tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-43338661893050048132024-03-13T17:06:00.888-07:00My Pregnancy and BeyondAn honest look into the roller coaster mind of me as I experience this phase called motherhood.Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08888432137418618656noreply@blogger.comBlogger386125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4333866189305004813.post-57745578576113439452020-04-06T11:44:00.003-07:002020-04-06T11:44:46.142-07:00NEW BLOG PAGEHello dear readers!<br />
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I am excited to announce that I have started a new blog over at <a href="https://bethrobinsonwrites.squarespace.com/config/" target="_blank">bethrobinsonwrites.squarespace.com </a><br />
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No more confusion as to whether or not I am pregnant (I'm not!). Please update your feeds accordingly and bear with me as I attempt to navigate another web space.<br />
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Thank you for following along!<br />
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BethBethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08888432137418618656noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4333866189305004813.post-81677609509191532012020-03-27T05:00:00.000-07:002020-03-27T11:03:11.645-07:00Tree Buds<div>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;">We’re on our daily afternoon outing around the neighborhood. The older girls are on their scooters, and my son is on his red bike (no training wheels, and he is proud!). I could have chosen to ride my bike, but instead I walk/jog in a half-hearted attempt to keep up. The kids are trained to stop at each corner and wait for me, so I’m not worried about losing them. They’ve ridden this path so many times they think they own it. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.10000000149011612px;"><span id="docs-internal-guid-0185df07-7fff-99be-7c84-ff0c42db93d8" style="color: black; letter-spacing: normal;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The children scoot/pedal quickly ahead, and I stop to look up at tree branches towering above me. The tree has been trimmed to give passage to the pedestrians on the sidewalk below, so those who walk or ride by on bikes and scooters won't be snagged by twigs. The air is chilly and the sky is gray with ominous clouds as I observe the spreading branches. </span></span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.10000000149011612px;"><span id="docs-internal-guid-0185df07-7fff-99be-7c84-ff0c42db93d8" style="color: black; letter-spacing: normal;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">At first glance, the tree appears dead. There are no big, green leaves, only an intricate pattern of dry sticks and twigs. But upon closer inspection, there are tiny green buds at the ends of the branches. Tiny sprouts of green illuminated by the dismal backdrop that I would have missed had I not stopped there to look up. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.10000000149011612px;"><span id="docs-internal-guid-0185df07-7fff-99be-7c84-ff0c42db93d8" style="color: black; letter-spacing: normal;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ahead on their scooters, my children round the corner to our house, and I break into a jog to catch up. Once home, we shed shoes and jackets and the kids plop down at the kitchen table while I hand out lunches. I glance out the window at our own tree and notice its scraggly branches hanging down, dormant and bare and seemingly devoid of life. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: 0.10000000149011612px;"><span id="docs-internal-guid-0185df07-7fff-99be-7c84-ff0c42db93d8" style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; letter-spacing: normal;"><br /></span></span></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: 0.10000000149011612px;"><span id="docs-internal-guid-0185df07-7fff-99be-7c84-ff0c42db93d8" style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; letter-spacing: normal;">
</span></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: 0.10000000149011612px;"><span style="color: black; letter-spacing: normal;"><br /></span></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-wrap;">We've been sheltering in place for over a week now. Two Fridays ago my oldest daughter's school sent her home and closed their doors. My middle daughter, who I homeschool for first grade, was also given notice that the workshops and extracurriculars she usually attends are closed. My youngest has his preschool classes cancelled and his swim lessons suspended until further notice. Church is closed. My gym is closed. My weekly Bible study group is cancelled. My book club suspended. The parks and playgrounds are closed. This is happening all over the world. Closed. Cancelled. Closed. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; letter-spacing: 0.10000000149011612px;"><span style="color: black; letter-spacing: normal;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: inherit; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We have nothing to do and nowhere to go. </span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; letter-spacing: 0.10000000149011612px;"><span style="color: black; letter-spacing: normal;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: inherit; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Let me rephrase that. We have nothing we <i>need</i> to do. Nowhere we are supposed to be. No classes telling us to arrive at a certain place at a certain time. Everything on hold, frozen in place. We are living in isolation, hoping to weather out the current storm while praying for those who are affected by the virus and the shutdown of innumerable jobs. </span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; letter-spacing: 0.10000000149011612px;"><span style="color: black; letter-spacing: normal;"><span style="background-color: transparent; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Honestly, we’ve settled into a pleasant rhythm at home. I turned off all alarm clocks (except my husband’s- he works in healthcare, so he still goes into his workplace every day), and wrote out checklists of chores and schoolwork and activities for the kids to accomplish every day. </span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Are we going anywhere today?” the kids have been asking. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Nope, everything is closed,” is my reply. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Okay,” they nod, accepting my answer.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We do schoolwork, listen to audiobooks. They pass crayons and markers back and forth across the table. I’m thankful for the peace, the absence of the hustle and bustle and the scramble to get out the door. I appreciate the lack of pressure from school and peers. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The children giggle together, build hamster houses out of Legos, create forts, throw paper airplanes, have tea parties with their dolls, read books, bake and eat, play outside, and the list goes on. I’m discovering I make a great introvert. I have no need to speak to anyone, to attempt awkward small talk with other parents at various events, to worry about how to dress or what to bring to social gatherings. Instead, my energy is focused on my family, my house, my garden. I read and write and pray and rest and bake and cook and breathe. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The tree in our backyard is straight and tall. The kids love to hug and climb its thick trunk. Each fall the leaves disappear, leaving behind bare branches and twigs. Sticks break off and fall to the ground, and the children greedily snatch them up, turning them into swords or flags. Every winter I stare at that tree and wonder if it’s finally given up, if anything will start to grow again. There are no leaves. No signs of buds. The bark looks extra dry and I wonder if this is the year I need to call an arborist to take it out.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: inherit; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But every year I’m taken by surprise when I finally begin to notice a leaf here, another leaf there, a tiny bud at the end of a branch I could have sworn was going to fall. Maybe, despite giving the appearance of dying, our tree was just relishing in the quiet, growing and nourishing itself internally before it could blossom again. Like the kids and I in our private, peaceful space. We’re weathering out this season in our own way, growing and nurturing each other quietly, until the season changes and we're able to burst forth. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image Created by Phoenix Feathers Calligraphy, for Coffee + Crumbs,<br />
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This post was written as part of a blog hop with<a href="https://www.exhalecreativity.com/" target="_blank"> Exhale</a>—an online community of women pursuing creativity alongside motherhood, led by the writing team behind Coffee + Crumbs. Click <a href="https://keepingkoinonia.wordpress.com/2020/03/27/its-only-a-season/" target="_blank">here</a> to read the next post in this series "All Things New".</i></span>Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08888432137418618656noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4333866189305004813.post-15667262309338125142020-03-04T22:23:00.002-08:002020-03-04T23:22:05.903-08:00The Story of the MinivanThe registration is due for the first time on our minivan. We purchased it last year, our first minivan. It was a spur of the moment decision. Sure, we (and I'd like to clarify that by "we," I mean my husband) had been throwing around the idea for years, but really, a minivan? That just conjures up images of soccer balls and dirty sneakers and children jumping in and out all day long. I picture frumpy oversized shirts with yoga pants and coffee in one hand and messy ponytails and bleary eyes and basically, mom life, because who else drives a minivan besides a mom? I was not about to give in to the stereotype. Who says I need a minivan to be a mom? Not me. <br />
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Previously, I had my share of SUVs. There was the seven seater SUV (now I can't even remember what it was) with the gigantic trunk. I fit the double jogging stroller in there no problem, and tossed Costco groceries in with it. I had my coffee and my yoga pants, but there was no frump about it. Then that died and I found the next SUV. Again, seven seats, lots of trunk space, even captain's seats in the middle. This had the interior of the minivan, but really, it was an SUV. The doors still swung out, and the driver's seat sat tall.<br />
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Then one day my beloved SUV wouldn't start. Granted, I did strap the children in to their carseats and was standing by the car with the doors open chatting away to friends, but goodness, I don't talk that much. But when I turned the key to start the car, nothing happened.<br />
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Thankfully, the nice manager at Chik-fil-a brought out some jumper cables and we were fine (also thanks to YouTube because I had a funky SUV whose battery was located back and under the passenger seat. I know! It's supposed to go under the hood. But it didn't. YouTube was a huge help during this trying time).<br />
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Then it died again. I had to make sure I didn't leave the doors open for any amount of time, or the battery would drain. <br />
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So we bought a new battery and all was fine.<br />
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Then the thing randomly chose whether or not it wanted to turn on, depending on the day. Or the check engine light would flash menacingly at me. Not a big deal. I'm an introvert and all for staying home. So I'd wait a few minutes and try again. And again. And again. <br />
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But when my son went to the Emergency Room and the car wouldn't start (thankfully it was when we were leaving to go home after he was released, so we were stuck in the hospital parking lot), enough was enough. What if it hadn't started when we needed to get there? I've heard ambulances are expensive.<br />
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I thought about getting another SUV. I looked at the new ones (we were buying new so it could last as long as the kids live at home), but for some reason the newer SUVs are smaller. At least the ones I liked were. Which defeats the point, honestly. Don't you drive an SUV to take up space? To tower over the tiny compacts on the freeway? To show off your power and look down upon those who dare merge into your lane? Just me?<br />
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That weekend we traded in for a minivan.<br />
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I have to give it to Jacob, the salesperson who sold it to us. He was good. I have a deep hatred for car shopping. Something about being talked to about features and options and having someone in your face who won't go away and just leave you alone to think about things (remember, introvert?), just makes me edgy. Jacob was nice, though. And he didn't talk too much and answered all our questions and drove us all over the lots looking for the features we wanted. Yes, we still spent hours and hours waiting on paperwork and signing stuff (thank goodness the dealership had games to occupy the kids), but it didn't seem to take as long as I had thought it would. And now I have a bright, shiny, new minivan to last me for the next ten years (that's the plan, anyway).<br />
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I mean, sliding doors. Not just sliding doors, but sliding doors with automatic buttons, both inside, on the remote, and by the driver's seat. It was the sliding doors that did me in. Now we pull into a parking spot like we own the place. "Am I in the lines?" I ask the kids when we park. "Look at how we can fit and not hit the car next to us when we open the doors!" It's magic, I tell you. Pure magic. No more standing behind doors if it's windy, praying they don't dent the car next to us. No more telling the kids to wait to open the door until I got to their side of the car. No, sir. Now we have buttons. Push and wait. Then push to close again. We have conquered wind and tight parking spaces. Thank you, sliding doors on my bright, shiny, new minivan.<br />
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Although the first week we had it home, it was rear-ended in the McDonald's drive-through. By rear-ended, I mean bumped enough to damage the rear cameras. But the kids have quite the story to tell about being in an accident and how exciting it was! We had to give it back for a week to get fixed. <br />
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Then, we had a bright, shiny, new minivan with an even newer bumper.<br />
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Although not too long ago we were hit in a parking lot and had to take it back in to get fixed. Again, pretty minor, but enough so that the paint was scraped down to the metal and would have rusted would I have ignored it like I tried to convince my husband we should do. He wasn't having it. So now we have a bright, shiny, new minivan with an even newer new bumper.<br />
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Anyway, I'm a mom with a minivan now. Do I feel large and frumpy and inelegant on the road? You bet. Do I tower over the other cars and give them haughty looks when they try to merge into my lane? Nope. Will I happily trade it in for something completely different when the kids are grown? Absolutely. But do I love those sliding doors and not having to be blamed for the paint scratches on the cars next to us? Indeed I do.<br />
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Insert picture of Toyota Sienna in pretty ice blue color (there was a technical term for the color, but I don't remember. Feel free to Google).<br />
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<br />Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08888432137418618656noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4333866189305004813.post-76308044180151773822020-02-25T18:35:00.000-08:002020-02-25T18:35:14.903-08:00Making Blogging Cool AgainI want to set a timer to see how often I am interrupted in any given moment. Alexa, restart stopwatch please. <br />
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If I am in the kitchen doing the dishes, voices call for me to help them with something. "I have wet hands," I say. "I'm trying to do the dishes." But they hold up the toy for me to fix or the hair for me to do or the paper to look at and their big blue eyes gaze at me like why are you not helping right now?<br />
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If I sit down on the couch to read while they are happily playing, I barely get through a page or two before they pile on me, jostling and shoving for my lap, my space. "Want to get your own book and read next to Mommy?" I ask. "No, I want to cuddle you!" my four-year-old flips and wiggles and puts his feet in my face.<br />
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Bedtime is a farce. Of course they are in bed by eight, teeth brushed, books read. But really, <i>really</i>, I mean really, we all know they don't stay there. Children who stay are mythical fairy creatures whose parents have cast magical spells on them. Mine are in the stairwell, calling down to me to report their every move. "Mommy, I forgot to floss!" "I just need to run downstairs and get a book." "I forgot to fill up my water bottle and I'm going to die of dehydration!"<br />
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We can't even talk about trying to take a shower or do anything remotely close to the restroom. Locked doors are a challenge to talk louder so that Mommy will answer. Or to see how many times they can wiggle the doorknob before I get frustrated and give in.<br />
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I once read somewhere that the brain needs twenty-eight minutes to refocus on a task once its been interrupted. Twenty-eight minutes! (I have no idea how true this is. I probably just made up this number. What I do remember is that it was a big number and I thought it meant I would never focus on anything again.)<br />
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What I'm trying to say is that I thought about blogging over the past few years. I even wrote a few snippets of things here and there, hoping to turn them into something more. But alas, social media broke out and people all of a sudden became professional photographers with cool filters and I've already accepted the fact that photography is not a talent of mine. At all. And probably never will be. Sorry, I don't have the pretty pictures to go with the words. Even if pictures are worth a thousand words. I'm keeping it simple, here.<br />
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A friend of mine recently suggested we make blogging cool again. The word "blogging" brought back memories of happily sitting at my laptop and typing for the sake of typing. Remember when I started this thing back when I was pregnant with child number one? She's ten now, just so you know. But back then it was a matter of putting the memories in print. Of not forgetting the experiences and being brutally, sometimes graphically honest about it. This is my blog and I can write what I want to write, editors be darned (although I am very thankful for editors. Without which I would not have had any of my words published on actual sites. Thank you, dear editors!).<br />
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So I'm going to reset my timer, be more intentional about sitting down and pounding out a few random words on these trusty old keys, and hope to grow my writing muscle. Who knows, maybe this will actually turn into something. In the meantime I'm joining the bandwagon to make blogging cool again.<br />
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<br />Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08888432137418618656noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4333866189305004813.post-58799230120804573022018-04-26T10:22:00.001-07:002018-04-26T10:22:31.834-07:00Addicted to Reading<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-B0do92IJGVU/WuIKNvietoI/AAAAAAAAAU4/s0B3lxFLOZUWG6bjyYjpqM10o1qXfE7pACLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_0687.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-B0do92IJGVU/WuIKNvietoI/AAAAAAAAAU4/s0B3lxFLOZUWG6bjyYjpqM10o1qXfE7pACLcBGAs/s320/IMG_0687.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Isn't it funny how you see your kids do something, but it's something you would do too (or have done), so sometimes you give them a free pass to get away with it? One of those "do as I say, not as I do" moments. <br />
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Maybe I should explain,<br />
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I am an avid reader. I always have been and I don't see that changing anytime soon. If there is something with print in front of me, I will read it. My favorites are dramatic novels, such as murder mysteries or love stories or something with a plot that just grabs and holds my attention so that I don't want to put it down. I feel like I might read a bit more than the average bibliophile, but I'm also somewhat speedy, so I can go a little quicker than most.<br />
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Anyway, my oldest daughter has recently taken off with her reading. When I say taken off, I mean she is soaring. Second grade has given her literary power. She is devouring piles upon piles of juvenile fiction (she's 8, so I'm making sure it is still age appropriate), but she is flying through book after book after book.<br />
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I initially had plans of reading novels together with her. Not necessarily read-alouds (we do those too), but more like our own little book club of two, each reading the book on our own time and then discussing the characters and plot and setting and how it relates to us or things in the world.<br />
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Well, she went through a couple American Girl books and passed them on to me. I read the first one and haven't had time to get to the next. Then she read another. And another. And moved on to a different series. Now my pile of books to read to catch up to her is growing probably much faster than I can keep up with. <br />
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We go to the library about once a week. She loves books in a series (me too! who doesn't enjoy falling in love with characters and reading about their adventures over and over again?) and we are constantly putting in requests for the next book in the series she is reading. <br />
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I couldn't be more proud or excited to share my love of reading with my daughter.<br />
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However, all of the reading comes at a cost. Basically at the cost of everything: food, chores, sleep, etc. I'm constantly telling her to put the book down and tend to her responsibilities. We have a "No toys at the dinner table" policy and I've had to apply that to books now. She will bring a book to read while she plays outside. She will try to multitask cleaning her room, holding a book in one hand and absent-mindedly grabbing things with the other (not very effective, just so you know).<br />
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I love how engrossed she gets in a story. I mean, I can completely relate. Those characters get stuck in my head and I find myself thinking about them long after I've put the book down. But at some point I have to take the book away and remind her to focus on the current task at hand. The book isn't going anywhere.<br />
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The latest battle has been bedtime. Isn't bedtime always a battle? She will curl up with a book and set to reading. I'll remind her when to turn lights out. I'll set her timer and double check that she knows when it goes off, it really means lights out. Then I come back to her room a little bit later, after the timer has gone off, and she'll beg me to be able to finish the last few pages of a chapter, or just read one more page to find out what happens to the character.<br />
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What can I say? I try to hold firm. I give all the reasons: bedtime is important. Her body needs its rest. She'll be tired for school tomorrow. Often I cave in and let her read just a tiny bit more, and then a tiny bit more. Or I'll ignore her light on because I know exactly what she's doing. Eventually I have to hold firm and make her put the book down, though. <br />
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Honestly, I can't resist the literary plea to find out what happens myself. Far too often I stay up much later than I should just to finish what I'm reading. I might be exceptionally tired the next day, but it is so worth it. I know she feels that way too, so sometimes I look the other way when she is reading, feeling the pride that comes with watching my child enjoy something I do too.<br />
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Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08888432137418618656noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4333866189305004813.post-18842339867794618472018-03-28T22:18:00.000-07:002018-03-28T22:18:02.161-07:00A Tale of Two Cars<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">A Tale of Two Cars</span></div>
<b id="docs-internal-guid-87602436-7022-8450-e0ba-5e5a7bc45d6e" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the period of constantly fighting and constantly making up, it was the age of wanting it all and not getting it all, it was the era of mine, mine, mine and give me that, it was the season of quiet and the season of loud, it was the summer of fun and the winter of tedious, they had everything before them and nothing before them, they were all going straight to bed, they were all going to stay up forever - in short the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted upon its being received with the utmost exasperation of superlatives.</i></span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">-Above quote heavily mangled from </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">A Tale of Two Cities</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;"> </span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">Seriously, we have so many ups and downs throughout the day that my head is constantly spinning. The three children are seven, four, and two, and sometimes they deliberately antagonize each other for what appears to be no reason other than to antagonize each other. Every day is a surprise, as I never know how they are going to interact with each other. Will they play together nicely and share their toys and use polite words? Or will they throw things at each other and knock over each other’s towers and fight over that one toy that really isn’t all that special anyway? </span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">This particular time was a lot like any other. I was working in the kitchen while the two younger children were playing peacefully by the hearth (not really, but it sounds like a nice way to set up a scene. Honestly they were just playing on the hardwood floor of the living room, no hearth nearby), vrooming their cars and building their towers. One would vroom and one would build and all was well. Until it wasn’t. </span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">“It’s mine! Give me that!” said a loud, childish voice, most likely belonging to a two-year old. </span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">“No, that’s mine! I was playing with it!” said an even louder, childish voice, most likely belonging to a four-year old.</span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">I hesitantly peeked around the corner of the hearth (read: I poked my head out of the kitchen and into the living room) to see the commotion revealed before me. </span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">There, with both hands clutching a matchbox toy car, a little blond-haired boy was fighting off a little blue-eyed girl, also using both of her hands to attempt to pry his hands off the car. He had a mischievous, determined smirk, and she had an annoyed, angry expression. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lEJGwhaoFMM/Wrx15Bp8NfI/AAAAAAAAAUY/99JZcFSrPgEnQ1tzUk3V3FPFku5NDH7PQCLcBGAs/s1600/Untitled%2Bdesign.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lEJGwhaoFMM/Wrx15Bp8NfI/AAAAAAAAAUY/99JZcFSrPgEnQ1tzUk3V3FPFku5NDH7PQCLcBGAs/s400/Untitled%2Bdesign.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo courtesy of Canva</td></tr>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;"><br /></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">“What’s going on?” I asked. I wasn’t too sure I wanted to know, but I knew from experience that if I sat back and ignored it, physical violence would escalate. </span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">“He took my car! I was playing with it!” I look at the pile of cars in front of the four-year-old, thinking she probably doesn’t need that one car. </span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">“Are you sure he can’t play with that one? It looks like you have other cars to play with,” I offer. </span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">“NO!” I get in response. How dare I even suggest such a thing? I mean, the gall. </span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">“Ok, can we come to an agreement on the car, then?” I’ve been trying out different parenting strategies. Sometimes they work, sometimes they don’t. This time we’re testing out compromises and agreements. “What do you think about taking turns?” </span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">“I want a turn first!” “No, I do!” Oy vey. I take away said car and tell them that they can’t have it back until they figure out a solution to their problem. </span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">I hear some frantic whispering, some possible extortion, who knows? </span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">“Mommy, we figured it out. I’ll hold onto it for now and he’ll play over there with these cars.” </span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">“Okay, great! Here’s your car.” Woo hoo for positive parenting or whatever it is when parenting works out. I think that’s positive. </span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">Yet, not two minutes later, the scuffling begins again. I had patted myself on the back too soon. </span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">Envision a repeat of earlier conversation with children, then the taking away of said car again. Lots of begging and pleading and me wanting to uninvent cars all together. Wouldn’t we all just like a nice horse and buggy? </span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">Anyway. </span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">I text my husband at work. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>Hey, remember that extra car we bought for the cousin? Is that still upstairs? Do you think it would be terrible if I opened it and gave it to the kids?</i></span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>Your call, Babe, </i></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">he says. He’s so helpful, I know. </span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">Some time passes. Repeat fighting over car again and again. These kids are stubborn, I tell ya. I think about the car upstairs. Maybe it will solve all of my problems and we can go back to the peaceful hearth scene again. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">I text my husband, </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>I’m going to do it.</i></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>OK,</i></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;"> he replies. He's very supportive. </span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">I run upstairs and take the other, identical car out of the packaging. I make my grand entrance downstairs, sweeping in regally, excited that I may have finally solved today’s dilemma. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">“Children, look what I have! Now you can each have your own car! And they are exactly the same, so you don’t have to fight over it.” </span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">“I want the new one!” </span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">“No, I want the new one!” </span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">Needless to say, my plan did not go according to plan. They continued to fight over the new car, even though the cars were exactly the same. I even did the whole mix things up behind my back so they can’t tell the difference and each pick a hand game. It didn’t work. The new (or old, I couldn’t tell) car had invisible marks on it only visible to eyes less than five years old. It must have been pretty special. </span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">So what is the moral of the story I am telling? I have no idea. Maybe it’s that the kids are going to find something to fight about no matter what and next time I shouldn’t open the present we were going to give to the cousin. (Although if you must know, we did find another car-the same one- to give to him, so he is none the wiser.) Perhaps it’s that I should have been more creative in my squabble-squashing strategy. Or that I should have played on the floor with them and modeled how to share (It’s this one, I know it is). Tell me, dear reader, what would you have done? </span></div>
Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08888432137418618656noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4333866189305004813.post-63690087663732154052018-03-16T16:51:00.001-07:002018-03-16T17:00:47.139-07:00Life Lessons from Disneyland<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.656; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">Disneyland is
part of the heartbeat of our family. Before you even walk into our house, you
can find hidden Mickeys and a Disney welcome mat outside. Enter our house and
Disneyland decor is tastefully displayed on the walls and bookshelves. If you
look carefully enough, you might even find the doorknob from Alice in
Wonderland peeking out at you from one of our doors. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">My husband has
fond memories of vacations there as a child and is intent on imparting similar
memories to his children. We recently returned from a four-day trip and I’ve
realized that while trips to Disneyland are fun and exciting, they also teach
my children important life lessons in a safe and forgiving
environment. Here are the top 5 that come to mind: </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">1.Patience.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">This is pretty obvious.
Mention Disneyland and after imagining characters and a giant castle, the next
thing that jumps into someone’s mind are the crowds. Squeezing a double
stroller through hundreds of people will give you an anxiety attack. Bonus
points if you manage not to ram the back of someone’s leg. Anyway, because of
so many people flocking to the Happiest Place on Earth, we spend a lot of time
waiting:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">Waiting for our
turn to meet a character. Waiting in a 45-minute-long line to ride a 2-minute
ride. Waiting for a show to start. Waiting for the parade to come by.
Yes, it can be exhausting and trying, but the children learn that eventually
they will get to where they want to go. If they have patience, the waiting is
even easier to manage. They learn how to be creative with what they can do
while waiting. They play clapping games with each other, word games, do some
mental math problems, observe and comment on their surroundings, and excitedly
discuss the trip thus far. Patience is one of the most important lessons
learned in Disneyland, and this can translate well to other aspects of life.
Patience is one of the most important lessons learned in Disney, and this can
translate well to other aspects of life. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">2. Restaurant
Manners</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">Disneyland
caters various types of meals for its visitors. There are quick-service meals,
which are just walk-up to a counter and order, or there are sit-down
restaurants. These restaurants are obviously accustomed to serving children
(hello, we’re at Disneyland), but at the same time they are the
type of establishments that can be found anywhere. Patrons are given menus,
servers come by to fill drinks and take orders, and everyone is expected to sit
at the table to eat.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">The children
learn how to use inside voices, read menus, communicate effectively to the
servers, and sit and eat politely at the table with proper utensil use and
napkin placement. Disneyland is a safe space to learn these skills because we
aren’t given rude glares if one of the children spills a drink or excitedly
gets a little too loud because the children at the next table are most likely
screaming and running around anyway. I hope the servers get large tips. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">3. Theater
Etiquette</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">We love seeing
theater shows. The characters and costumes and music enthralls my children (ok,
me especially), and the acting and singing is of a high caliber. The children
learn proper theater etiquette when we are there as they are
expected to sit and watch the show, react with clapping and laughter at appropriate times, and
remain seated for the duration of the show. We can also point out the kids who
are misbehaving and tell our own what angels they are, really reinforcing that
positive behavior. Competition to be the best is strong in the children</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">4. Money
Management</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">Our children
have a weekly allowance, plus they earn money in other creative ways. They are
allowed to bring their money on our trip and budget it according to what they
want. On this last trip, my younger daughter managed her money nicely and opted
to buy two different toy sets. My older daughter spent much of her time
analyzing the items for sale and comparing prices. Much of what she wanted was
out of her price range. Instead of opting for a cheaper item that she didn’t
truly want, she decided she would rather save her money than spend it. It also
helps that she’s good at cajoling her little sister into sharing her purchases,
so she didn’t feel too let down that she couldn’t afford what she wanted.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">5. Gratitude</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">One of my
biggest concerns as a parent is that my children will grow up to be entitled
humans who feel they deserve things even though they haven’t earned them. Yes,
my children do go to Disneyland quite often, but we try to instill in them a
sense of gratitude for what they have and are able to do. They realize not
everyone chooses to go to Disneyland like they do. They are very excited when
they get the chance to go and grateful for the experiences they have when they
are there. They remember the rides they go on and the characters they meet,
which have a lasting impression on them. We also frequently discuss how the
rides came to be, how much work and imagination went into doing the decorations
and atmosphere, and how we can be thankful that somebody came up with these
things for them to enjoy.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">Disneyland is
fun and exciting and we see many more trips in our future. It’s nice to know
that my children are learning life lessons at the same time they enjoy the
magic.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08888432137418618656noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4333866189305004813.post-9508684331483236162018-02-22T13:52:00.001-08:002018-02-22T13:55:58.264-08:00Relief Not Regret: Saying Goodbye to the Baby Things<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tmHE0Bvqhgo/Wo87FOPGpUI/AAAAAAAAASs/2P_lJVI-edM89fBCDwqn_fc7629TqEYUACLcBGAs/s1600/still-life-teddy-white-read-159080.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tmHE0Bvqhgo/Wo87FOPGpUI/AAAAAAAAASs/2P_lJVI-edM89fBCDwqn_fc7629TqEYUACLcBGAs/s320/still-life-teddy-white-read-159080.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo Credit:<a href="https://www.pexels.com/photo/white-teddy-bear-with-opened-book-photo-159080/" target="_blank">Pixabay.com</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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I've slowly been purging all the baby things as the Little Guy outgrows them. He's child number three and child number last. When he was able to sit on his own and didn't need the Bumbo anymore, I gave it away. When my friend was pregnant and going to need a baby swing, we passed it right on. The Little Guy was getting too big for it anyway (and I mean he was probably a year over the age limit on it, but it seriously put him to sleep in no time. My friend was going to need that magic).<br />
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As soon as he started protesting the high chair at the table and wanted to sit like one of his older sisters (albeit he was on his knees and balanced precariously with none too few falls), we passed it on to the newest cousin. The moment he outgrew any clothes or hats or shoes or clothing item, off it went to the donation station.<br />
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It felt good to get rid of things that we didn't need anymore. They had been through three kids and were well-used. After each child outgrew an item or a toy or a something, we would usually pack it away until the next child came along and could use it.<br />
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But not this time.<br />
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This time we are done, and done for good. No more holding onto baby things to save for the next little bundle. No more swings to store in the garage with the hopes of rocking another baby to sleep. No more bassinet that was only ever used as a changing table anyway. No more high chairs, no more bottles, no more tiny baby onesies (except the ones I'm saving to someday turn into a teddy bear. Have you seen those? They look so cute!).<br />
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We recently sold the baby crib, one of the last baby items we've had in the house. It had been one of our first major decisions as pre-parents: deciding what decor we wanted in our baby's room that would welcome our first infant with a safe and loving environment. We chose a cherry wood finish convertible crib. It would start as a crib, then convert to the toddler bed with a side rail, and finally to a full-size bed. We thought we were planning ahead, acquiring something that would grow with our child. Unfortunately, we didn't foresee that the size of the bed and the size of the room that we would put it in were not quite compatible. Thus, the crib was only ever transformed into a toddler bed and never made it to full-size. Instead, we listed it for sale and it was gone within the week.<br />
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lFW8Febnve0/Wo85IMkj5bI/AAAAAAAAASg/u8BVEBzl0RkE7VBISJNaPzPKhtOTk8_uQCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_0093.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lFW8Febnve0/Wo85IMkj5bI/AAAAAAAAASg/u8BVEBzl0RkE7VBISJNaPzPKhtOTk8_uQCLcBGAs/s320/IMG_0093.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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I thought I might feel some regret over getting rid of that first parenting purchase we made, but I really don't. I am relieved to have it gone, to not feel it holding space for another child. It was a huge part of the past eight years, and I will have many memories of babies laying in there (although they hardly ever slept in it), or screaming at me while gripping the side rail, or jumping up and down in furious defiance of sleep while wailing "MAMA" at the top of their lungs at two o'clock in the morning. Yep, I am perfectly fine saying goodbye to that. <br />
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I look at infants now and only feel appreciation for the tiny human just entering the world. I don't experience the desire to have my own newborn that I had experienced in the past upon glimpsing a peacefully sleeping infant. I am happy to hold someone else's baby, but really, I don't want that experience for myself again. I am relieved that I don't have to try new tricks and ideas to calm a colicky baby, or worry that he or she is gaining enough weight, or experience another diaper blowout in the middle of the grocery store, or get woken up multiple times throughout the night to try to figure out why the baby is crying this time.<br />
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Will I miss the tiny baby snuggles and newborn sounds? Absolutely. But they are precious memories that I can look back on, and instead, right now, I can hug my growing children and hold intelligent conversations with them (although truth be told we talk a lot about poop).<br />
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I am enjoying the phase of life I am in, the phase where my children are growing and learning and questioning and exploring and giving me glimpses into what they will be like as adults. I look forward to the years to come with excitement and wonder, relieved the baby years, and things, are in the past. <br />
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Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08888432137418618656noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4333866189305004813.post-794219343242994762017-08-08T12:15:00.000-07:002017-08-08T12:15:53.739-07:007 Reasons Why I'm Not Ready for School<div>
I remember when I was growing up, Back to School usually happened around my birthday (August 31, just so you know). Now, my elementary aged daughter is starting second grade. Tomorrow. We're not even two weeks in to the month. </div>
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That's too soon for me. </div>
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I know many people out there who are just dying for summer to be over and the kids to go back to school. They are tired of their kids complaining of boredom, or the constant kids shows on tv, or the fighting between siblings, or the disrespect, or the lack of structure, or whatever it is that makes one want to send the children away. I get it, I do. However, I am not one of those people. I am not ready for school to come. Here's why: </div>
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1. The Germs</div>
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We have lived in a perpetual bubble since summer started. Sure, we've gone places and had swim meets and play dates and park trips and had people over and gone to other people's houses. But my children haven't been in the close confines of a germ-infested classrooms where colds and coughs are passed around like candy. We've managed to stay illness-free this summer and I couldn't be more thankful. I just know that when school starts up again that the germs are going to party like it's 1999. </div>
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2. Day-Trips</div>
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I like to go places. This summer we've taken one to two day trips each week. The kids and I have visited the beach and the zoo and farms and gardens and parks and museums and factories and amusement parks. We've learned and explored and had a blast in doing so. When school starts again, I won't have that flexibility. If I do choose to go somewhere, my oldest will be missing out. Or I'll have to take a shorter trip so that I can be back in time to pick her up to school and she will be sad that she missed it. </div>
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3. Homework</div>
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Enough said, right? Being on the other side of the fence, so to speak, I'm actually in the no-homework camp. As a teacher, I used to believe firmly in practicing at home what you've learned in school. Now, I realize how much time my child spends at school and what little time together we have at home. I would rather we have quality family time then forced homework activities on items that are covered in school. </div>
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4. Food </div>
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My daughter is, shall we say, a picky eater. Packing her lunches has been a test of patience. What she eats at home she won't eat at school because it's too cold, or too hot, or too squishy. She's still picky at home, don't get me wrong, but I know that at least I'll have an option that she will actually eat instead of wasting something that I've sent to school with her. Food waste is a huge pet peeve of mine. </div>
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5. Sleep</div>
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During the summer I don't set any alarms unless we absolutely need to be somewhere in the morning. This is a rare occurrence. During the week I let the kids sleep in. I figure their little bodies can self-regulate how much sleep they need, and who am I to interrupt that. We still have a bedtime, I'm not that crazy, but no set wake-up time. At the beginning of summer they were waking up pretty early, but now that a couple of months have passed, they generally get up around 8. Which I think is great. However, school starts at 8:15 in the mornings, so getting up at 8 and making sure everyone is dressed and fed is not going to be realistic. </div>
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6. Peers</div>
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I think my children are pretty sensitive. I'm okay with that. I would rather have sensitive children then calloused souls. Just sayin'. Back at school there are all kinds of characters. Some kids are nice and some like to push boundaries and others take pleasure in putting others down. I never know how my daughter will react after a day at school. I wish I could wrap her in a bubble so she's not exposed to any negative input. </div>
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7. Sibling Bond</div>
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My children have been together all summer. They've had their fair share of quarrels and fighting over toys and crying over whose turn it is and who cheated and which toy was theirs. But they've had to learn how to work together to entertain themselves. They've had to cooperate in order to do fun projects and travel to different places. Sure, they could escape to their rooms (or be sent, if needed), but they'd have to come out and face the offended in due time. Once school starts, life will be extremely busy again and all three of them won't be together like they have been. I'm hoping their bond will still remain strong even as they lose one during the day. </div>
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Alas, I'll know summer is really over tomorrow when I drop my daughter off at school. I'm hoping she has a good year and that summer comes soon. </div>
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Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08888432137418618656noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4333866189305004813.post-65135783173852679312017-03-16T22:05:00.001-07:002017-03-16T22:05:42.400-07:00What I Do All Day<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t have a job. Well, not a paying job anyway. I don’t
have a workplace to check in to every day, a boss to report to, or deadlines to
make. I don’t have to worry about coworkers or office drama or remembering important
meetings. I don’t have a dress code to follow or a commute to make. I can stay
home and do whatever I want, whenever I want. I am free and my calendar is wide
open. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Just kidding, I have three children. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Let me fill you in on a bit of what I do. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
First things first, my elementary school child has to be at
school at a certain time every day, otherwise she’s sent to the office for a
tardy slip and I consider myself reprimanded for not doing something so easy as
take a child to school on time. This is where all the seasoned moms laugh
hysterically, because somehow somebody can’t find a shoe or a jacket, or the
children are still hungry because they refused to eat the lovingly prepared nutritious
breakfast, or the homework pages have been mysteriously glued together and
refuse to come apart, or the toy for show-and-tell is suddenly the worst toy
ever and you need a new one RIGHT NOW, or the baby’s lovey has gotten stuck
under the sofa and is wedged in tight and he is crying hysterically and won’t
calm down without it, or, or, or… you get the idea. It’s a miracle we make it
out of the house in the first place, let alone on time. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then there are two children, and we run a tight ship around
here. One day a week Grammy graciously comes to play while I volunteer in my
elementary daughter’s classroom. This is a huge perk of being a stay-at-home
mom. I get to interact with her peers and see her learning in action. She knows
I have a good relationship with her teacher and is therefore held accountable
for what she does in school. Plus, the younger two are building a great
relationship with their grandma. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Another morning I help teach preschool to my second
daughter. A friend and I have teamed up to do a co-op, where we take turns
planning lessons and adhering to a theme of the month. We rotate houses and
make sure our children are receiving excellent play-based academic instruction.
This takes a bit of prep and research on our part, but it also saves us the
cost of preschool and ensures our children receive the quality instruction we
desire. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The other weekday mornings are for extracurricular or
enrichment activities for the younger two children. We attend gymnastics
courses, do a Bible study, and go on field trips to places suh as a local
wildlife rescue or the fire station. In other words, we don’t just sit around
at home and watch tv; instead we are moving and learning. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The mornings fly by and then it is lunchtime. We might be
able to grab a quick lunch with a friend, but more often than not the children
are tired and cranky at this point and it’s all I can do to get some sustenance
in them before they crash for the afternoon. The toddler takes a nice nap while
the preschooler can’t decide if she’s tired or not. Sometimes she falls asleep
and sometimes she just plays or looks at her books. I’ll attempt to make and
eat my own lunch and do damage control from the mess of the morning rush. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then it’s time to pick up the older one from school and eat
a snack. We’ll do homework or projects or play at the park or do extracurricular
activities for her, such as soccer or ballet, and I’ll prep and make dinner. I
love that I am able to try out new recipes and take the time to make things
from scratch. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Husband will come home to eat with us and the bedtime
routine will commence: bath, books, bed. If he’s not late coming home or isn’t
attending a night class, he will spend the evening putting the kids to bed
while I clean up from dinner. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After getting another glass of water, or finding a bug bite
that’s itching, or remembering to tell us just one more thing from the day, the
children drift off to sleep in their beds. This is the time for my husband and
I to catch up on our day, watch a show together, or I’ll read while he preps
for work. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
By then it’s late and I just know somebody will wake up in
the middle of the night needing something. I put myself to bed to begin again
the next day. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
So you see, I might not have a full-time job where I get
paid, but I do actually do things during the day that provide value to my
family. I am enriching the lives of my children and running a household. I am
instilling morals and discipline into my children and helping to make them
well-rounded productive members of society. <o:p></o:p></div>
Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08888432137418618656noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4333866189305004813.post-78435479694495263132017-02-10T14:05:00.001-08:002017-02-10T14:05:44.399-08:00My Thoughts on Gyms<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
Recently, a good friend of mine gifted me a seven-day pass to her
gym. To say I was surprised when I received the phone call from the gym person
explaining that I was invited to come try it out, is an understatement. You
see, gyms have never been on my list of places I ever want to visit, and I’ve
been pretty vocal about it according to my husband. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-A2PKYHhsx9Y/WJ4232hW0-I/AAAAAAAAAQA/sHXQwO7mRnk_7xRuntCJCIkQp7d4gt64wCLcB/s1600/2898505043_6cb3d577ed_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="310" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-A2PKYHhsx9Y/WJ4232hW0-I/AAAAAAAAAQA/sHXQwO7mRnk_7xRuntCJCIkQp7d4gt64wCLcB/s400/2898505043_6cb3d577ed_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/library_of_virginia/2898505043/in/photolist-5q8AyT-odNTm7-aEUY86-ocboK4-75wq8P-odGD1z-owhVxh-ouPhYy-ovEYA2-ouvKar-owXGHk-ouAXCo-aewS8G-5S2jsG-i2Cn2i-od8yL7-owen6Q-kMqPaL-ouq6HA-ocafC7-hNy96Y-owpbc3-crsYKj-oeY8ss-i7utU2-8cKPBo-i4bova-ovpQAp-8aokhY-odLFnD-owsYXp-oybXVH-crsdq5-owo9PM-otrv12-owbZHk-crsbXq-od9D3F-ovsCEd-oeY3UG-4M1Cff-ov8RHf-od7hCt-owqq8i-ov3FsW-odHJxe-w9SiFX-od8UUf-cznAHL-ouz3TC" target="_blank">CC Image courtesy of The Library of Virginia on Flickr</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
First of all, they cost money. If you know me even just the
tiniest bit, you know I’m quite the cheapskate. In the grand scheme of things,
the cost of the monthly gym membership can buy a lot of coffee. Or sponsor
sports for the children. Or contribute to our vacation fund. Or go toward a
nice date night. Or here’s a wacky thought-save the money. It was just too much for
my frugal self to justify.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
Secondly, one can get in shape perfectly fine without all
that fancy equipment. Want to jog? Push the kids in the stroller around the
block. Need to lift weights? Use soup cans from the pantry. Even pesky pull-ups
and lunges can be done at the local park (don’t be a creep, though, and be sure to wait
for a time when less children are present). <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But what about those fun classes that the gym offers? You
might ask. Why hello, OnDemand television. You don’t even need to get dressed
to do a workout program in front of the television. Just roll out of bed, hit a
few buttons on the remote, and you’re set. You can customize by time, workout
type, or just sit there and scroll through while you imagine yourself growing
healthier by the second. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If OnDemand isn’t your thing, we have this amazing
invention called the internet. With that comes YouTube. Park yourself in front of the
computer and work that body. There are a plethora of workouts to choose from on
the internet, many for free of charge. If you happen to find something that
asks you to pay, just keep searching. Your cheap self will thank you later. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There are also a ton of apps available to download on your
phone that will give you a daily workout routine. Prop your phone up to view, squint your eyes for a better view, and copy that instructor to your heart's content. You can also rewind if the instructor goes too fast or does some
type of crazy move you couldn’t quite copy. You can’t really rewind the
instructor at the gym, now can you? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Of course I can’t forget to mention the self-conscious
factor. I’m not gonna lie, I freak out a bit at the thought of someone watching
me sweat and grunt in public. No thank-you. I would rather pretend to be put
together (as much as a mom of three young children can be), when you see me out
of the house. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then there’s the comparison game. Watching the fit 90-year-old
great-grandma in the best shape of her life while she conquers spin class makes
me think I have a problem if I can’t even lift my butt off the seat. Or the guy
with muscles benching five times his body weight. You go, buddy, but that is
some serious stuff and a bit too intimidating for me. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Oh yes, intimidation. All the machines with their fancy
cables and wires and imposing heavy weights that slide and pull and push and
turn. I have no clue how to use any of that and I don’t want to look like an
idiot when I accidentally make the whole thing topple over or end up sitting on
something when my head was really supposed to fit in that spot. I’d like to
keep my dignity, thank you very much. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Another issue- and this is a big one for me as well-germs.
The bacteria that might be breeding in that hot, sweat-laden cesspool of human
secretions just grosses me out. I know they sanitize equipment and all that,
but some germs are sneaky. I don’t want to walk away with MRSA or some other
mutated virus having snuck in through a missed spot on the gym floor. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
To conclude my story, I did end up using the free pass for
the week. Hello, it was FREE! And would you know, I did convince my husband to
sign the entire family up for the monthly membership. I know, what was I
thinking? But the reason that won me over, that conquered all fears of
money-wasting and toppled my arguments of convenience and inferiority and overcame the dreaded
avoidance of all germs, was….<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Childcare.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08888432137418618656noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4333866189305004813.post-73590317675868636322016-07-02T22:23:00.001-07:002016-07-02T23:49:07.279-07:00How to be a mommy bloggerBased on personal experience, I've compiled the necessary steps it takes to be a mommy blogger. Perhaps a few of you out there in internet land will be inspired. <br />
<br />
Step 1) Wake up at an unearthly hour to rambunctious children climbing into bed to play hide and seek under your covers. Grumble as squealing children wake up the baby, which means you have zero chance of going back to sleep. Nurse baby, scroll through Facebook on phone, read morning devotions, and wait for Husband to leave for work before showering and getting dressed.<br />
<br />
Step 2) Dress children and listen to them wreak havoc as you shower and dress for the day. Threaten said children multiple times with no breakfast unless they clean up the mess they made.<br />
<br />
Step 3) "Help" children clean up their mess and go downstairs to fix them breakfast and start on laundry. <br />
<br />
Step 4) Find laptop that had been hidden from grabbing hands the day before and turn it on. Wait for updates to load while simultaneously emptying the dishwasher and dodging food that the baby is throwing.<br />
<br />
Step 5) Realize the baby is about to fall out of his high chair and the older children need help cleaning up after breakfast. Grab and clean off baby, chair, table, floor, and older children. <br />
<br />
Step 6) Finalize shopping list and pack up snacks, drinks, diapers, and wipes to head to the grocery store. This needs to be done before nap time or any attempt out of the house will end in many, many tears. <br />
<br />
Step 7) Nurse baby then load everyone into the car with all toys, drinks, and snacks that heaven forbid would think to be left behind. Search frantically for small missing shoes that you know you put away yesterday. Run back and forth from the house to the car three more times to ensure all lights were turned off, animals are fed, and wallet is not forgotten. Dawdle as long as possible in the peaceful silence of the house while children start yelling for you from the car. <br />
<br />
Step 8) Drive to the grocery store and negotiate with children over seating arrangements for the trip. After a few rounds of musical cart seating, ensure everyone is ready to go into the grocery store and realizes this is not a shopping trip to pick up toys or games. You are here for food, not fun. <br />
<br />
Step 9) Enjoy walking around the store with the children, narrating and discussing food options (read- just because it has Frozen on it does not mean we need to buy it. Yes, I see there is a princess on the cereal. That's not what we are getting today.) Allow children to help you select items and put them in the cart. Dole out snacks in a timely manner and frantically check that all items from your dumped out purse are still in the cart. Instruct eldest child to pick up the entire box of blueberries that are rolling away because she dropped them on the ground. Ignore the bag of flour that burst open in the cart because your child wanted to rearrange the cart. Double check list to make sure you at least grabbed the most essential items. <br />
<br />
Step 10) Cringe as children helpfully wrestle items onto conveyor belt, praying nothing gets too damaged. Assure checkout clerk that some items are opened and leaking, but you are still going to take them because you are responsible for the damage and don't want to wait another second. Remind children over and over again not to take the teaser items that they are gripping from the checkout aisle. Mommy does not need another chapstick or tiny princess doll today. Not even that delicious looking chocolate bar. <br />
<br />
Step 11) Load all children and items into car, reminding them that these items are for home, not right now. We are not going to dig through all the bags to find your applesauce for you to hold. It will be right here waiting for you when we get home.<br />
<br />
Step 12) Pick up coffee at the drive thru because the children gleefully pointed out that it is conveniently located on the way home and they were very good at the store today and everyone should get a treat. <br />
<br />
Step 13) Leave sleeping baby in the car with the air conditioning running while you unload older children and groceries from the car. Hope nobody notices sleeping baby and car running and decides to go for a joyride. Run back and forth multiple times and remind starving children that you will make their lunch in just a minute because you need to put frozen food items away before they melt.<br />
<br />
Step 14) Unload sleeping baby from the car and pray he stays asleep....<br />
<br />
Step 15) Listen to baby scream while you make lunch for children who are practically dead from starvation at this point. Set everyone up for lunch and nurse baby, then put him in high chair for his lunch. Refill drinks and negotiate over food eaten. <br />
<br />
Step 16) Notice laptop on counter and power on. Wait for updates to finish and screen to load. Think about asking for a new laptop as a Christmas present.<br />
<br />
Step 17) Clean up baby and children and table and chairs and floor. Mop up spilled drinks and load dishes. Remember to switch laundry load. Sit on couch and read multiple books to children.<br />
<br />
Step 18) Help children find art supplies for a project they decided to make. Remind child that a glue stick is not a marker. Wrestle crayons and markers away from baby and remind older children to keep their items on the table.<br />
<br />
Step 19) Notice laptop on counter and power on. Wait for updates to finish and screen to load. Sign in and log on to check email. <br />
<br />
Step 20) Referee fight between children, help middle child use the restroom and remember that nap time was supposed to happen an hour ago but they children were playing so nicely you didn't want to interrupt.<br />
<br />
Step 21) Carry dead weight of child upstairs and use ninja skills to stop her from grabbing on to the stair railing and making you painfully twist your shoulder. Negotiate with child over number of toys she can have in her bed, whether or not the light will be on, whether or not the fan will be on, whether or not the door will be open, where her drink is, and whether or not she can have a snack in bed.<br />
<br />
Step 22) Change and nurse baby to sleep. Shush older child as she decides to bang on the piano and sing her heart out. Send middle child back to her room. Nurse baby back to sleep and set gently in crib.<br />
<br />
Step 23) Put laundry away before Husband's work clothes wrinkle and you need to wash them again. Assure older child you will be downstairs soon.<br />
<br />
Step 24) Stop by sleeping child's room and stare adoringly at her cherub face. Turn off light, move book off of her face and toy out from under her neck. <br />
<br />
Step 25) Help older child with elaborate coloring project downstairs. <br />
<br />
Step 26) Move laptop to table with older child and power on. Realize laptop is out of battery and search for power cord. Find power cord and plug in and wait for enough power to power on.<br />
<br />
Step 27) Listen to sounds of crying baby and hope he doesn't wake sleeping child. Tiptoe upstairs and rescue crying baby from the desolate crib and nurse him. Stare into his eyes and fend off his pinching hands. <br />
<br />
Step 28) Feed endless snacks and drinks to eldest child and baby and middle child who just woke up. Clean up baby, table, chairs and floor. Coerce middle child into using the restroom. <br />
<br />
Step 29) Send older children outside to play while you prep dinner. Go outside with baby to play too. <br />
<br />
Step 30) Work on dinner and listen to children complain about how hungry they are. Check phone multiple times to see if Husband is on his way home yet. <br />
<br />
Step 31) Power on laptop and log in. Write "Happy Birthday" on people's Facebook walls so they know you are a good friend. Join in on message threads you hadn't responded to. Look at running list of blog ideas and try to remember what you wanted to write about. <br />
<br />
Step 32) Greet Husband as he comes home and try to pawn children off on him so you can finish dinner. Have children help set table and serve dinner. Refill drinks, cut food into small pieces, and pick up sippy cup a minimum of ten times. <br />
<br />
Step 33) Send Husband and children upstairs for playtime and bath and books and bedtime while you clean up table and chairs and food and load dishwasher. Blast music and clean floors and toys. Add items to to-do list and redo grocery list, omitting items you picked up earlier. Pay bills and walk out to the mailbox. <br />
<br />
Step 34) Go upstairs to take baby and nurse to sleep. Place gently in crib and pray he sleeps for a while. Help older child put on band-aid. Help middle child get a drink. Give middle child pile of books to read while she uses the restroom. Help older child fix her blankets. Help middle child finish up in restroom. <br />
<br />
Step 35) Go downstairs and catch up with Husband. Watch Fixer Upper and discuss home project ideas. Rescue baby from the evil crib and grab laptop from table. <br />
<br />
Step 36) Plop on couch, give baby toys, power on laptop and log in. Decide on a blog topic and start to type. Fend off baby fingers trying to help you type. Pull baby off of laptop and hope bloodcurdling screams don't wake the other children. Place laptop on a shelf where baby cannot reach. Realize it is very late and go upstairs to put baby back to sleep. <br />
<br />
Step 37) Think of more things to blog about and add them to the list on your phone. Start to jumble your thoughts so you shut down for the night and go to sleep. You'll be able to focus more tomorrow after you have a good night's sleep. <br />
<br />
And that, dear readers, is how to be a mommy blogger. Hopefully soon I'll make it further than Step 37. Wish me luck! Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08888432137418618656noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4333866189305004813.post-59333407249016223972015-10-08T12:50:00.001-07:002015-10-08T12:50:35.966-07:00The Poopy Intruder"Clomp, clomp, clomp," I hear heavy footsteps beginning to climb up the stairs. My eyes bolt open as I attempt to snap out of a deep sleep and make sense of the darkness in the middle of the night. I see light emanating from the light-sensored night light lining the staircase.<br />
<br />
<i>Somebody is climbing the staircase. </i> <br />
<br />
"Clomp, clomp, clomp." The footsteps climb higher. My thoughts dart to the girls sleeping in their room at the top of the stairs. I sit up and frantically glance around to see my husband sleeping peacefully next to me. He's too much trouble to wake up and I wonder how I will save my family.<br />
<br />
"Clomp, clomp."<br />
<br />
Pause. <br />
<br />
"Bang!" The intruder is now at the baby gate. My heart races and I freeze as it bangs open.<br />
<br />
Then a little blond head bobs into view, clutching a diaper to her chest and purposefully heading toward the bathroom. <br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
I let go of the breath I didn't know I was holding and hop out of bed to intercept her. <br />
<br />
"What are you doing?" I question my tiny two-year old, probably a little too forcefully.<br />
<br />
"Mommy, I go poo-poo in potty," she happily replies. <br />
<br />
"What? Show Mommy."<br />
<br />
I follow her into the bathroom where she had indeed done quite a bit of business in her little potty chair. Somehow she had managed to get out of bed, take off her pjs and diaper, and sit on her potty chair all by herself. <br />
<br />
Then she realized she needed a new diaper so she went all the way to the downstairs stash to grab one and bring it up. How she thought she was going to put it on herself, I have no idea. <br />
<br />
I helped her clean up, praised her for using her potty chair, put her diaper on her, and tucked her back into bed, all the while wondering how I slept through her getting out of bed in the first place.<br />
<br />
Thankful that we didn't have a real intruder, I went back to bed and spent the rest of the night analyzing what I would do if my sleepyhead had been a real intruder. <br />
Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08888432137418618656noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4333866189305004813.post-34012793095384438272015-09-28T12:19:00.005-07:002015-09-28T12:19:50.190-07:00Calming Colic- Guest posting on BabyCenter todayClick on over to <a href="http://blogs.babycenter.com/mom_stories/calming-colic-6-tips-from-a-mom-whos-been-there/" target="_blank">Babycenter </a>to see my tips on calming colic. Do you have any advice you would like to offer? <br />
<br />Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08888432137418618656noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4333866189305004813.post-86445793375321667462015-09-22T23:11:00.000-07:002015-09-22T23:11:06.608-07:00Dear homeless person, please enjoy my Ergo insert<br />
I have a few different baby carriers, but the one I wear the most is my Ergo (Note, this is <i>not </i>a sponsored post. Although I wouldn't mind representing the brand if the company feels so inclined!). Since I had a newborn, I also used the infant insert that goes inside the carrier. <br />
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It was definitely a bit of a hassle to use the insert (sorry, Ergo company, if you're reading this, but that's the truth). First you had to put the baby in the insert (it wrapped around the baby like a cocoon and had a soft seat for the infant to sit on), then you had to put the insert into the carrier and then once everything was positioned correctly, then finally you could strap it on. <br />
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My
son was born at the end of May, meaning right when summer was
approaching. Thus, the weather was getting hot and the cushy, soft insert was
making us both even hotter. I solved this problem by separating the
seat of the insert from the cocoon part and only using the seat. It was
like a little pillow that he sat on to help keep him high enough in the
baby carrier so he could fit.<br />
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Again, awkward to use. If I wanted him out of the carrier I had to catch the little pillow part and then hold it in one hand or under my arm or try to stuff it in my purse. However, once I started getting pretty efficient at my Ergo infant pillow seat maneuvers I accidentally lost the pillow seat. <br />
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I swear it rolled out of the car when I was putting the baby in the carseat in the parking lot of Starbucks. I had it when I wore the baby into the shop and didn't take my baby out of the carrier until I was back at the car. So the only place it could have rolled out was in the parking lot, right? <br />
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I'm normally a super crazy organized person who keeps track of absolutely everything, so it really upset me that I couldn't find the pillow seat when I returned home. I didn't have a chance to go back to the parking lot until the next morning, and after doing multiple laps around the parking lot with three kids in tow, peeking under cars and in nearby bushes, I called it quits before someone decided to call the police on me for suspicious behavior. I had to chalk it up as a loss due to my own negligence.<br />
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I woefully told my husband the tale of my missing infant insert pillow and he sweetly suggested that perhaps a homeless person had seen my nice cushy pillow piece lying ever so conspicuously in the middle of the parking lot and he or she decided to take it and use it as a pillow to rest his or her head on.<br />
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My husband's creative tale resonated with me, so dear homeless person, please enjoy my Ergo insert. It served my baby and me well on our many outings and hope it can provide you with a little comfort that you might not normally encounter. I will miss it, but I'm sure you can use it more than me.<br />
Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08888432137418618656noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4333866189305004813.post-88884949408095479512015-08-11T20:55:00.000-07:002015-08-11T21:12:30.232-07:00Preparing for kindergarten I didn't think I would be one of those parents who made a big deal out of my child going to kindergarten. I mean, she was in daycare every workday for the first three years of her life. I said goodbye to her every morning, was away from her all day, then picked her up every afternoon. That was life.<br />
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Then I had the opportunity to stay home with her once her
younger sister arrived. It was one of my dreams come true. I wanted to
be there with my children to experience life with them, to do all the
day to day activities with them, to view the world through their eyes as
they learn and discover new things every day. From doing laundry and
dishes to going on beach trips and expeditions to the zoo,
we've experienced it together. <br />
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She's been in preschool the past two years, but it's only been a few days a week, and a few hours at that, but it seems so insignificant compared to kindergarten. I was still able to eat lunch with her every day and do day trips during the week on her off days. I won't be able to do that with her anymore. Kindergarten here includes lunchtime and of course occurs all week long It's a huge difference to what we've been doing. <br />
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My five-year old daughter starts kindergarten tomorrow. Already! I am truly going to miss her. She has been my little helper, my constant companion, my biggest challenge, and someone I love with all my heart. I worry about her going off into the world of public school and encountering people I don't know, getting influenced by things beyond my control. I know she will be fine, but as a mom I think it's ingrained in me to have that worry. <br />
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I think she's feeling some anxiety about it as well. Her
emotions have been more vivid lately as I see her crying more easily and
her anxiety manifesting as she frequently chews on her nails. Being
the booklover that I am, I gathered a group of books about going to
school so that we could start preparing and getting in the school
mindset. <br />
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The big day is tomorrow and Husband has arranged to work from home so that all of us can walk her to school in the morning and pick her up in the afternoon. I'm hoping for a smooth day for all of us as we cross into the next chapter of our daughter's life. Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08888432137418618656noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4333866189305004813.post-57184151875218654062015-04-07T21:59:00.001-07:002015-04-07T22:01:38.353-07:0019 easy steps to get sleep with a toddler who doesn't like to sleep<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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My children do not like sleep. I have no idea why. Sleep and I get along just fine. As a matter of fact, I need sleep or I am cranky and irritable and have a very hard time functioning. I've alternated between co-sleeping and sleeping in individual rooms. Whatever seems to be working at the time is what we do. Currently my youngest (and I) sleep better when she is in her own room. However, even then sleep can be a challenge. Here are a few steps to getting sleep with a toddler who doesn't like to sleep: <br />
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Step 1: Around bedtime, make sure toddler is fed, clean, happy, and sleepy.<br />
Step 2: Nurse or rock toddler to sleep, read a story, or just plop in the crib. Whatever they are used to doing to fall asleep, just do it.<br />
Step 3: Turn on white noise machine in toddler's room to create a sound barrier so noisy cars and dogs and random neighbors do not disturb the tiny cherub.<br />
Step 4: Close door to toddler's room, making sure monitor is activated. <br />
Step 5: Get yourself ready for bed. Take a bath, read a book, whatever you need to do to relax. <br />
Step 6: Turn on white noise machine in your room to create a sound barrier so noisy cars and dogs and random neighbors do not disturb your beauty sleep. <br />
Step 7: Check on toddler via baby monitor. Use stealth tactics to adjust any blankets or temperature of the room if need be.<br />
Step 8: Sink into a white-noise induced, much needed, blissful sleep. <br />
Step 9: Wake up frantically multiple times throughout the night to check on toddler via baby monitor.<br />
Step 10: Wake up multiple times to toddler yelling for you from down the hall.<br />
Step 11: Stagger back and forth from your room to toddler's room multiple times to help toddler fall back asleep. <br />
Step 12: Eventually fall into an exhausted sleep until morning.<br />
Step 13: Wake up to find toddler softly snoring next to you. Start to drift back to sleep again.<br />
Step 14: Wake up to toddler jumping on you and yelling at you to get them dressed. <br />
Step 15: Stagger through the day attempting to function and do everything on the to-do list. <br />
Step 16: Wait until Husband comes home from work to entertain the children while you go take a nap. <br />
Step 17: Awaken from nap multiple times by toddler (and other children) coming to check on you. <br />
Step 18: Give up on nap and go make dinner.<br />
Step 19: Repeat steps 1-18 for the next few years. <br />
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<br />Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08888432137418618656noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4333866189305004813.post-77870035092347416402015-03-31T15:32:00.001-07:002015-03-31T15:32:12.796-07:00We Registered for Kindergarten TodayJust like that, my baby is growing up. A few weeks ago she had a dental check-up (No cavities- Yay!). We had her kindergarten physical today (she's growing well and is overall pretty healthy). I filled out a pile of forms and turned everything in today. She's officially on the list for kindergarten for the school down the street. <br />
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Sure, she's been in preschool for the past two years, but that doesn't really count as "real school" to me. Preschool has been great, but it's been a very sheltered environment where she pretty much goes to play for a few hours three days a week. After agonizing over where to send her, we decided kindergarten is going to be in our local, public school. And it's going to be <i>all day long.</i> That's the part I don't like. <br />
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Where we live, there are no half-day options. Every kindergarten is all day long. I guess I should clarify what I mean by all day long. The students start school at 8:15 and the kindergarten is out at 1:15. The rest of the school gets out at 2:45. So while it's not exactly all day, it is including lunch time. To me, that's a really long time. This Mommy is not happy. My little baby is not going to be able to eat lunch with me every day. Instead, she'll be exposed to who knows what from her peers at school. <br />
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I've worked public schools. I know that there are not so good things that kids talk about and introduce other kids to. I was rather hoping to keep my daughter in a nice little bubble for as long as possible. I know it's not feasible, but as a parent I think it's important to determine when they can be introduced to certain topics. Now I'm going to pray about what to say and prepare myself for her to come home and ask random questions. <br />
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On the other hand, she will be able to make new, local friends. Our current preschool is in the next town, so planning any playdates is a bigger ordeal than just bringing her somewhere in the neighborhood. Plus, when she makes new friends, I get to make new friends. I'm one of those moms who wants to know the families of who my children hang out with. <br />
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I also plan to volunteer in her kindergarten classroom as often as I can. I hope to set up a regular schedule and coordinate with maybe another mom to watch my children once a week or so. I'm excited to be involved and let another teacher be in charge.<br />
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It should be a great experience, but I still can't believe it's here already. Well, technically I have through the summer and until August before she actually starts, but it's getting closer. Until then, I'll be treasuring our lunches together. <br />
Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08888432137418618656noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4333866189305004813.post-28450955601877022502015-03-11T11:48:00.001-07:002015-03-11T11:48:42.054-07:00Television TuesdayI am one of those parents who is not a fan of screen time for the kids. This means television, iPad, phone, video games, etc. I think children spend too much time in front of screens when they should be outside in the fresh air, or moving around and doing imaginative play without the help of some electronic. <br />
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Do I think it is all bad? No. I think there is some usefulness in it. I know certain shows are educational and definitely help teach the kids. Video games and iPad apps can help with critical thinking skills and learning how to navigate technology, which will definitely be important for them to know in the future. <br />
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However, the American Academy of Pediatrics <a href="https://www.aap.org/en-us/advocacy-and-policy/aap-health-initiatives/pages/media-and-children.aspx" target="_blank">recommends that children under age two should avoid television and other media.</a> On top of that, s<span id="DeltaPlaceHolderMain">tudies have shown that all that screen time can lead to behavioral and developmental issues later on. These are things that I would like to avoid. </span><br />
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<span id="DeltaPlaceHolderMain">With that being said, if I had a little more willpower, my children would probably watch a lot less television than they do. Meaning, zero hours per week, or maybe only a movie once a month or so. My oldest is now five and has seen quite a few Disney movies and is up to date on the popular Disney Junior shows. Since she is usually in the same room as her sister, my two-year old gets a lot more screen time than her sister ever did at that age. </span><br />
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<span id="DeltaPlaceHolderMain">I have a love/hate relationship with the television. When I am having a rough pregnancy day, I can turn it on and know the children will stay occupied in one spot and I can veg out for a bit until I feel better or I think their brains have been reasonably fried. Seriously, this thing is like a drug. My oldest will sit in front of it for as long as we have it on. That's just her personality. My youngest will also sit for a bit to watch, but doesn't stay for quite as long. It tends to turn them both into little zombies. </span><br />
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<span id="DeltaPlaceHolderMain">In an effort to limit the television usage, we have instituted "Television Tuesday." Tuesday is the only morning we don't have a specific place we are supposed to be, so the girls get to watch TV in the morning when they wake up. They LOVE it. They wake up in the morning shouting "TV! TV!" Apparently Mommy isn't that exciting. </span><br />
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<span id="DeltaPlaceHolderMain">We have a few other occasional television times, such as when they watch a movie or cartoon together in the evening with Daddy. Or when somebody is sick and needs to rest on the couch (although my oldest will try to pretend that she is sick a lot, so she can watch TV. But we are on to her). </span><br />
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<span id="DeltaPlaceHolderMain">Am I being overprotective? Maybe. I think my husband thinks I am a little crazy. Although I think they still watch way more TV than they need to, when they could be playing with toys or running around outside. However, they are pretty happy with the current situation, so we will see how it goes. </span><br />
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<span id="DeltaPlaceHolderMain"> </span>Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08888432137418618656noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4333866189305004813.post-16302128510413409562015-02-04T14:32:00.003-08:002015-02-04T14:32:52.799-08:00A Beach Date with my GirlsHusband was out of town for a few days and the weather was absolutely gorgeous. I wanted to do something or go somewhere, but I didn't want it to be too complicated. My solution: The beach. <br />
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Yes, the beach is a couple of hours drive away, and I would be all by myself with the two children, but it sounded fun and exciting and I was up for the challenge to be supermom. <br />
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First order of business was figuring out what to pack. I needed to be able to transport everything to the sand entirely by myself. Luckily, I'm a natural minimalist, so it wasn't too difficult. I brought along the shade umbrella, a couple of towels, sand toys, and packed a lunch. I was going to attempt to push everything (children included) in the double stroller. <br />
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The drive down was uneventful, which is what I was hoping for. Both girls slept for most of the drive, and nobody got carsick (which actually happens quite often). <br />
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We arrived at the beach and I drove along the coast until I could find a parking lot. I unloaded everything, packed the stroller up nicely, and began the long walk to the beach. <br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>This is the view from our walk. </i></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Pregnant me pushed the two girls and the stroller full of stuff quite a ways to the sand. I knew a beach that had a ramp to get down, so that's where I headed. I got to the sand and made the older one jump out (my stroller isn't built for off roading). I then grabbed the front of the stroller and dragged it across the sand until I found a good spot to park. I'm sure I was a sight, pregnant belly dragging a stroller with a frightened two year old in it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"> <i>The view of the ocean over my big belly. This thing is growing fast! </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">We set up camp and the girls went to town playing in the sand. We were right next to an abandoned sand castle, so they also had a good time playing Godzilla and obliterating that thing. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">The girls started getting antsy and I really had to use the restroom. I hadn't quite figured out how to make that happen. I couldn't leave the girls and the stuff, so I packed us all up again and headed to the nearest restroom. The closest open one happened to be on the pier, so we wandered down the pier, enjoying the view of the ocean and the people. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">At the end of the pier are cutouts where you can look down and observe the sea lions sleeping and playing and barking.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">We grabbed fish and chips and some candy to snack on while we sat on a bench and observed the ocean. </span> </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Then we packed it up and headed home. Overall, I was extremely proud of myself for taking the trip to the beach with the two girls alone. My oldest was such a good helper and all three of us had a great time. </span></span></div>
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Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08888432137418618656noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4333866189305004813.post-5578027958215965452015-01-28T16:20:00.000-08:002015-01-28T17:12:01.539-08:00Sharing is CaringMy two daughters are almost 5 and almost 2. They are at the exciting age where they can play together, laugh together, dance together, and communicate pretty clearly with each other. It's a proud Mommy moment when I see the two of them showing sisterly love. That's when I get out the camera. <br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DnJwOVMztL4/VMlswHwnnFI/AAAAAAAAAIk/r0zDezwsYf4/s1600/Girls%2Briding%2Bhorse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DnJwOVMztL4/VMlswHwnnFI/AAAAAAAAAIk/r0zDezwsYf4/s1600/Girls%2Briding%2Bhorse.jpg" height="320" width="280" /></a>One thing I didn't realize was that they would also fight together. I mean, I knew there would be little squabbles. It's inevitable that things will run smoothly all the time. However, I thought they would be able to play together with no issues, the older one helping the younger one, and the younger one learning from the older one. Apparently not the case as often as I would like. <br />
<br />
Husband and I have discussed this a few times, trying to figure out the rules of sharing, so to speak. In public places, the rules are pretty simple. The equipment or items are there for everyone to use, so everyone should take turns. However long the turn takes is ultimately left up to the children or parents present.<br />
<br />
When at a friend's house, we make it clear that the toys are not ours, so the friend is in charge of who can play with what. <br />
<br />
If we have a friend over our house, we first put away any special items that they do not want others to play with, then leave out the ones that they do not mind if others touch. My girls are expected to let their friends have first pick of toys because their friends do not live here and do not get to play with the toys all the time like they do. <br />
<br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WLnTlw4vNbc/VMlsx0MC1KI/AAAAAAAAAIs/qCc7sWvPG18/s1600/Girls%2BReading.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WLnTlw4vNbc/VMlsx0MC1KI/AAAAAAAAAIs/qCc7sWvPG18/s1600/Girls%2BReading.jpg" height="320" width="272" /></a>Now here's the issue: at home between the two girls. I have two different situations I have been mulling over in my head. The first is that of ownership. The girls do have their own toys that have been gifted to them throughout the past few years. They were given to each child individually. So should they be required to share their own personal gifts with each other? They can choose to share with the other if they like, but if they are literally fighting over it, when do I step in? <br />
<br />
A problem with ownership is that the younger one has not been around long enough to have amassed the same number of items as the older one. Instead, we've been passing down the toys from the older one for the younger one to play with. This has worked fine when there was a bigger discrepancy in their ages. Now that the little one is interested in what the older one is playing with, we are having property battles. <br />
<br />
That brings me to the second situation, that of first come, first serve. Whoever gets a toy first gets to play with it, even if it belongs to the other child. Should the toys then be fair game? We do have toys that were given to both of the girls, so it makes sense that those are a first come, first served basis. I also try to give whoever is playing with the toy plenty of time for a turn.<br />
<br />
Here's an example of a common fight:<br />
<br />
Flower (almost 2) is playing happily with the Duplo Legos. Princess (almost 5) starts playing with a baby doll that was given specifically to Flower for Christmas, but is kept in the communal doll pile. Princess happily talks to the doll, mothering it like a good little mother. She takes the baby doll for a walk, happening to go past where Flower is playing. Flower looks up and notices that Princess has her doll. <br />
<br />
Ensue crying and screaming and tug of war of the doll. <br />
<br />
Cue my Mommy dilemma. Do I make Princess give the doll to Flower, since it is hers? Or do I continue to let Princess play with the doll, since she had it first? Or do I take the doll away until they can figure out who should play with it? Or do I ignore them and hope they figure it out without doing bodily harm?<br />
<br />
For now, I'm buying two of everything. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08888432137418618656noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4333866189305004813.post-1527299221757020742015-01-19T22:09:00.000-08:002015-01-19T22:09:02.144-08:00Going Into Kindergarten: What I WantMy oldest daughter is starting kindergarten this upcoming fall. I am actually excited for her to go. She loves being around other children her age. She enjoys a stimulating environment where she can grow and learn. I know she will have a blast making new friends, enjoy learning a new routine, and going to a "big girl" school. <br />
<br />
I am pretty sure that wherever she goes will be fine. However, I want a school that will be more than just "fine." I want a school that will challenge her. One that will excite her. One that she will be proud to go to and I will be proud to tell other parents where she goes. I want a school known for excellence, for having students with great critical thinking skills who aren't afraid of a challenge. <br />
<br />
I want an organized classroom with clear expectations for students. I
want the classroom to have explicit, basic routines that every child can
easily explain and follow. I want my daughter to have a feeling of belonging in the classroom, a sense of purpose and contentment. <br />
<br />
I want my daughter to have a teacher that is innovative and understands how children learn. I want my daughter's teacher to listen to her and respond appropriately. I want her to have a good relationship with her teacher so that she can ask questions and master concepts before moving on to the next. I want her to come home and be bursting to tell me all of the things she learned that day. I want her to be excited for upcoming projects and activities. I want my daughter's teacher to plan lessons that are engaging and involve music, art, movement, and everything else that my daughter might consider fun. I want an open classroom where I can observe my daughter learning at
anytime. I want to feel welcomed by the teacher and part of the learning process.<br />
<br />
I want a safe school environment where rules are enforced and students are kind to one another. I want parents to know what their children are doing at school. I want to know the other families that are at the school. I want to know that if there is an issue with my daughter and another child, that I will be notified and the situation rectified fairly and efficiently. I want my daughter to feel comfortable with the other children and teachers and staff in charge. I want teachers and staff to be approachable, yet maintain their authority. I want the school to be fearless in trying new techniques, but to stick to something long enough to test its efficacy. <br />
<br />
I want the teachers of the school to have a collaborative environment, where they have affable relationships and are proud of the place they work and the jobs they do. I want them to be constantly learning and tweaking and refining their practice to make their school the best possible school it can be. <br />
<br />
I want the best for my daughter. Is that too much to ask? <br />
<br />
Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08888432137418618656noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4333866189305004813.post-621061119798362992014-12-29T12:29:00.003-08:002014-12-29T12:29:47.061-08:00Third PlaceI came in third place in the BabyCenter Baby Bump Blogging Contest! It was so fun to be part of. I truly appreciate all the sharing and voting and encouraging that people gave me. I was even fortunate to have someone write an article about me in the local online newspaper! How cool is that? <br />
<br />
You can see my online video submission at BabyCenter <a href="http://blogs.babycenter.com/mom_stories/baby-bump-blogger-contest-its-time-to-vote-2/" target="_blank">here</a>. <br />
<br />
Thank you all again and expect to see a weekly blog post from me over at BabyCenter starting in mid-January. <br />
<br />
Now to go freak out about what to write and publish for the whole world to see...Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08888432137418618656noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4333866189305004813.post-18231247136024860262014-12-10T20:34:00.003-08:002014-12-29T12:26:30.485-08:00"Would you like to see your cervix?"I'm so excited to be one of BabyCenter's Blogger Contest Finalists! You can view my submission <a href="http://blogs.babycenter.com/mom_stories/blog-contest-finalist-would-you-like-to-see-your-cervix/" target="_blank">here</a>. The blog I submitted was edited for contest requirements, so I'm publishing the expanded version here. I hope you enjoy and feel free to vote for me Dec. 16-22! <br />
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>“Would you like to see your cervix?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The birthing center where I plan to give birth rotates the
OB doctors at each appointment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In this
way, expectant mothers have the chance to meet all the potential people who
could assist in the birth of the baby.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It seems like a good idea.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You
will already know one of the faces that will be staring (and then some) at your
hoo-ha on your delivery date.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Makes the
introductions a little quicker and easier, I suppose.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s not a big deal to me, though.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My baby is coming out no matter what.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t really care about the relationship
between me and the person down there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As
long as he or she catches the baby, I’m good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I just had my second prenatal appointment at this
facility.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thus, I met a new doctor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dr. Stevens* reminded me of Jamie Lee Curtis
from the movie “True Lies.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You know,
the one with Arnold Schwarzeneggar and Jamie Lee Curtis gets fooled into doing
this amazing striptease for him?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That
movie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Granted, Dr. Stevens did not do a
striptease for me, thank goodness, but her appearance was reminiscent of this
Jamie Lee Curtis with her short hair and slim figure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then she opened her mouth and I was transported to Mrs.
Doubtfire.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Hi, honey!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>she
greeted me with falsetto tones and a grandmotherly<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>manner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Uh, hi,” I replied, thinking she couldn’t actually be
serious.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But yes, she really was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I had an entire, intimate, prenatal appointment performed by Jamie Lee
Curtis as Mrs. Doubtfire.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
During this appointment I was scheduled to have a pap smear
and a complete physical. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dr. Jamie Lee
Curtis Doubtfire started at the top.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“OK, now honey I’m
going to check your neck and your thyroids to make sure everything is ok,”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>she smiled sweetly at me while pressing on my
throat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then she opened the front of my gown and spent an
inordinately long time making sure there were no lumps on the girls.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All is well, in case you were wondering.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I bet my Husband could have told Jamie Lee
Doubtfire that as well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After that was the dreaded pap smear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Alright, honey, put your feet up here and
I’m going to get out my speculum.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’ll
probably feel pressure.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dr. Jamie Lee then
pulls out the Q-tip on steroids and lets me know I might feel a little
twinge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then she stops and looks at
me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Would you like to see your cervix?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Um, what?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What?” I ask.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
mean, I’ve never heard this question before in my life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Have you ever seen your cervix before?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Would you like to see it?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>asks Dr. Doubtfire sweetly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yes?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
respond.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Seriously, I have not seen my
cervix before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Have you?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do you even know where it is?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s going to thin and stretch in order to
push a baby out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I figured I wanted to
take a looksee.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Well, honey,”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>says
Jamie Lee thoughtfully, looking me intently in the eyes, “it looks like the tip
of a penis.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’ll see it down the end
there with a red dot in the middle.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She
pulls out a handheld mirror and hands it to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I awkwardly hold the mirror and lo’ and behold, there’s my
cervix.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Right there at the end of my
vagina, exactly as she had described it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>That tiny thing has to stretch to ten centimeters to let my baby
through.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s no wonder labor is
painful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After that she told me to get dressed back in my “warm, cozy
clothes”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(it was jeans and a t-shirt)
and she would be back to chat and answer any questions I might have about my
pregnancy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Later I said my goodbyes to Dr. Jamie Lee Curtis Doubtfire
and hightailed it out to the parking lot to text my best friend about the
weirdest prenatal appointment I had ever had.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I wonder which doctor I will see next.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
*Name changed to protect privacy</div>
<br />
<br />Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08888432137418618656noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4333866189305004813.post-15474147482225929172014-12-08T16:05:00.000-08:002014-12-09T21:08:27.656-08:00Poison Control<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-r41QFWx6-Ow/VIfFRrQ0dpI/AAAAAAAAAEo/3Gn8gOxsUnk/s1600/Poison%2Bcontrol.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-r41QFWx6-Ow/VIfFRrQ0dpI/AAAAAAAAAEo/3Gn8gOxsUnk/s1600/Poison%2Bcontrol.png" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Have you heard of Poison Control? Their name is listed on pretty much every household cleaner, medicine, beauty products, and any other item that might be mistaken as food. It's the place you call when you think (or know) your child has eaten something they are not supposed to have consumed. Then Poison Control can advise you on whether or not your child needs to be rushed to the hospital and get his or her stomach pumped (or worse), or whether or not your child will be perfectly fine.<br />
<br />
I had always prided myself on not having to call Poison Control. I (used to) keep a pretty close eye on my children. We are usually in close proximity to each other and I can monitor them fairly carefully. Then I became pregnant and proximity moved further and further away. It's not easy to keep track of multiple, active, curious and very strong-willed small people while one is in the bathroom throwing up, or laying on the couch trying not to throw up. <br />
<br />
Thus, I had my first opportunity to call Poison Control. For future reference, their number is 1-800-222-1222 from anywhere in the US. You might want to program that into your phone. <br />
<br />
Any guesses as to who ate what? If I had to guess, I would have guessed someone mistakenly thought one of the cleaning supplies that I had left out during mid-bathroom clean would have been ingested. But nope, that's not it. <br />
<br />
Or the supplies under the cupboard (that should have babyproof locks on them by now but don't because I just keep forgetting. I mean, the locks are sitting there in the cupboard, waiting to be installed. Somehow I don't think that's a viable excuse. Note to self: get on that.). Anyway, nope, all cleaning supplies are still present and accounted for. <br />
<br />
Well, what was ingested? You might ask. And who done it? <br />
<br />
It was the little four year old Princess in the bedroom with the chewable gummy vitamins.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pmB_pAIozs0/VIfFEABVLOI/AAAAAAAAAEg/9QKvKH50i0c/s1600/Gummies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pmB_pAIozs0/VIfFEABVLOI/AAAAAAAAAEg/9QKvKH50i0c/s1600/Gummies.jpg" height="320" width="174" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Here's the story:<br />
<br />
Every night Princess gets a chewable gummy vitamin. Hers are the princess kind, of course. She gets a bath, brushes her teeth, then gets her gummy. She also likes to share with Mommy and Daddy and proudly tell that she's not old enough yet. <br />
<br />
The other night I went to give Princess her gummy and realized that the container was empty, save for about twenty gummies on the bottom. There were originally 180 and I had just purchased it that past week. If my pregnant brain math is correct, there were not 160 days, give or take a few, in the past week.<br />
<br />
Me: "Where did all your gummies go?"<br />
Princess: "I don't know."<br />
Me: "I'm pretty sure you do know. Did you eat them?"<br />
Princess: "It was a ghost. It snuck up the stairs and it was a very quiet ghost because you couldn't hear the baby gate squeak when it came up. And it ate all the gummies."<br />
Me: "Really, a ghost?"<br />
Princess: "Uh huh."<br />
Me: "I don't think we have any ghosts that come visit in this house. You need to tell Mommy what really happened to your gummies. Did you eat them?"<br />
Princess: "Well...."<br />
Me: "So you did eat them? When did you eat them all?"<br />
Princess: "I don't know." <br />
<br />
Sigh. <br />
<br />
So I called Poison Control. The lady who spoke to me was very nice. She said that happens all the time. Those gummies are way too much like candy and very tempting to all the children. Luckily, there was no iron in this gummy kind, so we didn't have to rush her to the hospital to worry about iron poisoning. There is a chance of them all conglomerating in her stomach and causing a big, gooey intestinal blockage, so we just had to watch her to make sure she was still eating and not complaining about her tummy hurting. Also, she doesn't get any gummies for a few months now. <br />
<br />
It's been a week or so and she seems to be fine. I can't believe she ate them all, though. The childproof lock on them is a joke, by the way. Now I need to invest in a safe for all yummy medications, or that quiet ghost might sneak in and eat them. <br />
<br />
Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08888432137418618656noreply@blogger.com0