sport and I'm pretty sure he had a good time, too.
So, who wants to be the first to come visit us and get dragged to stuff like this? We're taking volunteers!
September 10, 2014
We're Here!
We have, as of last Sunday, arrived in Winston-Salem. I guess we're not really official since we still have Alabama driver's licenses and car tags, but we have a new address, a new preschool, a new grocery store, and have begun the process of church shopping. The people here are incredibly friendly, and the weather has been nice.
As for that new address, it sure will be great when we can live there. Now, if you're a mom with more than one child or any children who are not potty trained and/or cannot feed themselves, you might want to sit down for this one. We have been in a hotel room with three children under the age of five for nine days, and will be here for six more days. The moving truck has other places to go before bringing our belongings to their rightful owners, so here we are, crashing at the ol' Residence Inn. Yes, we have two bedrooms, but have you heard the way that little one can howl?? Plus, I miss my Crock Pot. Taco soup...mmmmm.
While the current accommodations are not exactly ideal for a territorial control freak - I am, of course, referring to the children, certainly not myself - this isn't forever and we will be back in the land of three bedrooms (with doors!), sleeping in our own beds, on sheets that only have our cooties, in six short days.
Next week at this time, hopefully, I will be watching this odd little PBS cooking show on our very own TV that was made around the same year America learned the ZIP code for Beverly Hills. No more of this fancy high definition stuff for us! No, sir! OK, I might miss having a TV that's easy for my antique eyes to see. But, that's it.
The youngest of my brood just announced to the entire hotel that his nap is over. That was a peaceful twenty minutes. Back to the salt mines...
As for that new address, it sure will be great when we can live there. Now, if you're a mom with more than one child or any children who are not potty trained and/or cannot feed themselves, you might want to sit down for this one. We have been in a hotel room with three children under the age of five for nine days, and will be here for six more days. The moving truck has other places to go before bringing our belongings to their rightful owners, so here we are, crashing at the ol' Residence Inn. Yes, we have two bedrooms, but have you heard the way that little one can howl?? Plus, I miss my Crock Pot. Taco soup...mmmmm.
While the current accommodations are not exactly ideal for a territorial control freak - I am, of course, referring to the children, certainly not myself - this isn't forever and we will be back in the land of three bedrooms (with doors!), sleeping in our own beds, on sheets that only have our cooties, in six short days.
Next week at this time, hopefully, I will be watching this odd little PBS cooking show on our very own TV that was made around the same year America learned the ZIP code for Beverly Hills. No more of this fancy high definition stuff for us! No, sir! OK, I might miss having a TV that's easy for my antique eyes to see. But, that's it.
The youngest of my brood just announced to the entire hotel that his nap is over. That was a peaceful twenty minutes. Back to the salt mines...
August 27, 2014
On the Road Again
I don't think I'll apologize for neglecting this blog for more than a month this time. We've had a lot going on. Also, I have three children and preschool isn't in session during the summer. I'm surprised I have time to breathe, let alone blog.
First, I want to thank all of you who have prayed with us and for us during these months that DWH has been out of work. Your prayers and love have meant more to us than you will ever know.
Second, I would like to congratulate my favorite hubby on his new job! He has worked tirelessly, searching for the right job for himself and for our family, and his efforts have finally paid off.
So, it is with much excitement, along with my trademark hand-wringing and a few hives, that I am officially announcing that the Heads are once again on the move.
We are headed to Winston-Salem, NC!
It all happened very quickly, but we are excited and can't wait to settle in to our new home...as soon as we find one. :)
The area is not altogether unfamiliar, as DWH lived there for two years while attending Wake Forest, and I made the trip from Atlanta to Winston-Salem for weekend visits on several occasions during those two years.
Now, all that's left to do is pack up the minivan so that the kids and I can join DWH on our new journey, and to thank God for merciful provision.
"On the road again.
Just can't wait to get on the road again..."
First, I want to thank all of you who have prayed with us and for us during these months that DWH has been out of work. Your prayers and love have meant more to us than you will ever know.
Second, I would like to congratulate my favorite hubby on his new job! He has worked tirelessly, searching for the right job for himself and for our family, and his efforts have finally paid off.
So, it is with much excitement, along with my trademark hand-wringing and a few hives, that I am officially announcing that the Heads are once again on the move.
We are headed to Winston-Salem, NC!
It all happened very quickly, but we are excited and can't wait to settle in to our new home...as soon as we find one. :)
The area is not altogether unfamiliar, as DWH lived there for two years while attending Wake Forest, and I made the trip from Atlanta to Winston-Salem for weekend visits on several occasions during those two years.
Now, all that's left to do is pack up the minivan so that the kids and I can join DWH on our new journey, and to thank God for merciful provision.
"On the road again.
Just can't wait to get on the road again..."
July 16, 2014
Sorry
Once again, I have let my blogging duties fall to the wayside. Sorry.
I still have stuff inside my head, but I also have a baby who would rather scream his face off because he's tired than actually take a nap and do something about it.
I've never had one of those before, and I find it rather bothersome and somewhat debilitating, since the only thing I can do to calm him is rock him, and that becomes an all-day affair when he refuses to solve his sleepiness problem with sleep. I hope this isn't a trait that is going to follow him through childhood. I don't have much patience for it.
I hope to have a longer post for you soon, but in the mean time, have you seen that dadburn paci lying around anywhere?
Rock. Rock. Rock. Rock. Rock...
I still have stuff inside my head, but I also have a baby who would rather scream his face off because he's tired than actually take a nap and do something about it.
I've never had one of those before, and I find it rather bothersome and somewhat debilitating, since the only thing I can do to calm him is rock him, and that becomes an all-day affair when he refuses to solve his sleepiness problem with sleep. I hope this isn't a trait that is going to follow him through childhood. I don't have much patience for it.
I hope to have a longer post for you soon, but in the mean time, have you seen that dadburn paci lying around anywhere?
Rock. Rock. Rock. Rock. Rock...
June 30, 2014
Diary of a Curmudgeon
It's probably no secret to you that I'm no fun. At least, I'm not the loud, boisterous, crowd-loving, outdoor activity enjoying, up-all-night-sleep-all-day kind of fun that our culture tends to value. And, I'm not sorry. Sometimes, I tend to be a bit too cautious. And territorial. And controlling. And set in my ways, also known as, "correctly."
I don't know what I'm going to do when the kids get involved in extra-curricular activities that require me to act cheerful and pretend I'm having a good time for their sakes. I'm still hoping that they'll all be into the arts and I can enjoy their activities in earnest.
Given the new kid's energy level and preference for watching grown men knock each other down to get a ball, I think I'll have better providence with the other two.
Anyway, four days from now, we will celebrate our fine country's independence and I will become Grouchy Smurf.
There will be fireworks. I hate fireworks.
There will be potato salad and baked beans. I hate potato salad and baked beans.
Everyone will be dressed in red, white, and blue. I hate dressing like everyone else.
It will be hot. I hate hot.
We will sweat. I hate sweat.
There will be barbecue. I could eat my weight in barbecue. (For my yankee and Canadian friends, that's smoked pork with heavenly sauce on it, not hot dogs on a grill.)
Oh, please understand that I love my country and am very thankful to have this day to celebrate. I just don't understand why we have to set ourselves on fire and terrify children and dogs until the wee hours of the morning to celebrate it.
Mayonnaise does not belong on potatoes, and pinto beans should not be sweet. Ick!
And, at the tender age of 37.5, I am at least 40 years too young to wear the ladies' required uniform of a blue denim shirt with American flag appliques, and denim capris that are a completely different color of blue.
No one should be forced to sweat. Ever. It's cruel. It's disgusting.
Don't fret. I will have fun. After we go eat some barbecue (again, pork covered in yummy stuff. Not burgers on a grill), I plan to watch the Nathan's hot dog eating contest. Then, I will eat my veggie dogs and my salad while DWH has his chili dogs and baked beans.
After that, I will spend the rest of the night trying to get my children to go back to sleep and explaining that the noise is just fireworks and it can't get them.
Oh, and, Hey kids! Get off my lawn!
I don't know what I'm going to do when the kids get involved in extra-curricular activities that require me to act cheerful and pretend I'm having a good time for their sakes. I'm still hoping that they'll all be into the arts and I can enjoy their activities in earnest.
Given the new kid's energy level and preference for watching grown men knock each other down to get a ball, I think I'll have better providence with the other two.
Anyway, four days from now, we will celebrate our fine country's independence and I will become Grouchy Smurf.
There will be fireworks. I hate fireworks.
There will be potato salad and baked beans. I hate potato salad and baked beans.
Everyone will be dressed in red, white, and blue. I hate dressing like everyone else.
It will be hot. I hate hot.
We will sweat. I hate sweat.
There will be barbecue. I could eat my weight in barbecue. (For my yankee and Canadian friends, that's smoked pork with heavenly sauce on it, not hot dogs on a grill.)
Oh, please understand that I love my country and am very thankful to have this day to celebrate. I just don't understand why we have to set ourselves on fire and terrify children and dogs until the wee hours of the morning to celebrate it.
Mayonnaise does not belong on potatoes, and pinto beans should not be sweet. Ick!
And, at the tender age of 37.5, I am at least 40 years too young to wear the ladies' required uniform of a blue denim shirt with American flag appliques, and denim capris that are a completely different color of blue.
No one should be forced to sweat. Ever. It's cruel. It's disgusting.
Don't fret. I will have fun. After we go eat some barbecue (again, pork covered in yummy stuff. Not burgers on a grill), I plan to watch the Nathan's hot dog eating contest. Then, I will eat my veggie dogs and my salad while DWH has his chili dogs and baked beans.
After that, I will spend the rest of the night trying to get my children to go back to sleep and explaining that the noise is just fireworks and it can't get them.
Oh, and, Hey kids! Get off my lawn!
June 19, 2014
Tie a String Around My Finger, Part 2
There's a movie, and I'm sorry but I don't remember the title, in which Sarah Jessica Parker's character says something to the effect of this: If you want to know how it feels to be a superhero, all you need is to be the mom of a two-year-old boy.
I could not have said it better myself.
And, I might need reminders one day that, when he was two, my Little Buddy was my best little buddy in the whole wide world.
I will want to remember the sweet way he flashed his gap-toothed grin whenever he laid eyes on his mom. I'm going to smile when I remember the time we ate lunch at McAlister's and he spilled some applesauce on my arm, and immediately grabbed a napkin so he could clean off my arm for me. I will remember how he warmed my heart every time he would hug me from behind when I sat on the floor, the way he saw his Daddy hug me in the kitchen.
I want to have a picture in my mind of the sweetest boy in the world, hauling around his blue pillow with the whale on it with one hand, while sucking the middle two fingers on the other.
When he gets older and his voice deepens, I want a clear auditory memory of his toddler voice, calling his sister, his hero, to come and play with him. I'd like to remember how he loved dinosaurs, rocket ships, and robots (is there a future scientist in our midst??) and how he switched loyalties from Batman to Spiderman in an instant. I hope I can always hear him saying, " 'Ook, Mom! It's Dark Bader!"
What a wonderfully thoughtful, intelligent, loving little boy.
He, too, will someday want to borrow the car and will eventually drive it away. But, right now, in 2014, when my Little Buddy is two, I get to be his SuperMom.
Who could ask for anything more?
I could not have said it better myself.
And, I might need reminders one day that, when he was two, my Little Buddy was my best little buddy in the whole wide world.
I will want to remember the sweet way he flashed his gap-toothed grin whenever he laid eyes on his mom. I'm going to smile when I remember the time we ate lunch at McAlister's and he spilled some applesauce on my arm, and immediately grabbed a napkin so he could clean off my arm for me. I will remember how he warmed my heart every time he would hug me from behind when I sat on the floor, the way he saw his Daddy hug me in the kitchen.
I want to have a picture in my mind of the sweetest boy in the world, hauling around his blue pillow with the whale on it with one hand, while sucking the middle two fingers on the other.
When he gets older and his voice deepens, I want a clear auditory memory of his toddler voice, calling his sister, his hero, to come and play with him. I'd like to remember how he loved dinosaurs, rocket ships, and robots (is there a future scientist in our midst??) and how he switched loyalties from Batman to Spiderman in an instant. I hope I can always hear him saying, " 'Ook, Mom! It's Dark Bader!"
What a wonderfully thoughtful, intelligent, loving little boy.
He, too, will someday want to borrow the car and will eventually drive it away. But, right now, in 2014, when my Little Buddy is two, I get to be his SuperMom.
Who could ask for anything more?
June 5, 2014
Tie a String Around My Finger
This is a reminder to myself that once upon a time, when Sweet Pea was four, she called her bathing suit her "baby soup," and I didn't correct her because I thought it was adorable.
This is a reminder that she did her best to irritate her daddy by pretending to be an Auburn fan, and that she was the greatest source of entertainment for her baby brother.
This will also remind me that when my girl was four, she loved her two-year-old brother more than anyone else in the world.
And she actually wanted to go to the dentist because she was afraid of having green teeth like in the movie she saw at preschool and she loved grilled cheese but didn't like cheese and she named her dolphin bath toy Junie B. Jones.
Because, in December, she will be five and she's just going to keep on going to six and seven, and way beyond that. She's going to go to prom before I know it and she won't call her bathing suit her "baby soup" anymore.
So, I want to remember how cute it was in 2014, when she was four and wanted to put on her baby soup and go to the pool, where she would wear her swimmies like Peppa Pig and then use her Minnie Mouse towel to dry off.
So, this post is a string around my finger so I'll remember all of that when I'm old.
Next, I want to tie a string around a finger for my Little Buddy, who's two right now, but will be three before I have time to blink and then...
This is a reminder that she did her best to irritate her daddy by pretending to be an Auburn fan, and that she was the greatest source of entertainment for her baby brother.
This will also remind me that when my girl was four, she loved her two-year-old brother more than anyone else in the world.
And she actually wanted to go to the dentist because she was afraid of having green teeth like in the movie she saw at preschool and she loved grilled cheese but didn't like cheese and she named her dolphin bath toy Junie B. Jones.
Because, in December, she will be five and she's just going to keep on going to six and seven, and way beyond that. She's going to go to prom before I know it and she won't call her bathing suit her "baby soup" anymore.
So, I want to remember how cute it was in 2014, when she was four and wanted to put on her baby soup and go to the pool, where she would wear her swimmies like Peppa Pig and then use her Minnie Mouse towel to dry off.
So, this post is a string around my finger so I'll remember all of that when I'm old.
Next, I want to tie a string around a finger for my Little Buddy, who's two right now, but will be three before I have time to blink and then...
May 22, 2014
It's Not Supposed To Happen This Early
It's just NOT!
I just had the most heartbreaking conversation with my four-year-old Sweet Pea in the car.
We were stopped at a red light, talking about her day and Buddy's day, just like every other time I have picked them up from school this year. I noticed that both kids seemed really tired, which I assumed was due to the number of last-day-of-school activities. In Buddy's case, that was true and maybe that was part of it for Sweet Pea, too.
Then, she said something I hoped I would never hear her say.
"Mommy, Ava is better than me."
Huh?? Where in the world would she get an idea like that? So, I asked her what she meant and she proceeded to fill me in on how pretty Ava is, and how everyone likes her because she has so many dolls and toys and such pretty clothes. "Her clothes are a lot prettier than mine, Mommy, and she has a lot more bows than I do."
She went on to say that Ava brought presents for Mrs. Pam and Mrs. Pam's new grandson (these were actually gifts from the whole class, but I guess that's not easy for a four-year-old to grasp), and that Ava got brand new gold shoes and she even has an Elsa doll. But, I think the part that bothered me the most was when she told me that she doesn't like her own face and she wants to look like Ava.
"I just want to be Ava!"
She is four. FOUR! It's not supposed to happen now! I know it happens and that self-esteem plummets when girls hit middle school, but we have been giving her the Aibileen Cooper pep talk for four years now, trying to postpone that as long as possible. She IS kind. She IS smart. She IS important. She is also polite, funny, affectionate, beautiful, and the best big sister her brothers could ever hope to have. I don't think she has gone to bed without hearing how wonderful she is in four years.
I want to know who told her she's supposed to look like or dress like someone else.Where did she get this mess??
Don't get me wrong, I have experienced the same thing. I, too, wanted to look like the other girls - the ones who were cutesy and petite (which I've never been), blond (which I've never been without paying for it), and had more cute outfits than they could count and name brand shoes and all that. I'd be lying if I said I didn't sometimes sit in my second grade classroom wishing I had a cascading mane of blond tresses adorned with one of those barrettes that had the ribbons woven around it. Remember those?
If you were born after 1982, probably not. I don't think my thick, mousy brown waves would have held one. And, then there was the perm. Oh, Lordy, the perm. Oops, sorry. Repressed memories are flooding back.
But, I was older. I wasn't FOUR.
At four years old, I'm pretty sure my self-esteem was still intact. I knew that I was smart and housed and clothed and fed and loved and that was all that mattered. My cousin was a petite blond, but I didn't want to BE her. I just wanted to share my Strawberry Shortcake doll with her. I didn't realize that I didn't look like the other girls until someone pointed it out.
I do not want that for her!! I want her to know how incredible she is and that there is no such thing as someone who is pretty or better than she is. I want her to know that she is fearfully and wonderfully made, that she is perfect just the way she is and that her hair and clothes and how many toys she has just DO NOT MATTER! It's all just stuff. It's crap. None of it will make any difference in the big picture.
I wish that, when I was an eight- or nine-year-old envying the other girls for their bird legs and Care Bear collections, someone had shown me a snapshot of myself in my thirties, with a husband who adores me, three fantastic kids, taking a brief hiatus from a career I love to hang out with them for a while, good friends, a wonderful church...need I go on? Maybe I still would have wanted to look like someone else, but maybe it would have helped to know that in the grand scheme of things, I was going to be happy whether I had Sam & Libby shoes or shoes from Payless.
Part of me wonders if this is my doing. Does she feel left out because I don't dress her in ruffles the size of lampshades and bows the size of her head every time she leaves the house, like all the little preppy preschoolers? I honestly don't want her to be someone who thinks the sky is going to fall if she doesn't have exactly what the perceived, "everyone" else has. I mean, she's a well-dressed child, but I want her to look like a four-year-old who's going to climb stuff and have fun, not a doll.
So, I said what I think, I hope, I was supposed to say. I told her all the things I love about her, and that God made her wonderful, exactly the way she is. I told her that only Ava can be Ava, and only Sweet Pea can be Sweet Pea. I told her how much I love her.
I hope she believed me.
It shouldn't happen at all. But, really, it's not supposed to happen this early.
:(
I just had the most heartbreaking conversation with my four-year-old Sweet Pea in the car.
We were stopped at a red light, talking about her day and Buddy's day, just like every other time I have picked them up from school this year. I noticed that both kids seemed really tired, which I assumed was due to the number of last-day-of-school activities. In Buddy's case, that was true and maybe that was part of it for Sweet Pea, too.
Then, she said something I hoped I would never hear her say.
"Mommy, Ava is better than me."
Huh?? Where in the world would she get an idea like that? So, I asked her what she meant and she proceeded to fill me in on how pretty Ava is, and how everyone likes her because she has so many dolls and toys and such pretty clothes. "Her clothes are a lot prettier than mine, Mommy, and she has a lot more bows than I do."
She went on to say that Ava brought presents for Mrs. Pam and Mrs. Pam's new grandson (these were actually gifts from the whole class, but I guess that's not easy for a four-year-old to grasp), and that Ava got brand new gold shoes and she even has an Elsa doll. But, I think the part that bothered me the most was when she told me that she doesn't like her own face and she wants to look like Ava.
"I just want to be Ava!"
She is four. FOUR! It's not supposed to happen now! I know it happens and that self-esteem plummets when girls hit middle school, but we have been giving her the Aibileen Cooper pep talk for four years now, trying to postpone that as long as possible. She IS kind. She IS smart. She IS important. She is also polite, funny, affectionate, beautiful, and the best big sister her brothers could ever hope to have. I don't think she has gone to bed without hearing how wonderful she is in four years.
I want to know who told her she's supposed to look like or dress like someone else.Where did she get this mess??
Don't get me wrong, I have experienced the same thing. I, too, wanted to look like the other girls - the ones who were cutesy and petite (which I've never been), blond (which I've never been without paying for it), and had more cute outfits than they could count and name brand shoes and all that. I'd be lying if I said I didn't sometimes sit in my second grade classroom wishing I had a cascading mane of blond tresses adorned with one of those barrettes that had the ribbons woven around it. Remember those?
If you were born after 1982, probably not. I don't think my thick, mousy brown waves would have held one. And, then there was the perm. Oh, Lordy, the perm. Oops, sorry. Repressed memories are flooding back.
But, I was older. I wasn't FOUR.
At four years old, I'm pretty sure my self-esteem was still intact. I knew that I was smart and housed and clothed and fed and loved and that was all that mattered. My cousin was a petite blond, but I didn't want to BE her. I just wanted to share my Strawberry Shortcake doll with her. I didn't realize that I didn't look like the other girls until someone pointed it out.
I do not want that for her!! I want her to know how incredible she is and that there is no such thing as someone who is pretty or better than she is. I want her to know that she is fearfully and wonderfully made, that she is perfect just the way she is and that her hair and clothes and how many toys she has just DO NOT MATTER! It's all just stuff. It's crap. None of it will make any difference in the big picture.
I wish that, when I was an eight- or nine-year-old envying the other girls for their bird legs and Care Bear collections, someone had shown me a snapshot of myself in my thirties, with a husband who adores me, three fantastic kids, taking a brief hiatus from a career I love to hang out with them for a while, good friends, a wonderful church...need I go on? Maybe I still would have wanted to look like someone else, but maybe it would have helped to know that in the grand scheme of things, I was going to be happy whether I had Sam & Libby shoes or shoes from Payless.
Part of me wonders if this is my doing. Does she feel left out because I don't dress her in ruffles the size of lampshades and bows the size of her head every time she leaves the house, like all the little preppy preschoolers? I honestly don't want her to be someone who thinks the sky is going to fall if she doesn't have exactly what the perceived, "everyone" else has. I mean, she's a well-dressed child, but I want her to look like a four-year-old who's going to climb stuff and have fun, not a doll.
So, I said what I think, I hope, I was supposed to say. I told her all the things I love about her, and that God made her wonderful, exactly the way she is. I told her that only Ava can be Ava, and only Sweet Pea can be Sweet Pea. I told her how much I love her.
I hope she believed me.
It shouldn't happen at all. But, really, it's not supposed to happen this early.
:(
May 12, 2014
I'm Sorry, Noah.
For the greater portion of my elementary school years, and in most of my middle- and high school classes, my name was not Heather.
No, it was Heather L.
And, I hated it.
Don't get me wrong, I like the name Heather. It's a perfectly fine name. I just didn't like being Heather L.
You see, in 1977, the year I graced the world with my presence, Heather was the fifth most popular name in the country. Therefore, I was hardly ever the only Heather in my class, and there were often at least three of us sitting in the same classroom, looking up every time someone said our first names, getting the wrong papers back, and confusing the teachers and other students.
My mother always asserted that she had no idea the name was so popular when she gave it to me, and I never believed her. How could she not know?? Didn't she pay attention to what other people were naming their babies when she was considering names for me??
Now, I believe her.
We deliberately gave our first two children names that were not even in the top 100 for that very reason. Classic names, yes, but not common among today's babies.
I'm sorry, Noah. I only know one other person with a little boy named Noah, and he's older than you. I had no idea that it was going to be the number ONE name in the country for baby boys last year. I just didn't know.
So, in a couple of years, when you become Noah H. and remain so for at least the next twelve years, you can put all the blame on your dad and me. We should have paid closer attention.
My bad.
No, it was Heather L.
And, I hated it.
Don't get me wrong, I like the name Heather. It's a perfectly fine name. I just didn't like being Heather L.
You see, in 1977, the year I graced the world with my presence, Heather was the fifth most popular name in the country. Therefore, I was hardly ever the only Heather in my class, and there were often at least three of us sitting in the same classroom, looking up every time someone said our first names, getting the wrong papers back, and confusing the teachers and other students.
My mother always asserted that she had no idea the name was so popular when she gave it to me, and I never believed her. How could she not know?? Didn't she pay attention to what other people were naming their babies when she was considering names for me??
Now, I believe her.
We deliberately gave our first two children names that were not even in the top 100 for that very reason. Classic names, yes, but not common among today's babies.
I'm sorry, Noah. I only know one other person with a little boy named Noah, and he's older than you. I had no idea that it was going to be the number ONE name in the country for baby boys last year. I just didn't know.
So, in a couple of years, when you become Noah H. and remain so for at least the next twelve years, you can put all the blame on your dad and me. We should have paid closer attention.
My bad.
May 2, 2014
Say What?
I always used to write about the cute ways Sweet Pea pronounced words, but I have been neglectful in recording those things for Buddy. Mom of the year, folks.
I hope you are as amused by these as we are.
"Mennerade": Lemonade. As in, "I have some mennerade wif my famwich? Peez, peez?"
"Yes, it doesn't": No.
"No, I am!": No.
"Yes, I not!": No.
"Mah-Win": Madeline
"Ollange": Orange
"El-woe": Yellow
"Squirrled": Scored
"Pillow": Could be pillow. Could be Pluto. Sometimes we have to clarify.
Speaking of pillows, he is as attached to his pillow as Sweet Pea is to her lovey. He carries it with him everywhere and chews on the corner. So, so sweet. I really just want to gobble him up.
"Grill": Girl. Now, this one has been confusing not only for us, but for Buddy himself. Hence, the following conversation -
Me: "Do you want to try a grilled cheese?"
Buddy: "No! I want a boy cheese!"
Which brings us to our final word, which is,
"Yuck!": Any food that is not a pb&j or fruit. Of these two, the child eats only enough to keep himself alive, no matter how much we try to encourage him to eat or to try new things. He even refused a marshmallow I tried to give him.
He has picky eaters on both sides of his family, but he also has people who are obsessed with food on both sides. And, of the picky eaters, trust me, we still love to eat.
So, that's what it's like to talk to our middle child. Our wonderfully sweet, affectionate, intelligent, rambunctious middle child.
Don't you just want to squeeze him?
I hope you are as amused by these as we are.
"Mennerade": Lemonade. As in, "I have some mennerade wif my famwich? Peez, peez?"
"Yes, it doesn't": No.
"No, I am!": No.
"Yes, I not!": No.
"Mah-Win": Madeline
"Ollange": Orange
"El-woe": Yellow
"Squirrled": Scored
"Pillow": Could be pillow. Could be Pluto. Sometimes we have to clarify.
Speaking of pillows, he is as attached to his pillow as Sweet Pea is to her lovey. He carries it with him everywhere and chews on the corner. So, so sweet. I really just want to gobble him up.
"Grill": Girl. Now, this one has been confusing not only for us, but for Buddy himself. Hence, the following conversation -
Me: "Do you want to try a grilled cheese?"
Buddy: "No! I want a boy cheese!"
Which brings us to our final word, which is,
"Yuck!": Any food that is not a pb&j or fruit. Of these two, the child eats only enough to keep himself alive, no matter how much we try to encourage him to eat or to try new things. He even refused a marshmallow I tried to give him.
He has picky eaters on both sides of his family, but he also has people who are obsessed with food on both sides. And, of the picky eaters, trust me, we still love to eat.
So, that's what it's like to talk to our middle child. Our wonderfully sweet, affectionate, intelligent, rambunctious middle child.
Don't you just want to squeeze him?
April 19, 2014
OK, I know.
It's been more than two months since I've written anything. That's not good, considering this is my baby book for all three kids, now.
Do you know how weird it sounds to say that I have three kids?
So, here's what's going on:
If you're not familiar with Frozen, I will be happy to have my children come to visit you at the rock under which you live, decked out in an Anna t-shirt because we can't find an Elsa one anywhere, singing "Let It Go," and arguing as to who gets to be Elsa and who gets to be Anna. Yes, even boys are into this princess movie, even those without big sisters, because Olaf and Kristoff are awesome, and they don't have to rescue any damsels in distress. All the women in this movie are perfectly capable of taking care of themselves, thank you very much. I won't lie to you, I love it as much as they do. It's based on Hans Christian Andersen's The Snow Queen, and it's just a really good story.
As far as the Head trio is concerned, Sweet Pea and Little Buddy are best friends and practically inseparable. Buddy had to go to a birthday party sans his big sister (she was sick), and DWH texted me to say that Buddy was lost without her. He just didn't seem to be having a good time and kept asking for her. he also made it through a pb&j, cake with red icing, and his drink without making a mess, then stained his entire outfit with a couple of jellybeans. Such is life with Buddy.
They have both teamed up to give their baby brother the nickname, "GooGoo ShooShoo." We don't know why. Just go with it.
Sweet Pea is hilarious and very bright. I'm amazed at her vocabulary, because I know I didn't know half the words she uses, quite correctly, at age four. Here's my thing with her: Her teacher, Ms. Pam, oh how we looooove Ms. Pam, always sends notes home and tells me how well Sweet Pea does with her letters, letter sounds, and recognition. Then, Sweet Pea comes home and we ask her to identify letters. Her response? "I dunno." Really, kiddo? Because I've heard you tell your teacher and I've seen the work she sends home. Little stinker. She looks like such a big girl now, and I don't know if I like it.
Buddy has to do everything his sister does, except try new foods, so he is getting pretty handy with the letters and numbers, too. And, if I didn't know those words and phrases when I was four, I certainly didn't know them at two and a half!
GooGoo ShooShoo (Gooey for short) is healthy, happy, and thriving. He is three months old today, and has met all his milestones. He smiles and giggles most of the day, but when he's hungry, you know. So does everyone else in the neighborhood. Oh, and he has to eat every three hours, no exceptions. You can set your clock by that baby's stomach.
So, that's it for now. Tomorrow is Easter, and I'll try to remember to post some pictures.
Peace and Blessings.
Do you know how weird it sounds to say that I have three kids?
So, here's what's going on:
If you're not familiar with Frozen, I will be happy to have my children come to visit you at the rock under which you live, decked out in an Anna t-shirt because we can't find an Elsa one anywhere, singing "Let It Go," and arguing as to who gets to be Elsa and who gets to be Anna. Yes, even boys are into this princess movie, even those without big sisters, because Olaf and Kristoff are awesome, and they don't have to rescue any damsels in distress. All the women in this movie are perfectly capable of taking care of themselves, thank you very much. I won't lie to you, I love it as much as they do. It's based on Hans Christian Andersen's The Snow Queen, and it's just a really good story.
As far as the Head trio is concerned, Sweet Pea and Little Buddy are best friends and practically inseparable. Buddy had to go to a birthday party sans his big sister (she was sick), and DWH texted me to say that Buddy was lost without her. He just didn't seem to be having a good time and kept asking for her. he also made it through a pb&j, cake with red icing, and his drink without making a mess, then stained his entire outfit with a couple of jellybeans. Such is life with Buddy.
They have both teamed up to give their baby brother the nickname, "GooGoo ShooShoo." We don't know why. Just go with it.
Sweet Pea is hilarious and very bright. I'm amazed at her vocabulary, because I know I didn't know half the words she uses, quite correctly, at age four. Here's my thing with her: Her teacher, Ms. Pam, oh how we looooove Ms. Pam, always sends notes home and tells me how well Sweet Pea does with her letters, letter sounds, and recognition. Then, Sweet Pea comes home and we ask her to identify letters. Her response? "I dunno." Really, kiddo? Because I've heard you tell your teacher and I've seen the work she sends home. Little stinker. She looks like such a big girl now, and I don't know if I like it.
Buddy has to do everything his sister does, except try new foods, so he is getting pretty handy with the letters and numbers, too. And, if I didn't know those words and phrases when I was four, I certainly didn't know them at two and a half!
GooGoo ShooShoo (Gooey for short) is healthy, happy, and thriving. He is three months old today, and has met all his milestones. He smiles and giggles most of the day, but when he's hungry, you know. So does everyone else in the neighborhood. Oh, and he has to eat every three hours, no exceptions. You can set your clock by that baby's stomach.
So, that's it for now. Tomorrow is Easter, and I'll try to remember to post some pictures.
Peace and Blessings.
February 11, 2014
Oh, Jack Frost
Dearest Winter,
I love you. I do. You bring sweaters, boots, hot chocolate, and cuddling under blankets. In other peoples' houses, you even bring a roaring blaze in the fireplace. Along with fall, you hold all the best holidays. Heck, this year, you even brought our beautiful Noah! As seasons go, my love for you very closely follows my adoration for autumn, and is only truly surpassed by my unparalleled loathing for summer.
But, I feel as if you need to be reminded that we live in the South. In Alabama, specifically. And, in Alabama, people tend to freak out when you actually show up. Oh, not everyone thinks your beautiful snow is a sure sign of the apocalypse. There are some yankee transplants here who welcome the bite in your air as much as I do. However, we're just not ready for you down here.
In Terms of Endearment (1983), Shirley McClain said, "Grown women are prepared for life's little emergencies." This quote obviously does not apply to Southern states run by grown men. We are not prepared for any kind of real snow, i.e. the kind that actually sticks to the ground, or ice, or sleet, or any other kind of winter weather that the rest of the country can handle just fine.
We close schools, businesses, roads, and anything else we can find to close. The world ceases to spin on its axis down here if there is so much as a threat of snow.
While there are many who enjoy the time off work, "snow days," if you will, there are those of us who have doctor appointments for our babies that we need to keep, children who actually enjoy going to their preschool and would like to attend, and lives that need to be lived, no matter what the season.
I know I'm asking a lot, but would you mind backing off just a little? You can stay, you can be as cold as you want, and even continue making my hair frizzy if you want. Just, if it's quite convenient, please leave the snow and ice with those who have the money and the forethought to prepare for them.
Many Thanks,
All My Love,
HH
I love you. I do. You bring sweaters, boots, hot chocolate, and cuddling under blankets. In other peoples' houses, you even bring a roaring blaze in the fireplace. Along with fall, you hold all the best holidays. Heck, this year, you even brought our beautiful Noah! As seasons go, my love for you very closely follows my adoration for autumn, and is only truly surpassed by my unparalleled loathing for summer.
But, I feel as if you need to be reminded that we live in the South. In Alabama, specifically. And, in Alabama, people tend to freak out when you actually show up. Oh, not everyone thinks your beautiful snow is a sure sign of the apocalypse. There are some yankee transplants here who welcome the bite in your air as much as I do. However, we're just not ready for you down here.
In Terms of Endearment (1983), Shirley McClain said, "Grown women are prepared for life's little emergencies." This quote obviously does not apply to Southern states run by grown men. We are not prepared for any kind of real snow, i.e. the kind that actually sticks to the ground, or ice, or sleet, or any other kind of winter weather that the rest of the country can handle just fine.
We close schools, businesses, roads, and anything else we can find to close. The world ceases to spin on its axis down here if there is so much as a threat of snow.
While there are many who enjoy the time off work, "snow days," if you will, there are those of us who have doctor appointments for our babies that we need to keep, children who actually enjoy going to their preschool and would like to attend, and lives that need to be lived, no matter what the season.
I know I'm asking a lot, but would you mind backing off just a little? You can stay, you can be as cold as you want, and even continue making my hair frizzy if you want. Just, if it's quite convenient, please leave the snow and ice with those who have the money and the forethought to prepare for them.
Many Thanks,
All My Love,
HH
January 28, 2014
Noah Has Arrived!
It's been a while since I updated anything here, but I was waiting for Noah to make his debut so that I could share it with you.
Then, I waited some more.
Then, we had to wait for him to come out of the NICU.
Then...but, I'm getting ahead of myself.
Noah William Head arrived on January 19, 2014 at 12:32 a.m., via emergency c section.
All day, I had been not-so-patiently wishing he would hurry up and show us his beautiful face. It was, after all, my due date, and I had never made it all the way to my due date with either of my other pregnancies. It was time, already!
At 11:30 that night, my water broke and I woke Dan to tell him the good news. I asked him to bring me my phone so I could call the doctor and then take a shower, get dressed, and make our way to the hospital to have this baby. I told the doctor on call that my water had broken, and he cheerfully said that he would see me at the hospital shortly.
I went into the bathroom and noticed that something just didn't feel right. Although I didn't know what it was called at the time, I had an umbilical cord prolapse. I don't want to go into all the details here, but here is a link, if you're curious about what exactly happens when the cord is born before the baby:
http://www.whattoexpect.com/pregnancy/pregnancy-health/complications/cord-prolapse.aspx
This wasn't a problem I had ever read about before, but of course, nothing is outside the realm of possibility, so I was alarmed, but not hysterical. I thought it might complicate the delivery a bit, but I had no idea how serious it was.
When we arrived at the hospital - and, no, I didn't take the time to shower and make myself look presentable - I told the nurse at the front desk that my water had broken and that I could see the cord. (She later told me she was amazed at how calm I was when I revealed the information about the cord) The next thing I knew, I was being wheeled on all fours into a room to get prepped for an emergency c section. I still was not really panicking because, again, neither Dan nor I had any sense of the gravity of the situation.
They put me to sleep and the next thing I knew, the doctor was in the recovery room, asking me if I was ready to see my miracle baby. We arrived at the hospital at 12:21. Noah was born at 12:32. According to the recovery room nurse, it is really something when a baby survives an umbilical cord prolapse, especially when it happens at home, and just a few more minutes could have had disastrous results. His APGAR score at birth was 1. Five minutes later, it was 6. Five minutes later, by the grace of our merciful God, it was 8.
http://kidshealth.org/parent/pregnancy_center/q_a/apgar.html# (If you're unfamiliar with APGAR, here you go)
Noah came into the world at 8 lbs, 13 oz and 20.5 inches long. He's certainly the biggest of the three! We're also guessing he might have been the biggest baby in the NICU, but I'm guessing they see a lot of preemies.
Thanks to God, the prayers of our friends and family, and the NICU staff at Brookwood, he thrived and came home after a week. It's as if there were never any complications at all. We will still need to keep an eye on him to be sure he meets all his milestones and continues to grow the way healthy little boys should, because he did lose some oxygen during the ordeal, and his carbon dioxide levels were very high at birth.
But, as for now, he is our perfect Noah, beloved by all who see his sweet face as hold his warm little body.
Thank you, everyone who prayed for us and everyone who has brought us meals and offered to help out. It's good to know we have people we can count on. :) I wish I could list all the people to whom we owe a debt of gratitude, but a list that long would take an awfully long time to make.
Lately, I have been so worried and, honestly, angry about a list of prayers I felt were bouncing off the ceiling like a rubber ball. But, what if Dan had found a job? What if his responsibilities hadn't allowed him to stay at the hospital, in the NICU with Noah and me? What if we had bought a house that's just the right size for our family, but it had been 10 minutes farther away from the hospital? What would have happened to Noah? Maybe our prayers aren't really going unanswered. Maybe God is just looking out for us in ways that we can't see. And, maybe that sounds too simple, but I have to believe in his providence, otherwise nothing makes sense.
I promise I'll post pictures when Blogger lets me.
"The Lord has done this, and it is marvelous in our eyes." Psalm 118:23
Then, I waited some more.
Then, we had to wait for him to come out of the NICU.
Then...but, I'm getting ahead of myself.
Noah William Head arrived on January 19, 2014 at 12:32 a.m., via emergency c section.
All day, I had been not-so-patiently wishing he would hurry up and show us his beautiful face. It was, after all, my due date, and I had never made it all the way to my due date with either of my other pregnancies. It was time, already!
At 11:30 that night, my water broke and I woke Dan to tell him the good news. I asked him to bring me my phone so I could call the doctor and then take a shower, get dressed, and make our way to the hospital to have this baby. I told the doctor on call that my water had broken, and he cheerfully said that he would see me at the hospital shortly.
I went into the bathroom and noticed that something just didn't feel right. Although I didn't know what it was called at the time, I had an umbilical cord prolapse. I don't want to go into all the details here, but here is a link, if you're curious about what exactly happens when the cord is born before the baby:
http://www.whattoexpect.com/pregnancy/pregnancy-health/complications/cord-prolapse.aspx
This wasn't a problem I had ever read about before, but of course, nothing is outside the realm of possibility, so I was alarmed, but not hysterical. I thought it might complicate the delivery a bit, but I had no idea how serious it was.
When we arrived at the hospital - and, no, I didn't take the time to shower and make myself look presentable - I told the nurse at the front desk that my water had broken and that I could see the cord. (She later told me she was amazed at how calm I was when I revealed the information about the cord) The next thing I knew, I was being wheeled on all fours into a room to get prepped for an emergency c section. I still was not really panicking because, again, neither Dan nor I had any sense of the gravity of the situation.
They put me to sleep and the next thing I knew, the doctor was in the recovery room, asking me if I was ready to see my miracle baby. We arrived at the hospital at 12:21. Noah was born at 12:32. According to the recovery room nurse, it is really something when a baby survives an umbilical cord prolapse, especially when it happens at home, and just a few more minutes could have had disastrous results. His APGAR score at birth was 1. Five minutes later, it was 6. Five minutes later, by the grace of our merciful God, it was 8.
http://kidshealth.org/parent/pregnancy_center/q_a/apgar.html# (If you're unfamiliar with APGAR, here you go)
Noah came into the world at 8 lbs, 13 oz and 20.5 inches long. He's certainly the biggest of the three! We're also guessing he might have been the biggest baby in the NICU, but I'm guessing they see a lot of preemies.
Thanks to God, the prayers of our friends and family, and the NICU staff at Brookwood, he thrived and came home after a week. It's as if there were never any complications at all. We will still need to keep an eye on him to be sure he meets all his milestones and continues to grow the way healthy little boys should, because he did lose some oxygen during the ordeal, and his carbon dioxide levels were very high at birth.
But, as for now, he is our perfect Noah, beloved by all who see his sweet face as hold his warm little body.
Thank you, everyone who prayed for us and everyone who has brought us meals and offered to help out. It's good to know we have people we can count on. :) I wish I could list all the people to whom we owe a debt of gratitude, but a list that long would take an awfully long time to make.
Lately, I have been so worried and, honestly, angry about a list of prayers I felt were bouncing off the ceiling like a rubber ball. But, what if Dan had found a job? What if his responsibilities hadn't allowed him to stay at the hospital, in the NICU with Noah and me? What if we had bought a house that's just the right size for our family, but it had been 10 minutes farther away from the hospital? What would have happened to Noah? Maybe our prayers aren't really going unanswered. Maybe God is just looking out for us in ways that we can't see. And, maybe that sounds too simple, but I have to believe in his providence, otherwise nothing makes sense.
I promise I'll post pictures when Blogger lets me.
"The Lord has done this, and it is marvelous in our eyes." Psalm 118:23
January 5, 2014
Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, I'm Ready To Have This Baby.
I didn't do a Christmas or New Year post. I'd love to be able to give you a philosophical, theological, or simply a practical reason for that. I don't have one. I just didn't do it.
So, I hope you all had a wonderful Christmas, as we did. New Year's Eve was uneventful, as you would expect from two introverts who have small children and are just two short weeks from having another one. But, it was peaceful and nice.
Now, the big event on our list is the 13 day countdown to Noah, who still has no middle name. Sweet Pea is incredibly excited and Little Buddy is starting to get a clue that something is going on. He says it's OK if Noah sleeps in his old crib, but he's drawing the line at sharing his toys.
As for DWH and me, we're just ready. READY!! There are still a few things we need to do around the house before the final volume in our trilogy is released to the world, but I want to hold this little guy and kiss his sweet face. And, I want him off my bladder.
We have a lot going on right now. There are so many unanswered questions, and if you know me, you know that unanswered questions do not sit well with me. But, still, they're there. When will the door open for DWH's new job? Where will it be? How are we going to squeeze three kids into a house that's already overflowing with kid stuff? What the heck is this kid's middle name going to be???
But, in the midst of all the unanswered questions, which, again, are torture for a worry wart like me, there are so, so many more blessings.
There will be another little Head here in several days and he is going to be just as awesome as his brother and sister. I had a moment this morning when I looked at my two babies and thought, they are so beautiful that I can't believe they're really mine.
Although "acts of service" is not my primary love language, it is so nice to have the best husband ever, who cleaned out the pantry last night after I went to bed without my even mentioning it, and goes out of his way to make sure I'm comfortable and rested in these last couple of weeks of pregnancy.
All the questions will be answered in this new year that God has created. That much, I know. I'm just looking forward to the blessings that lie ahead, and am trying to anticipate them with excitement instead of worry.
So, I hope you all had a wonderful Christmas, as we did. New Year's Eve was uneventful, as you would expect from two introverts who have small children and are just two short weeks from having another one. But, it was peaceful and nice.
Now, the big event on our list is the 13 day countdown to Noah, who still has no middle name. Sweet Pea is incredibly excited and Little Buddy is starting to get a clue that something is going on. He says it's OK if Noah sleeps in his old crib, but he's drawing the line at sharing his toys.
As for DWH and me, we're just ready. READY!! There are still a few things we need to do around the house before the final volume in our trilogy is released to the world, but I want to hold this little guy and kiss his sweet face. And, I want him off my bladder.
We have a lot going on right now. There are so many unanswered questions, and if you know me, you know that unanswered questions do not sit well with me. But, still, they're there. When will the door open for DWH's new job? Where will it be? How are we going to squeeze three kids into a house that's already overflowing with kid stuff? What the heck is this kid's middle name going to be???
But, in the midst of all the unanswered questions, which, again, are torture for a worry wart like me, there are so, so many more blessings.
There will be another little Head here in several days and he is going to be just as awesome as his brother and sister. I had a moment this morning when I looked at my two babies and thought, they are so beautiful that I can't believe they're really mine.
Although "acts of service" is not my primary love language, it is so nice to have the best husband ever, who cleaned out the pantry last night after I went to bed without my even mentioning it, and goes out of his way to make sure I'm comfortable and rested in these last couple of weeks of pregnancy.
All the questions will be answered in this new year that God has created. That much, I know. I'm just looking forward to the blessings that lie ahead, and am trying to anticipate them with excitement instead of worry.
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