I Blame This One on Pregnancy

Past 5:30PM, Bella gets grumpy and so do I as my patience and energy start to dwindle.  On a normal day, Dad is home to take over and saves the day as he spends the majority of his evening playing with Bella, which I'm so very thankful for.  With Tim out on the east coast aiding the relief effort, I am home wishing the relief effort was aiding me.  Tired of having PB & J's, I decide to cook stir fry and rice with fruit (have to have something Bella will eat included in the meal).  To my surprise she takes a few bites of rice, but then turns back to her normal ways and throws the rest on the floor and at the wall.  I grumble thinking, "I cook good meals, and she doesn't know how good she has it.  There are starving people in China that would kill for what she's depositing on my wood floors!"  Haven't we all heard that one before?  I never thought it would come from me.

7PM hits, I'm grumpier than grumpy and Bella is making my hair curl and my nerves twinge.  "Bella, go grab your shoes and your Blankie, we're going outside!" I say reaching my limit.  If I could walk for a half hour, then when we get home that leaves a half hour of play and then bedtime for her and me shortly there after.  Sounds good, right?  She finds her shoes and her blankie and brings them to me; she's set and ready to go, thankful to get out of the house.  She's been increasingly more grumpy with her side kick, Daddio gone and my heart hurts thinking of how she feels.  With that thought in mind, I decide to find my phone.  Yes, find my phone...  Where is my phone?

I turn to the most guilty party in the house, Bella.  If things have gone missing, it's generally because miss sticky fingers has discovered it and carts it along with her until she finds something more interesting to play with.  "Bella, where's Mommy's phone?  Will you bring Mommy her phone?"  I ask her.  She knows what I'm talking about and starts running around and eventually finds my shoes and starts following me around with them as I search for my phone.  Nearly 10 minutes go by, I'm furious and she's grumpy; she wants to go outside!  "Bella, where is Mommy's phone?"  She, again, runs off in a different direction.  I'm so very frustrated.  She brings me back her orange play phone, and I can't help but smile.  "Yes, good job.  That's a phone, just not the right one."  If Daddy calls while we're out, and I miss it, I'm gonna be upset.

I give up on my search and resort to going out for our walk without it, knowing that when I come back I will track someone down on facebook that can call me and help me look for my stupid phone.  We get a couple hundred feet from the house and my phone starts ringing!  I'll be darned... my chest starts vibrating and I jump.  I quickly pull the phone from my bra, and answer it.  It dawns on me then, that I put it there when Bella wanted to play with it earlier, in an attempt to hide it from her all-seeing eyes!  After I get off the phone I give her lovies and apologize for blaming her.  I felt bad for pinning her to the crime... instead I blame this one on pregnancy.  I joke constantly, saying that when I had Bella, half of my brain cells went to her, and that now, being pregnant again, this baby is working on the other half.  Anyone that has been pregnant before, knows how this feel.  You feel less intelligent, less with it, and just incredibly stupid and forgetful.  If you've only had one baby, try having two... it only gets worse.  :)

So if you're a Mommy or a Mommy-to-Be and an airhead as a result, I post this for you, so that maybe you'll feel a little bit better about your general lack of brain power.  After all, it happens to all of us preggo people!

The True Marks of Beauty

I turn this way, I turn that way, and no matter which way I look, I see... stretch marks! My big 'ol belly is far bigger than it's ever been and the scale has tipped farther than it's ever fallen. UGH! I have never been blessed with a body that took change well. College hit me hard, bad eating habits and even worse physical fitness, the end result +20 pounds. Instead of loosing weight before I got married, the stress took it's toll, another +5 pounds. Moved to Arizona, another +5 pounds. Had a my first child, +10 pounds. Now being pregnant again and due in 5 weeks, we're looking at +25 more pounds, and I'm hoping it's more baby than belly this time. I vow to take a picture of the scale on the day I go into the hospital to give birth, and on the photo write a reminder that I will never see that high of a number again. I realize that when I carry my daughter around the house, the soles of my feet carry over 200 pounds, it's not a wonder why I feel the way I do right now.

The consolation to this dilemma is that I have control over my weight, and when the time comes, I will be running off every pound I've gained. With my future in hand, I plan to run a half marathon in just a year and in two years a full blown marathon. I've talked about running so much that I've put myself on the chopping block. If I don't go through with it, I'd feel pretty dumb; yet another motivating factor for me in taking charge of my physical health and being a good role model for my children.

But the fact remains that even if I loose all of the weight and get physically fit, I will still have to look at these stretch marks! Is it not the biggest complaint of the aging population? "Just look at these marks! Look at these scars, and look at these wrinkles!" No one likes them, but as I think more about the situation, staring in the mirror, and taken aback as to how large they've become, I see a truth and a certain beauty along with the ugliness. Sure, they'll never go away, but they'll fade and get lighter. Each time I look at them or anyone else with matching stretch marks, we'll know we have something in common... the beauty of one of God’s greatest miracles, children.

Each scar, furrow, crows feet, wrinkle and stretch mark has been earned; some not so pleasantly as others. With each laughing moment and joyous occasions, we use 17 muscles in our face that lead to these beauteous crows feet and a whopping 43 muscles with each sorrow (according to the old saying). It’s no wonder that after a person goes through a huge, life changing and challenging event that the individual pulls through, at times, looking much older than before. These fine lines and wrinkles are a reminder to us each day of how much we have lived through and endured in our short time here on earth. 

My Testimonial

So I will try with all of my might as my belly grows for another 4 ½ weeks, to remember that the end result is worth more than a flat, flawless belly (which I didn’t have in the first place). In fact, a few stretch marks and a few hours of intense labor is a small price to pay for these little God-given miracles that I will have running around my house. I have made it a priority to remind those I care for, of the simple beauty of carrying one of these defining marks. That it's a true testament to what we’ve all achieved and gone through so far, and to wear them proudly, for it is part of us!

As the old saying goes...

“It takes 43 muscles to frown and only 17 to smile,

but it doesn't take any to just sit there with a dumb look on your face."

The Curiousity of a Child

An Earwig

From where I sat on the floor, it looked like a large speck of dirt on the floor. Bella, of course, entirely amazed at this find, had to pick it up. She briskly walks over to where I'm seated, her specimen held securely between her delicate little fingers and deposits her new found treasure into my hand. "Thank you!" I say to her without first looking to see what it is.

I gasp, let out a little squeak and quickly drop it. My husband, Tim, at this point is rolling on the floor with laughter. An earwig... really? They are one of the most disgusting looking creatures and I have yet to find God’s purpose for them other than covering my basement floor and eating my fruits, flowers and vegetables. I send a warning glare at Tim and look back at Bella, she's so very proud of her find. I can't help but laugh a little, if there was anything to find on my floor (which there tends to be plenty of), she'll surely find it. There is not one part of this house left unturned or undiscovered in the eyes of Bella. This world is truly her playground and it is ever growing for her.  Later on that week, she gifted her Grandma Frits with a worm (I think), that she had found.  At least she's a giving little girl, never to keep things to or for herself!

Grandma Stangler, Bella and I sat outside of the house this evening, pushing her in the new swing Grandma had spoiled her with. We had hung it in this huge oak tree in the front of our lawn. It’s the perfect spot for a swing with it's huge branches ever spreading and giving ample shade to its visitors. We were enjoying the evening breeze that comes as the day starts cooling off when we discovered this beautiful, yet scary looking creature. Bella, who is always watching, constantly learning and absorbing, quickly discovers what all of the commotion is about.

From her perfect view up high in her chair, she intently points at the creature making it's way up the tree. It was the biggest caterpillar that any of us had ever seen. Measuring a good 3” to 4" and about as round as my pointer finger, it's shear size amazed us. Neon green and quite beautiful, it was no wonder why Bella starts oooing and ahhhing. As my mother and I discuss the possibilities, she starts waving and starting a conversation with the creature, saying "hi", "bye" and just about any other word she knows. While the rest of us were reluctant to get any closer than we needed to, she was determined about getting a closer view.  So Grandma was brave and held her up closer to the trunk of the tree, since her Momma is a big chicken.

I am forever being reminded that this little girl of mine is new to pretty much everything in the world that I have grown accustomed to.  Each bright light, picture, creature and moving thing is new to her.  It's exciting to watch her discover all of the things this world has to offer one little toddler step at a time.  It's unfortunate we loose some of that intense curiosity as we grow older, but raising Bella and spending each day with her is making me appreciate all of those little things a little more, earwigs and all.  For there was once a time in my life, I'm sure, that I was delivering such gifts, and my Mother was the happy recipient. 

I Will Not Eat those, Sam I Am, I Do Not Like Green Eggs and Ham!

SPLAT!!! An egg falls to the floor. Ughhh, I hope this isn’t an indication as to where my day is headed. I look over at Bella, she’s got that mischievous look in her eyes, they’re gleaming really. “Bella, don’t you dare go over there and get into that egg, stay here Love.” She makes a move, I run for it and barely beat her to the punch. With the 409 in hand, I quickly wipe up all that I could of the dismantled egg shell and goopy mess and immediately my toddler decides to inspect the area for any gooey missed parts she could get herself into. I heat my pans, set up all of my supplies and try, and I really mean try, to put a breakfast together. After all, we’re both getting sick of Kicks and Cheerios for breakfast each morning while Dad isn’t here to cook.

By this point, I’ve got my eggs beaten for my French toast, and a batch of scrambled eggs ready to hit the frying pan. I throw the butter in, and it bubbles, sizzles, and throws up a horrendous amount of smoke. I grumble to myself, “Too hot”. I wipe up the burnt butter and let it cool down a bit. Bella is hanging onto my legs, rather pushing at them. She wiggles herself against the counter, pushing her butt up against me, trying to pry me away. “Bella, I’m trying to make breakfast…” I say and she cries. She probably already knows where this is heading. Again I make an attempt at the butter, and again it sizzles, but it doesn’t burn this time. I turn around just in the knick of time and catch my angelic daughter holding the bowl of uncooked scrambled eggs by the very edge, most of the contents already on the floor.

“Bella!” she looks up at me, unsure of whether or not I’m going to be mad. She decides she’s safe and turns the rest of the bowl over and gives it a shake to ensure every bit of slimy mess hits my counters, floors and rug. “Ugh, Bella! Bad! That was very bad!” I spew out, maybe a little louder than I should, now she‘s crying. I hurry, pick up the egg covered rug and pitch it outside for the rain to wash off and I spend the next 10 minutes trying to get the egg off of the floor. It’s at that instant, I see the smoke rumbling from the stove, the butter is surely burnt now. It bellows out and hits even the fire alarm in the hallway on the other side of the house. The alarms go off, and Bella giggles. “Hi!” she says, waving, thinking it’s either a car honking going by or the telephone going off. She’s thinking this is pretty awesome. I just lean against the counter, towel in hand and laugh as breakfast has once again defeated me.

The end result? Well, Bella sat waiting as patiently as a 18 month old can in her highchair, practicing drinking her orange juice out of her cup while I made my second attempt at breakfast. Nearly a dozen eggs later and a stick of butter, we end up with a half decent meal. She gobbled down the French toast, happy, no doubt, she finally gets something other than cold cereal. But most surprisingly, I ended up with a not-so-bad batch of scrambled eggs, which never happens. I can’t say that Bella didn’t even touch them, because she at least picked them up with the tips of her fingers and gave them to me off of her plate as her own little promise that not even after all of that, was she going to eat her eggs. My kitchen’s a mess, and there’s syrup and eggs all over the place, but Bella gets to enjoy a bath now. And for the moment, I am currently vowing to leave breakfast for the Husband for when he’s home, at least until I’ve built up my culinary skills a bit. For now, we’ll stick with cold cereal and fruit.

Watermelon Pickles & Times of Old

Ahhh....  the quietness of early morning and the baby sleeping!  :)  I've been wanting to write for the last two days and have not had a moment to sit, and in any case, what would I write about?  I just figured I'd come up with something in the midst of sitting here while my thoughts pool and my brain is clear.

Randomness...
Have you ever tried a Watermelon Pickle?  Have you even heard of them before?  If you're my age (a ripe 25) you probably haven't; I've just discovered them.  In our house, we try really hard not to waste any food and we recycle enough on most occasions that we could probably do with only having the garbage guys come twice a month and the recycling twice as often.  I'm incredibly compulsive when it comes to organization, to the point that everything in my fridge has a place and a date written on it when it comes in. 

(Picture from http://spiritualknitter.blogspot.com/2010/06/watermelon-pickles.html)
While I was at work a few weeks back, I was visiting with a fine lady in her golden years and she shared her wisdom of Watermelon Pickles.  Sadly enough, I had never heard of these little gems before.  Once again, I find that the years that separate our older generation from me and the others of my age, has deprived me of such joys as Watermelon Pickles.  I spend the majority of my time during the day with people above the age of 70, and luckily, I grew up with older parents.  So I am familiar with many of the things they enjoy talk about.  Canning seems to be a hot topic, along with religion (you'd be amazed at how important this is), hard work ethic, the mending and sewing of cloths, and cooking from scratch.  A special and unprecedented delivery of a warm loaf of zucchini bread, when I have it coming out of my ears, does wonders for the soul of an elderly person as well as for the person delivering it.  I'm not saying I do this often, I should do it more, but when I take the time to put a little more effort in, the joy I get back feels unlike anything else.
Furthermore, the massive amounts of stories, experience and wisdom that flows from these minds is incredible!  I find, sadly, that we as younger Americans are loosing some of the great know-how's of our past.  Canning seems to be a lost art, religion no longer a concern for some/most, "hard" and "work" don't seem to go in the same sentence together (let alone combined), home cooking involves a box of processed noodles and a packet of unidentifiable orange stuff that we call "cheese".  We just simply don't have the time or take the time to sit and absorb all of these precious little things from them.  It's so sad because we all could learn so much.  I often worry that if we ever recessed and became unequipped with all of the modern technology that makes living what it is today, how many of us would survive it and "live"?  (And by "live", I mean the word in reference to one's "quality of life")
The concept that I make all of my own baby food seems bizarre to those of my age, "Who does that?".  Yet when I bring it up to those individuals that are four times my age, it seems a way of life unspoken.  Cloth diapers?  They had nothing else!  I find, on most occasions, I have an easier time expressing my concerns about raising children with the elderly because my views are more similar to theirs than people of my own age. 

Ever since this Watermelon Pickle business, it's got me thinking. How much am I missing out from all of these years that separate me from those who have infinitely more wisdom than I do. We call ourselves a more "independent" nation, we are strong, we are intelligent, we are AMERICANS! Respect us! But yet, think about it, if our economy were to crash, we all lost our jobs, and pretty much everything stopped functioning, even our government, eventually everything else would crumble too. We'd no longer have jobs, no longer have any cash, and besides, what would cash matter, it would have no value at that point. We'd have to fend for ourselves, but how many of us "independent" Americans could actually "live" as we call it, today? I think I'll stick with times of past, continue to learn how to preserve my own food, learning about Watermelon Pickles, make my own bread and diaper my own children for the sake that I can be truly independent.

And for those of you individuals that continue with the ways of the past, good for you! Just don't forget to pass on all that knowledge to those younger than you and to your children, for this knowledge is absolutely priceless and is the cure for ignorance.

Gremlins on the Move

The Gremlin and Me

Today I'm tired, but I guess that's to be expected for a mother of a very independent, stubborn and energetic 1 1/2 year old as well as the fact that I am expecting miracle number two quite soon. It seems surreal to me that I will be a Mommy to another little precious baby in just 5 1/2 weeks. I brought my daughter, Bella, in today for her 18 month physical. We ended up chatting about the trials and tribulations of children that have so much spunk, attitude and free will; enough to go around that's for sure. The advice given to me, I just have to be more stubborn than her; this too shall pass, it's just a phase. I laugh at this, because I can't imagine how my mother raised 10 very stubborn and opinionated children. And from what everyone tells me, my husband, Tim, was a handful too. I guess I have my work cut out for me.

Bella at the park

But as I sit here, with Bella down for a nap finally, (two hours late) I can't help but smile and fight the urge to go in and peek at her cute little face as she sleeps. With her blue eyes closed tight and her blonde hair, curly and mismanaged all around her face, and who can forget how she sleeps, with her tush up in the air and laying on all of her limbs, tucked in a ball, just how I'd imagine her sleeping and her sibling sleeping when they were within me. So cozy, so happy, and really God-given and perfect. She's a handful, but she's mine and I wouldn't change a thing about her. Sometimes I wish I could remind myself of how I feel at this very moment when she decides she doesn't want to eat her dinner and throws it against the wall... yes, if only I could always feel like this. :)

But my children are my everything, and from a very young age I knew I wanted children. People have told me, that they could picture me a mother, and now that I'm on number two, I'm amazed at how much patience one needs to be a Mom. I have to admit, one does not think of these things when you're young, in love, (hopefully married) and so ready to share your love outside of your little bubble with just the two of you. I felt so much love with Tim, that I was ready quite soon to share that with someone else, someone we both could love without limitations or stipulations. And so it's true, that after a better part of the day behind me, with tantrums resembling seizure-like activity, thrown trays of food, sippy cups smashed to the ground for no apparent reason, incessant crying, and 23 lbs of screaming baby hanging on me while I do the dishes; it is by that special love that God instills in parents, that get them through the day and reminds them during the quiet moments just how truly special they are to you.

The little girl that even after a day full of naughtiness, makes my heart absolutely melt!  My precious Isabella Kate!