tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-73676187726357329432024-02-18T23:04:06.153-08:00Transparencies of MotherhoodRaw emotions of a mom...without apologiesGretahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14334321470489316907noreply@blogger.comBlogger88125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7367618772635732943.post-74296121576530286132014-02-01T14:44:00.002-08:002014-02-01T14:44:41.255-08:00Blog address movedI've moved my blog from Blogger to Wordpress. It's still in progress so please bear with the mess. Please continue following me at <a href="http://www.gretacheney.com/" target="_blank">www.gretacheney.com </a><br />
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I will be transferring a lot of content from this site to the new site as well.<br />
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Also, please follow my f<a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/Transparencies-of-Motherhood/146209035421413" target="_blank">acebook page. </a>Gretahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14334321470489316907noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7367618772635732943.post-9689616762704706602014-01-27T14:29:00.000-08:002014-01-27T18:26:59.899-08:00Transparent Moment--I am not perfect<br />
Parenting is something I thought that with my decade plus of nannying would come naturally to me. Yet I'm continually learning that, like marriage, it takes work. <strike>Some</strike> Most days are exhausting. But there are days in particular that wear me to the ground. I am not proud of those days; the days that I tend to lose sight of the mom I want to be, the one I always pictured myself as...always smiling, saintly patience, relishing the little things knowing they won't be little forever... Instead, I find myself succumbing to yelling, sighing, and speaking in negative tones all of which unintentionally suggest belittlement. I find myself frustrated with things like spilled milk and potty accidents, my patience having flown out the door by 8am...only hours, sometimes minutes, after having gotten up. On those days I am the mom I never dreamed I would be. And I feel like right now <i>those</i> days are happening too often.<br />
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You see I have weaknesses. I have buttons and as my boys are getting older I feel like not only have my buttons gotten larger therefore making them an easier target, but my son's jobs have also become that of Button Pusher. Lately, I have found myself continuously in a battle with one of my sons. I say jump, he walks. I say walk, he jumps. I say jump hoping he'll actually walk and it's like he reads my mind and gosh darn it he jumps and he'll comment quite literally "what? you said to jump." He knows how to push any and all of my buttons and push them he does. And his screams? This child knows how to have a meltdown. He's been adept at screaming since 14 months old. Oh my goodness does he have it down. It's days spent dealing with this that I'm ready to throw in the towel before the day even begins. And by 7 pm when my husband gets home I have regretted so many words/actions/sighs/etc that have come out of my mouth that I swear I don't deserve to parent these little people. And heaven help me if I have to take all 3 to the grocery store at the end of said day. It's easy for me to feel like I'm a bad parent.<br />
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There is a difference though between a bad parent and a good, though imperfect one. A bad parent does all those things and does nothing to change. A bad parent shouts and belittles without apology. An imperfect parent however recognizes the problem and seeks change. An imperfect parent apologizes for wrongdoings and asks for forgiveness. <b>I am a good though imperfect parent.</b><br />
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I am not perfect nor should I expect my children to be. After all, for the most part my kids are just being kids. It's my own <i>stuff</i> that I need to address first. I need to ask myself...Why are my reactions so quick? What is distracting me from my kids? Oftentimes I've found that it's in my perceived need to look like I have it all together that I flounder the most...clean house, nutritious meals, compliant children, fun parties, clean/ironed clothes, I could go on and on. I try to have control of everything and of course my kids are going to push against that control. Feeling that need to have it all together is not only going to make my kids feel like they're failing me, but I will also always feel like I'm failing myself. And that's not fair to anyone. So I've been challenging myself to let go and let them live. Mud fights in the backyard are a must (though I may need gentle reminders from my husband). Fort building, Legos, and/or puzzles need to be daily occurrences. Basically, I've been carving out time to just be with them, all distractions aside, each day. Additionally, as much as I can I try to get my own agenda stuff done when they are preoccupied with other things.<br />
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And my son's screams/screeching? Sure, there are some discipline issues that can be worked on but for the most part he is saying Love Me. Love me for who I am, not who you want me to be. Love me for all that I am, not frustrated for all that I'm lacking. Notice that I have feelings and they are different from my brother. Hear me. Put down your phone, turn off the computer, stop doing chores and.be.with.me. And you know what? When I take the time to do just that, I do hear him. I may get very little else done during the day, but I am with him. And you know what else? The meltdowns stop.<br />
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**Parents--What do you find distracts you the most from your kids? Am I the only one that feels that as my boys are getting older my buttons seem to be an easier target for them?Gretahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14334321470489316907noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7367618772635732943.post-89565861502391104952014-01-25T13:38:00.001-08:002014-01-25T13:42:28.643-08:00What should have been<div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px; margin: 0px;">
My dear sweet angel babies,</div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px;">As I stood in the bathroom, hovering near the pregnancy test, I could feel my heart beating in my chest. </span><span style="font-size: 15px;">I knew I didn't need to take any tests to confirm what my body had already been telling me. With 3 healthy pregnancies behind me, I knew. I was pregnant.</span></div>
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Though you weren't a 'timed' pregnancy, you was most definitely a planned one. By that, we knew we wanted 4 kids, just didn't know that it would be this soon. </div>
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From day one, everything about this pregnancy seemed right. It was God's timing, not ours. It was in the middle of a move we weren't even sure we would make until the month before. And we had an offer on a house initially that would have been too small for a growing family...and we beat the odds with our new house which would fit us all perfectly. The cards had all fallen in to place for this pregnancy to happen.</div>
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Though it took a couple of weeks for the shock to wear off and the idea of 4 kids to settle in, both your Daddy and I were elated, especially knowing you were so meant to be. I had a certainty about it that I didn't have with any of the other kids. Within a week we had told your big brothers and they were so excited to tell all our family and close friends. We had already begun to imagine what our family would look like. We began making plans, arranging vacations, and 'sick leave' based on your impending arrival. July couldn't get here soon enough.</div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px;">Selfishly I would have never chosen to have my first trimester wrapped in the the holidays. But obviously I did what I had to do. I spent the first several weeks dry heaving every evening and had absolutely no (I mean z.e.r.o) energy to unpack or organize our new house. It was all I could do to just get through each day. </span><span style="font-size: 15px;">And then one day I realized that I didn't feel quite so sick anymore. I actually made it through the entire day without throwing up. This was around 9 weeks. I commented about how nervous that made me feel but as long as everything was okay with you then I would take good days. At my nurse appointment I had told her it was my easiest pregnancy thus far. I heard the warning bells in the back of my head because I don't have easy pregnancies but I knew that this was 'meant to be' so I ignored the ringing.</span></div>
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And then it happened.</div>
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It started as just a light pink tinge every few trips to the bathroom. Nothing overly alarming. And then a few days later I started cramping. Again, nothing serious. But then the combo. Spotting and cramping. ugh. That combo is never good. But again, I thought everything had to be okay because you were meant to be. Maybe I had just overdone it. I mean I had just hosted a North Pole Party at our house with 25+ adults and children, baked cookies for an entire day and a half and attended Daddy's work Christmas party...all within 2 days. Yea, that was it. I had just overdone it.</div>
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The next morning I could hardly stand because the cramping was so bad but no bleeding. I called my Dr anyway and scheduled an ultrasound. And that's when my elation came crashing down. There wasn't a heart beat. Not only that, but you, the dear sweet baby inside me wasn't just one. There were two of you.</div>
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Twins.</div>
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Identical twins.</div>
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Two.</div>
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I should have taken it as a sign that you were actually 2. Your Papa knew it. Our Christmas tree even knew it...we've called it a 'two-fur tree' ...a tree perfectly formed coming from one stump and breaking in two identical branches leaving a beautiful, full tree. So now I wasn't mourning the loss of one, but two. I know it isn't my fault sweet angels, but you lacked a membrane separating you..monoamniotic and monochorionic. What was meant to keep you alive wasn't. I am so sorry. Finding out that you were twins only added to my devastation. My heart stopped beating. I could hardly swallow. And then the tears came. I'm not sure they've stopped since then. </div>
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I was prescribed some pills by the Dr to help along the miscarriage and pain but despite taking them I doubt I would have needed them. My body took over and ironically, at the same exact time I gave birth to your oldest brother, my first born, 7 years before, I said goodbye to you, to my twins that I didn't get a chance to hold. It's amazing how you can love someone(s!) so much in such a short amount of time without really even "knowing" them. </div>
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You were gone. Nothing could have prepared me for that moment.</div>
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I have wanted to ignore the world the past few days despite sending a text out to everyone I could possibly think of having told about my pregnancy. I didn't want to forget anyone for fear they may ask me how you were doing and me bursting in to tears. There is a part of me that feels so guilty that I'm upset because I have 3 beautiful, healthy boys already. But the pain is still there and it is oh so real. The pain of losing you is so raw. The family of <strike>six</strike> seven we had imagined was no longer. My certainty gone. </div>
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One thing I'm certain of is how grateful I am for our friends and family. You would have loved it here. We have had a blanket of love wrapped around us. Flowers, dinners, kind words, cards, special gifts, and prayers. We have felt every single prayer. You have the best daddy and big brothers in the whole world. I hate our Christmas tree now. It's a reminder of what could have and should have been. But your daddy? He loves it. He says it's a reminder that you aren't alone...you have each other. And you know what? He's right. We are so glad you have each other.</div>
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And just so you know little ones, we are now a family of 7. Though we only hold 3 kiddos here, we hold all 5 in our hearts. We also know there are 2 identical pairs of tiny footsteps going before us, leading the way 'home'. One day we will get to meet you, find out if you are 2 handsome boys or two beautiful girls. </div>
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Until then...<br />
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I will love you forever and for always.<br />
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Your mommy</div>
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Gretahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14334321470489316907noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7367618772635732943.post-54898142806197263872011-03-22T13:12:00.000-07:002011-03-22T13:12:50.710-07:00Transparent Moment; Watching your child dieIn the middle of my Preschool Series: Choosing a Preschool, Nut Allergy in Tow, I was presented with<a href="http://www.wftv.com/news/27152881/detail.html"> this article</a> (thank you Christina!). Please read it and some of the comments that spawned from it (at the bottom of the article) and then continue on...<br />
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<em><strong>Have you ever witnessed your child dying?</strong></em><br />
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He clung to my husband's neck, desperately, pleading with his eyes..<i>.Daddy, please help me breathe</i>.<br />
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The very first time it happened we got the call the day we brought our younger son home from the hospital, 3 weeks shy of our oldest turning 2. <em>"Kadyn is struggling to breathe. We think he might have put something up his nose that is now obstructing his airway. We're going to take him to Urgent Care (closer than the ER)."</em><br />
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My husband raced to the Urgent Care to meet them while I stayed home with our newborn son. After a series of tests determining there wasn't an object obstructing his breathing, yet having an O2 level of 61% and the inability to get a reading on my son's lungs, the Dr determined it must be pneumonia. <br />
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My husband called me with the news.<br />
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I was screaming in to the phone. <em>NO! He isn't sick. He wasn't sick. It is NOT pneumonia.</em> Despite my plea, they were prepping him for x-rays to determine the type and severety of pneumonia all the while wasting precious seconds of my son's life. <br />
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My little boy clung to my husband's neck, desperately, pleading with his eyes as if to say <i>Daddy, please help me breathe</i>. His breathing quick, shallow, and gasping all at the same time. His nose had ceased to function...there was no air coming or going. When he tried to talk, his voice was inrecognizable as his own. He limply lay in my husband's lap, his face ghost-like in whiteness, the normal exuberance g.o.n.e. <br />
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Fortunately (praise God!) he had a button up shirt on...the only reason x-ray tech asked my husband to take my son's shirt off. And what possibly could be what saved his life. <br />
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As soon as my son's shirt came off, my husband was clearly able to diagnose him himself. <em>IT'S AN ALLERGIC REACTION!</em> He screamed. The blistering hives covered his little body. In some parts it was so severe the lumps were purple, the size of raised quarters. How the Doctor missed this during intake is beyond me. <br />
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What happened next is all a blur of quick reaction and life-saving efforts. <br />
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Until that point we had no idea our son had a life threatening allergy to most tree nuts. We are so grateful it happened when it did and not out in the middle of nowhere camping; no medical support in sight. So grateful for the quick response of those caring for him to take him right to Urgent Care. So grateful that he had a button up shirt on. So grateful he's beginning to recognize his allergy for what it is, knows the seriousness of it, and understands that it's okay to be different. So grateful that foods are labeled as safe or unsafe so we can begin to teach him (someone had commented on Facebook the other day "I think it's ridiculous that things like rice need to be labeled with food allergies...it's rice." If you don't have to look for those labels in protection of life, you don't understand their importance.) So grateful that he's <em>alive</em>. And...<br />
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We are so grateful that we found a preschool that is willing to work with us on this. <br />
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I was saddened at reading this article, not only because it angered me at the parent's response to publically protest by picketing but also because I can understand how it seems extreme to parents that don't have to deal with life-threatening food allergies. <u>To an extent</u> I get both sides; really, I do. <br />
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What really gets me though, the entire purpose of the whole post I've written, is in regards to the comments after the article...all 31 pages of them. I was <strong>appalled</strong> at some of these comments that followed the article. APPALLED. To say that the child in this article <em>must</em> be homeschooled is<strong> absurd</strong>; just like all the references to "some parents can only afford to feed their kid peanut butter" not everyone can afford to live off of one income and homeschool their children. To say that this child should be kept in a bubble? <strong>How dare you</strong>. To say that I'm a bad parent for sending my child to such an unsafe environment and out of my protection? <strong>Who are you to judge</strong>. To say that it's ridiculous to rely on prayer? <strong>God is bigger than that</strong>. We are fully aware that the next time it happens he may have even less time, will require an epipen, and e.v.e.r.y second will count. But we're striving to do our best, give him the best, and teach love and acceptance of everyone. And we will continue to be prayerful the entire way. <br />
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Despite all of this, I will have grace and recognize that until someone has watched the early stages of death, they wouldn't, and couldn't understand.Gretahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14334321470489316907noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7367618772635732943.post-53526319092034518302011-03-18T14:43:00.000-07:002011-03-18T14:43:31.978-07:00Preschool Series: Choosing a Preschool, nut allergy in tow; Action Plan & Emergency BagIf your child has a life threatening allergy, it is best to prepare an allergy bag to remain at the preschool. I would suggest getting a little bag and including the following:<br />
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<ul><li>2 Epi-pens</li>
<li>Inhaler (if your child uses one)</li>
<li>Benadryl</li>
<li>Action plan</li>
<li>Emergency phone numbers</li>
<li>Picture of your child</li>
</ul>Make sure you label the outside of the bag with your child's name and picture on the front, and all emergency numbers on the back. <br />
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The inside of the bag can include the epi-pens, inhaler, benadryl and action plan. If you don't have a single dose of Benadryl, make sure you label the outside of the bottle with the dosage in large print so it's easy to see. Also make sure you include the dosing cup or syringe if you don't have one of the single doses.<br />
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The Action Plan is just as important as the emergency items. This is where you again include your emergency contact numbers, but also the numbers for your child's pediatrician, emergency contact if you're unavailable, and how/when to give the dosing of each item, what to look for as an allergic reaction and the severity of what type of allergy that is presenting itself. A great example to use is found <a href="http://www.foodallergy.org/files/FAAP.pdf">here</a>. <br />
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You should make sure your child's teacher reviews your action plan frequently. You can speak with the Director of the preschool to make sure all teachers are trained with an epipen and know what to look for/when to give dosing, etc. If the preschool hasn't had any firsthand, hands-on experience with life threatening food allergies, I would highly encourage you to take the practice epipen and do a mini-training for the teachers prior to your child's first day. Additionally, you can hire the Red Cross to come and train the staff. You may feel silly, but it is your child's <em>life </em>they are taking in to their own hands, in a more extreme way than they are with other children. Same goes for all the parents if your child is attending a co-op or a parent participation preschool. Everyone that will have contact with your child should be trained. <br />
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Your emergency bag should be clearly labeled with your child's picture and put in a visible, easily accessible spot that any adult can get to. <br />
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Rememer, every second counts.<br />
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Thanks for being a part of this series. Hopefully someone is still reading it and has found something to take from it.Gretahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14334321470489316907noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7367618772635732943.post-31575372811967614802011-03-16T18:08:00.000-07:002011-03-16T18:08:59.091-07:00Choosing a Preschool, Nut Allergy in Tow; Questions to AskAgain, welcome to the series: <a href="http://transparenciesofmotherhood.blogspot.com/2011/03/new-series-choosing-preschool-nut.html">Choosing a Preschool, Nut Allergy in Tow.</a><br />
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Once you've determined which <a href="http://transparenciesofmotherhood.blogspot.com/2011/03/choosing-preschool-nut-allergy-in-tow.html">preschool philosophy</a> you would like your child's preschool to have, it's time to pick a preschool. <br />
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I would suggest visiting a local preschool fair, if your town offers one. It's a great chance to see many, or all, of the local preschools and get your basic questions out of the way...<a href="http://transparenciesofmotherhood.blogspot.com/2011/03/preschool-series-choosing-preschool-nut_10.html">location, cost, age, potty training, parental involvement, hours of operatino, location, etc. </a><br />
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However, once you've narrowed it down to a select few I would encourage you to actually go visit them (see if you can bring your preschooler!) and get a hands-on idea of what the preschool is like. At that time I would suggest you determine which of the following questions are important to you and ask a handful (if not all) of the following:<br />
<br />
<strong>1. During your tour ask to see the curriculum. </strong><br />
-What are the children in each age group working on?<br />
-Will they get a chance to create artwork?<br />
-Will the children be working on any reading, writing, etc.?<br />
-Will the children be experimenting with any music?<br />
-What is the structure (if any) to the day?<br />
-What is the student/teacher ratio?<br />
-How much tv do the children watch? (For us, I didn't want any since I could do that myself)<br />
-What type of experience/education does each teacher have?<br />
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<strong>2. During the tour make a mental note of:</strong><br />
-How many classes there are.<br />
-Do all the teachers appear friendly?<br />
-Is there any outside play area? If so, how is it supervised and is it enclosed?<br />
-Are the room(s) safe and easily accessible by the children?<br />
-How do they keep kids safe inside and strangers outside?<br />
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<strong>3. Other things to consider:</strong><br />
-How are the children disciplined?<br />
-How often are the facilities/toys cleaned?<br />
-Do YOU feel comfortable there? Ask your child too! If you don't, trust your gut.<br />
-How do they handle bathroom breaks for themselves and the children?<br />
-What type of parent involvement do they require?<br />
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<strong>4. And great questions to ask if you have a child with a life-threatening food allergy:</strong><br />
-Are you familiar, and have you had direct experience with, children with life-threatening food allergies? Has anyone had a reaction here? If yes, how was it handled?<br />
-Do you provide meals? If so, how many, and how do you take precautions for those with allergies?<br />
-What type of training or experience have you (and all staff) had related to how to handle a food allergy crisis?<br />
-Do you (and all staff) know how to use an Epi Pen?<br />
-Could I (the parent) bring in the Red Cross for a training for the staff on how to handle a situation involving a life-threatening food allergy?<br />
-How do you handle celebrations? E.g. birthdays, holidays, etc. regarding treats? <br />
-What is your medical emergency routine/policy?<br />
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Always feel comfortable asking for references! After all, you would do if it you were a business owner hiring them to work for you. In fact, they ARE working for you! They are helping raise and educate your CHILD. <br />
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Of course there are probably 100s more questions you could ask. Before you go, make sure to think of everything that's important to you and write them down! You'll be shocked at how easily you forget once you're there. And never feel bad for asking questions; remember, this is YOUR CHILD we're talking about.<br />
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<strong><u>Anyone have any good questions to add to the list?</li><br />
</u></strong><br />
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<em>Tomorrow: So now you've made your choice. What do you send your allergic child to preschool with?</em>Gretahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14334321470489316907noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7367618772635732943.post-91845498307422914222011-03-11T07:02:00.000-08:002011-03-11T07:02:00.459-08:00Choosing a Preschool, Nut Allergy in Tow; PhilosophiesWelcome to the series <em>Choosing a Preschool; Nut Allergy in Tow</em>. If you're just joining in, I encourage you start from the <a href="http://transparenciesofmotherhood.blogspot.com/2011/03/new-series-choosing-preschool-nut.html">beginning</a> to see what got me started in my preschool research. Then check out the <a href="http://transparenciesofmotherhood.blogspot.com/2011/03/preschool-series-choosing-preschool-nut.html">introduction</a> regarding what this series will cover. And finally, visit <a href="http://transparenciesofmotherhood.blogspot.com/2011/03/preschool-series-choosing-preschool-nut_10.html">breaking down the things to think about section</a>. Today I'm focusing on explaining different preschool approaches and philosophies. This was something that completely threw me. I had no idea there were so many different options out there. No, it really doesn't have anything to do with food allergies, just demystifying all the differences. <br />
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<em>First you'll need to decide which approach you're looking for</em>: a developmental preschool, an academic preschool, or a combination of the 2. Typically a philosophy will encompass one of these approaches.<br />
<strong>Academic</strong>---Are you hoping your child will learn letters, numbers, begin to write, and read? If so, this is the type of preschool you'll want to focus on. An academic based preschool is very similar to a kindergarten class. Academic settings are much more structured.<br />
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<strong>Developmental</strong>---Are you hoping your child will get a chance to try a hand at art, creativity, dress up, play, outside time? Then this is the type of preschool for you. <br />
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Of course you can find a <strong>combination</strong> of the two. <br />
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<em>There are many different preschool philosophies. Some of the most common:</em><br />
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<strong>Montessori</strong>---In a Montessori, the teachers serve more as guides. Typically, a lesson is introduced to the entire class, but then they break in to smaller groups to explore the lesson at the children's own pace. This philosophy is that children are individual learners and learn at their own pace. The children are encouraged to learn through all 5 senses. And the classes typically have 3-6 year olds all together so the older children help the younger children learn.This approach is great for children with special needs since they receive such individualized attention. Montessoris are very hands on and also teach children how to take care of their own needs and belongings. For more info go <a href="http://www.montessori.edu/FAQ.html">here</a><br />
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<strong>Reggio Emilia</strong>---Very similar to a Montessori in the fact that the children are the leaders and the teachers are the guides. Only, with this philosophy the teachers observe what the kids are interested in first and then guide them to take on projects that pursue their interests further. So instead of the "guides" coming up with the lesson plans, essentially the kids are. A lot of their philosophy also surrounds the environment. For more info go <a href="http://www.reggioemiliaapproach.net/about.php">here</a><br />
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<strong>Waldorf</strong>---A Waldorf school's teaching philosophy is one that follows anthroposophy; the belief that in order to understand the world, the children must first understand humanity (body, soul and spirit). This philosophy also focuses on creative play (creating their own toys), routine (student often continue through grade school with the same teacher) and teamwork. The original founder believed children learn best through imitation. For more info go <a href="http://www.waldorfanswers.com/">here</a><br />
<strong>High/Scope</strong>---This is more of an academic approach. The focus on this preschool is academic skill development. For more info go <a href="http://www.highscope.org/Content.asp?ContentId=63">here</a><br />
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<strong>Play-Based</strong>---Play-based preschools are just that; they focus on age-appropriate activities and teach kids through play. Typically different stations are set up encouraging different types of play (dress up, make believe, art, etc).<br />
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<strong>Religious</strong>---Preschools with a religious emphasis typically combine one of the above philosophies with age-appropriate religious teachings. If a religious component is important to you, make sure you familiarize yourself with the other philosophies and determine which you'd like to look for.<br />
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<strong>A combination</strong>---there are some preschools that combine some or all of the above. <br />
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Tomorrow we'll talk about touring preschools and the different types of questions to ask.Gretahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14334321470489316907noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7367618772635732943.post-28883774077904133932011-03-10T07:02:00.000-08:002011-03-10T07:02:01.159-08:00Preschool Series: Choosing a Preschool, Nut Allergy in Tow: breaking down things to think aboutWelcome back to the series: <em>Choosing a Preschool, Nut Allergy in Tow</em>. If you're just joining us, I encourage you to visit the <a href="http://transparenciesofmotherhood.blogspot.com/2011/03/new-series-choosing-preschool-nut.html">prelude</a> and <a href="http://transparenciesofmotherhood.blogspot.com/2011/03/preschool-series-choosing-preschool-nut.html">introduction</a>. Today I'm breaking down some of the things I suggested you think about when choosing a preschool and explaining why these are important, especially if you have a child with a life threatening food allergy. You may think the first few items I suggested you think about <a href="http://transparenciesofmotherhood.blogspot.com/2011/03/preschool-series-choosing-preschool-nut.html">yesterday</a> seem to be no brainers, and it's true, a couple of the them are...<br />
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<ul><li><strong>Age</strong>---how old do you want your child to be upon entrance of preschool? Many preschools operate for children from 3 to 5 years old. Some operate for those as young as 2, but in my opinion this seems more like daycare. Some preschools break each age group out...so all the 3 year olds are together, all the 4 year olds are together, etc., while some preschools lump them all in one. Some are even more specific than that; they break them in to every 6 months so all the 3 year olds are together, all the 3 1/2 year olds are together, etc. I knew I wanted my son to have exposure to kids his same age (socialization was the main reason we opted to send him to preschool at 3 anyway) so either breaking it out by year or every 6 months was our top choice. </li>
<li><strong>Cost</strong>---how much can you afford to pay? This may narrow down your search simply based on how much is too much. Keep in mind that some preschools will offer a discount if you pay for the year in advance (another great reason to start thinking about preschool early...you can save!). Some preschools offer a multiple sibling discount, and others decrease the cost based on the number of days your child attends. Keep in mind too to look in to Flex Spending through the workplace! Or, write it off at tax time. </li>
<li><strong>Potty Training</strong>---Most preschools require your child is potty trained. However, the level of potty training and assistance varies. At the time we sent my son he was fully potty trained during the day. However, he needed help "cleaning up" if he needed to poo. To this day though, he chooses not to go at preschool. </li>
<li><strong>Parental Involvement</strong>---Some preschools require parents to spend a certain number of hours each month volunteering in the classroom. Others don't allow parent participation at all. And others still are actually groups of parents, called a co-op, that take turns teaching their kids a curriculum they agree on beforehand. So where do you fall? Fortunately, some don't require, but encourage parental involvement. </li>
</ul>but there are some of the items that I suggested you think about that may seem like a no brainer, but are in fact CRUCIAL for someone with a life threatening food allergy...<br />
<ul><li><strong>Hours of Operation</strong>---what hours are you looking for? Do you work and you're trying to get specific hours covered? Are you trying to find something that runs all day, or does a half day better suite your needs? Does your child fare better in the afternoon or morning (some offer cheaper rates for afternoon but this doesn't work for everyone, especially if an afternoon rest or quiet time is still involved)? <em>The question of what the hours of operation are is especially important if you have a child with a life threatening food allergy.</em> <em>Are you trying to aviod most meal times for allergy purposes?</em> I knew I didn't want to have a place that served breakfast and lunch even though the hours would have been nice. I just didn't want to deal with that kind of exposure for my son. One of the places I toured even served peanut butter as a bi-weekly staple...and who knows what kind of cross-contamination their knives or even their jelly jars have from being double dipped!</li>
<li><strong>Location</strong>---How far are you willing to travel to bring your child to preschool? <em>This was especially important to us as parents since we could receive the call "your son is having an allergic reaction." We wanted to be able to get there before an ambulance did if, heaven forbid, there was an emergency so we knew we didn't want a preschool across town. </em></li>
</ul>Tomorrow we'll talk about the different types of approaches and philosophies preschools take.<br />
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<em><span style="font-size: xx-small;">© Transparencies of Motherhood 2011</span></em>Gretahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14334321470489316907noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7367618772635732943.post-50289380114546316382011-03-09T07:02:00.000-08:002011-03-09T20:35:17.391-08:00Preschool Series: Choosing a Preschool, Nut Allergy in Tow: IntroductionWelcome to the series: <em>Choosing a Preschool; Nut Allergy in Tow</em>. As you saw from <a href="http://transparenciesofmotherhood.blogspot.com/2011/03/new-series-choosing-preschool-nut.html">yesterday's post</a>, making the decision to send my eldest to preschool was a tough one. It meant sacrificing my control of his allergy to a stanger. It meant that I wouldn't be able to be there to protect him, watch over him, and keep him out of harms way. A life threatening allergy has a way of holding you hostage and I wasn't going to let it. As a working mom I was unable to participate in mom's groups, play groups, or even many of the outings that my friends were going on. If I weren't so concerned about my son's social aspect, I might have kept him home longer, but as it was, he needed some friends. I knew I needed to prayerfully send my son to preschool.<br />
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What I didn't know was how difficult choosing a preschool would be...especially finding one that I felt comfortable entrusting with my son's allergy. I had no idea there were so many things to consider.<br />
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I always suggest that preschool is something that you should really start thinking about a year before you're intending to start your child. <br />
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Over the next few days you can expect the following:<br />
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I will break down the importance of determining:<br />
*Cost<br />
*Hours<br />
*Age<br />
*Location<br />
*Potty training<br />
*Parental Involvement<br />
<br />
I will explain the different approaches and philosophies preschools take:<br />
*Developmental<br />
*Academic<br />
*Montessori<br />
*Reggio<br />
*Waldorf<br />
*Religious<br />
*Combination<br />
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I will share some great questions to ask when interviewing preschools. Oh, you didn't know you should interview them? Me either. But it's extremely important. I'll share some general questions as well as some important questions for those with children with food allergies.<br />
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And last but not least I'll go over what to pack in your child's emergency bag that your child will need to take to preschool as well as go over what an Action Plan for allergies is and what it should entail.<br />
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I am hopeful that someone will find this beneficial. I am hopeful that someone will be able to take something from this. And if anyone has any other tips, further examples, etc. please leave comments and I'll include them!!<br />
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<em>© Transparencies of Motherhood 2011</em>Gretahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14334321470489316907noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7367618772635732943.post-21681714894569141662011-03-08T20:54:00.000-08:002011-03-09T20:34:51.937-08:00New series: Choosing a Preschool, Nut Allergy in Tow--prelude<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small; font-weight: bold;">This is something I posted on my personal family blog a year ago and on this blog back in September. It's a prelude to the next few days where I'll be sharing with you the process we went through in choosing a preschool for our son (now 4, then 3) and the precautions we took/take with his life threatening food allergies. Hopefully you find something in this series that you're able to take with you: Choosing a Preschool; Nut Allergy in Tow</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; font-weight: bold;"><em>Daddy: "Kadyn, you must have your mommy's genes."</em></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-weight: bold;"><em>Kadyn: "No, mommy has her own jeans, they wouldn't fit me. Mine are just right."</em></span><br />
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Of course, we knew the humor behind the dialog. However, it wasn't until after the conversation that I really stopped to think about what he said. Our eldest, Kadyn, in a way, was right...my genes won't fit him...his <span style="font-style: italic;">are </span>just right. He is his own person, unique and wonderfully made. He may have our "genes" but he also has his own genes that <i>fit </i>perfectly. <br />
<br />
According to the pediatrician, Kadyn, is the most severely allergic kid in the clinic right now...and it's a big clinic. Research is proving that allergies seem to be linked to your genes. Although his genes seem a bit too big for him, (anaphylaxis seems so severe for such a <span style="font-style: italic;">little </span>boy), I have to remind myself that God created him. God's eyes saw Kadyn's unformed body. And all the days ordained for him were written in His book before one of them came to be (Psalm 139:16). To God, Kadyn's genes have the perfect fit...nothing too big, nothing too small. <br />
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Now that Kadyn is 3 I would love to enroll him in a preschool (this was written several months ago and posted on my personal family blog). However, something is holding me back from sending him. Only in the past few days have I realized that it's because I'm scared to hand his life over to someone else...someone that I don't know, and don't trust. Questions flood my mind..."will he eat something he isn't supposed to have?" "Will the staff forget to read the labels on snack foods?" "Will the staff know how to properly administer an epipen?" "Will they know when to and not to give the epipen?" "Will another allergy present itself unknowingly?" (A few weeks ago he had another allergy scare...with walnuts...a nut we thought was on the "safe" list. He complained of his throat feeling funny, then threw up 3 times, then his face got puffy and his nose got so stuffy I couldn't even understand what he was trying to tell me when he spoke...scary.) It's frustrating as a parent knowing that these "genes" most probably came from me/us. However, as his jeans continue to get bigger, and he, older, I realize I need to keep things in perspective. God created him, God will protect him, God has a plan for him. That doesn't mean that I won't be prayerful the entire time, that doesn't mean that I won't ask 100 thousand questions of each preschool I interview to make sure I'm sending him to a safe one, but it does mean that it's time to let go. God is in control.<br />
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Kadyn, you are right, your genes are perfect little man. I thank God that he chose YOU for us and I can't wait to further watch as your "jeans" continue to grow.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg-ngZq-dhlMI3lfypSPmmYQb-4h9qkcQ8SbHVxcPdMfeHviI523iqEANH2SdAi0iU43mdZgnqsLaSnNv0QQ2mlHc3EYwNL-4Qukg-eTzm6KYFtJ9eVdLY2J-pZUZshlk8TJQb4uosCiwM/s1600/DSC_0216.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg-ngZq-dhlMI3lfypSPmmYQb-4h9qkcQ8SbHVxcPdMfeHviI523iqEANH2SdAi0iU43mdZgnqsLaSnNv0QQ2mlHc3EYwNL-4Qukg-eTzm6KYFtJ9eVdLY2J-pZUZshlk8TJQb4uosCiwM/s320/DSC_0216.JPG" width="212" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Trying on a pair of mommy's jeans</span></div><br />
<b>Transparent Parents--it can be hard to relinquish control to someone else, can't it? After all, we would die for our kids, but would someone else? Whether your </b><i><b>fear </b></i><b>for your kids is allergies, shyness, a handicap, inability to hear, to see, or something else entirely, <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><b>and whether your <i>preschool</i> is actually preschool, or daycare, or grade school, a new babysitter, high school...or college, it's important to acknowledge</b></span> that your </b><i><b>fear</b></i><b> is real. It's </b><i><b>your</b></i><b> truth. It can be scary that first go around. It can be scary to even admit out loud. But go ahead...we're all about being transparent on this blog! <u>What is </u></b><i><b><u>your</u></b></i><b><u> truth?</u></b><br />
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<i><u> </u></i><i>© Transparencies of Motherhood 2010. 2011</i>Gretahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14334321470489316907noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7367618772635732943.post-57840131210343148892011-02-25T07:00:00.000-08:002011-02-25T07:00:00.408-08:00You remember WHAT?!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxfO5jZ0t3AE2dIVjPh3SV2KG5LT693210ZwSc1tt5rZUp4J_rAkRzhxVqrFNTWOsrp7ShsfosAjxIvo4UTpcnBdgMea7MsKdoYusLruU_PIpplMxXbCtLW_-fI33PhYbW7ccnz8KWpp0H/s1600/DSC_0620.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxfO5jZ0t3AE2dIVjPh3SV2KG5LT693210ZwSc1tt5rZUp4J_rAkRzhxVqrFNTWOsrp7ShsfosAjxIvo4UTpcnBdgMea7MsKdoYusLruU_PIpplMxXbCtLW_-fI33PhYbW7ccnz8KWpp0H/s320/DSC_0620.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">You may look at that picture at first and think--what the heck is <em>that</em>? </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Well, that's exactly what I thought at first. However, my four year old had it nailed the other night when we were in the middle of our<a href="http://transparenciesofmotherhood.blogspot.com/2010/10/great-toy-rotation-de-clutter-de-toy.html"> toy rotation</a>. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"<em>Mommy, what is this</em>?" He asked, holding up the object pictured above.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"<em>Oh, I remember</em>." He replied in response to his own question before I could even look up to get a clear picture of what he was referring to.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"<em>This is that thing that goes above my bed and made me dizzy when I was a baby</em>."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This is the same child that just a few weeks ago announced to me that he when he was a baby the only thing that hurt was when his daddy and I would give him a bath to clean his belly button. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Umm. I'm screwed. </div>Gretahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14334321470489316907noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7367618772635732943.post-26877624273873349372011-02-15T07:08:00.000-08:002011-02-15T07:08:39.567-08:00Transparent Moment--You don't have a disease, you're pregnant!<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Today's Transparent Moment is written by Kenna. Kenna is the Mommy of 3; their adorable little boy, Brighton, and two angels in heaven, Bennett and a little sweet pea. Kenna is a Mommy that embodies grace, poise, and is a true example of a wonderful mom. She and her husband have been through so much in the past couple of years, but their strength is astounding, admirable; their story is heart breaking. Thank you for sharing your heart Kenna! I think it's such a great, important reminder. You truly are remarkable!</i></span><br />
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"You don’t have a disease, you’re pregnant.”<br />
<br />
My sweet husband had to remind me of this on an almost daily basis when we were pregnant with our first child, our little girl, Bennett. I’d respond, whining, “I know, but I’m so sick and so tired.” And he’d remind me of all the women that had been having babies for thousands of years. Well, I wasn’t those women; I’m me, and I am living now, not in the 1800’s when they were a lot tougher! He wasn’t trying to be unsympathetic, he was just trying to be real―trying to take some of the attitude out of my attitude, so maybe I wouldn’t focus on all the throwing up I was doing. I remember saying, “She better be cute!”<br />
Then came the thirty week appointment. I was beginning to feel like after 210 days of throwing up, I was finally getting there! It would all be worth it once we met our little lady. But the unfathomable happened: at the end of the appointment, our doctor was unable to find a heartbeat. My world collapsed. In the midst of all my complaining, I hadn’t stopped to realize: I was so deeply in love with my sweet little girl. She was my future. I’d have died for her. Guilt knocked me over like a tidal wave. In an instant, heartburn and puking became cherished memories, shared with a child I would only be privileged to hold once.<br />
<br />
After that experience, the first time I heard a woman complain about her pregnancy, I felt like I had been stabbed in the heart. I wanted to punch her, but I also so badly wanted her to know how lucky she was to still be pregnant, and how much I wanted to take her place. She should know my pain: then she’d know better than to complain. Immediately, I knew I couldn’t really wish this hole of despair on anyone, and a rush of guilt filled me. My husband gently reminded me that I didn’t have this unfair perspective before, either. How could she know?<br />
<br />
Thankfully, we were able to get pregnant with Brighton ten weeks later. I remember beaming each time I ran to the toilet or lost it in the sink. "The baby’s growing!" I’d cry. And I hardly noticed the pulled groin muscle that caused me to limp my entire pregnancy. Around seven months, our little guy sat on my ureter, causing a sharp pain in my back―like a kinked muscle―that lasted until Brighton was about a month old. Instead of whining, I chuckled at his masterful movement. His movement was constant: and I praised him for his reassurance, no matter what time of day or night.<br />
<br />
I am now so aware of women everywhere that don’t have the I-got-pregnant-the-month-we-started trying-and-posted-the-positive-test-on-Facebook-and-forty-weeks-later-had-a-perfect-vaginal-delivery- and-posted-the-healthy-baby-photos-on-my-Wall experiences. Our stories are all different―there are women that lose more babies than they get to hold, or ones who try for years to conceive, feeling each month like they’ve had a loss when they start their period.<br />
<br />
If you’re pregnant, were pregnant―or know someone that is―and do not have this perspective of loss, it is invaluable to be sensitive to those who are hyper-sensitive. And, please don’t take it for granted. Remember, to have a baby, without any complications, is truly a miracle! Every day of nausea, every uncomfortable moment, is not an inconvenience, it is a gift. You were given life―allowed the incredible, indescribable chance to bring a child into the world. Not everyone gets to have this experience―even those who want nothing more or nothing else. Please be nothing but thankful.<br />
<br />
<i><u>Readers: Kenna's heart is transparent in this post. It's so difficult to lay your heart out there with such a tender topic. I hope you can see how deeply caring she is. She knows there is nothing they can do to bring their sweet little Bennett back, but hopes that they can use her life to help bring perspective to others, or a sensitivity to others tragedy. Thank you Kenna for sharing your heart.</u> </i>Gretahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14334321470489316907noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7367618772635732943.post-83038440300029092732011-02-12T08:06:00.000-08:002011-02-12T09:02:26.031-08:00What do Hairspray and Toothpaste have in common?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">If you have children, have ever watched children, or have even been around children, you know they have an innate ability to find mischief of any kind, especially if you have your back turned. Whether it's exploring how the world around them works, or a complete act of disobedience, the end result is the same. Kids are kids and if you have anything of value, or anything you would be upset to have destroyed...put it away for 18 years ;) And if you forget, thank you God for the Internet. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Our oldest son decided when he was about the same age our younger son is now (2) that our computer monitor was a great place to practice his artwork...with a Sharpie. Imagine my husband's horror when he went upstairs to see what he was doing only to find his brand new, VERY expensive monitor covered in <i>beautiful</i> artwork. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">My husband, after having a mini panic session and trying not to get too mad since it was his fault to leave sharpies within reach of toddler hands, asked me to look up possible remedies on the Internet. Apparently TOOTHPASTE removes Sharpie if it's on a computer monitor. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>For those that want to know:</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>Put a drop of toothpaste over the sharpie on the monitor. Use a soft rag to softly rub it in one direction until it comes off. Gently wipe as much of the excess toothpaste off as you can. Use a screen cleaner to get the remaining toothpaste off. Voila. </i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Fast forward two years and our younger son is now 2. He always gets to bring something special in to nap time to play with for a few minutes in his crib. One of us will go in after 5 or 10 minutes if he's still playing and take whatever it is away until after nap time. Usually he just goes to sleep clutching it or throws it out on his own because he loves binkie and nap time so much. However, yesterday was different. He wanted to finish writing his shopping list so he was allowed to bring his pen and notepad in to his crib to do so...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinCwxwFVCdzc_sOFOgX0MaMY-98kMIaNZxzYkNy-ZQpNtJR37OQBl4q8HZCNsGY5zg2wHyNXKX40Mne4VbI7_a8ih_n0zmKAheohbxBlaQOFZB8z4ojfsjCCphSKqWkap8rouB0CjTLooT/s1600/DSC_0404.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinCwxwFVCdzc_sOFOgX0MaMY-98kMIaNZxzYkNy-ZQpNtJR37OQBl4q8HZCNsGY5zg2wHyNXKX40Mne4VbI7_a8ih_n0zmKAheohbxBlaQOFZB8z4ojfsjCCphSKqWkap8rouB0CjTLooT/s320/DSC_0404.jpg" width="219" /></a></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://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3scQ5nTQ_E2uVuAj_do5MvvlcdKRHW7hrl1lHKU_tWQH8QaZ7EXghjbuYDEafgfNP2vvKlm73ukO24GMamNOCekszkmFuRcFgJUh-WtWUMHc-St9a6tkIPV-S-St71-2gH01GOnHvVZLn/s1600/DSC_0400.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3scQ5nTQ_E2uVuAj_do5MvvlcdKRHW7hrl1lHKU_tWQH8QaZ7EXghjbuYDEafgfNP2vvKlm73ukO24GMamNOCekszkmFuRcFgJUh-WtWUMHc-St9a6tkIPV-S-St71-2gH01GOnHvVZLn/s320/DSC_0400.jpg" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Who could get mad at this cute little face?</td></tr>
</tbody></table> It's amazing how much ink can get everywhere in 10 minutes. We're talking everywhere. E.V.E.R.Y.W.H.E.R.E. So, we went to the internet. Apparently Hairspray works at getting ink stains out of clothes. I ran to the grocery store by our house last night because I certainly don't have any hair spray and was shocked (understatement) to find that a little bottle this size was SEVEN dollars?!?!?!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiFT-tFDGBKhte5u0zV_N0uwPOexE7u_YZegnaXUoE8tDqQgpTRR8ej2LRWTQEuObCZxMCJ3FMvkk15iHFVJ9mX0PWCt7Y5DAGMMJ68iIkn41nrmZMmtdu_olLAwUS5XEQqmWIy96WF7he/s1600/DSC_0427.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiFT-tFDGBKhte5u0zV_N0uwPOexE7u_YZegnaXUoE8tDqQgpTRR8ej2LRWTQEuObCZxMCJ3FMvkk15iHFVJ9mX0PWCt7Y5DAGMMJ68iIkn41nrmZMmtdu_olLAwUS5XEQqmWIy96WF7he/s320/DSC_0427.JPG" width="193" /></a></div>However, it worked at getting the ink out of my favorite sweatshirt of his and his quilt. It also worked at getting it out of 3/4 of the pants...in order to get the rest out I'll have to fork over more money for hairspray because I went through that little bottle. I should have paid the $12 to get the bigger size. Ugh. Trying to decide if it's worth it since I could just buy more pants for that price.<br />
<br />
<i>For those that want to know:</i><br />
<i>Spray hairspray on the ink stain. Let sit for 1 minute. Blot with a rag. Spray with stain remover. Throw in the wash. Don't dry until the stain is out. It might take several repetitions. </i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
What I want to know is who thinks of these things? I mean seriously. Who would have thought to themselves "I wonder if toothpaste will take off this permanent marker from my computer screen?" And to answer the original question; What do Hairspray and Toothpaste have in common? Two year olds.<br />
<br />
<b><u>Readers: What interesting things have you discovered as a result of your children, or yourself ;)</u></b>Gretahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14334321470489316907noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7367618772635732943.post-35958159052080125542011-02-08T06:44:00.000-08:002011-02-08T06:44:16.435-08:00Transparent Moment--The dreaded willThere it sits.<br />
<br />
Staring at me. Mocking me.<br />
<br />
Is it that I'm lazy? No, that's definitely not it.<br />
<br />
Is it that I don't have the time? That could be true, but time can always be made for such important things...especially when I'm not even writing many blog posts.<br />
<br />
So why haven't we done a will, especially in the past 4 years of having kids?<br />
<br />
For awhile we were able to use the excuse that it was too expensive to draw up a will. I mean who could afford thousands of dollars in lawyer fees to get a proper one done? As wonderful and needed as a will sounded, we just didn't have that kind of money.<br />
<br />
Then, I found this at Costco...<br />
<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://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtzM6Xnyn9HnigxbeZBxB_YlCpImuoIimc0wI0nBvgKv4qkayP4WbkZti4Ahmd0T1EAQb9c7n-5G-kF9B2c5NOdQfD1k0Ijn0rKWVO1Xxib-aBtjaBgk2sftZOF_h0a19diC-aZ0e0mKaN/s1600/DSC_0397.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" h5="true" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtzM6Xnyn9HnigxbeZBxB_YlCpImuoIimc0wI0nBvgKv4qkayP4WbkZti4Ahmd0T1EAQb9c7n-5G-kF9B2c5NOdQfD1k0Ijn0rKWVO1Xxib-aBtjaBgk2sftZOF_h0a19diC-aZ0e0mKaN/s320/DSC_0397.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You can buy one too <a href="http://www.costco.com/Browse/Product.aspx?Prodid=11604502&search=willmaker&topnav=&Mo=0&cm_re=1_en-_-Top_Left_Nav-_-Top_search&lang=en-US&Nr=P_CatalogName:BC&N=5000043&whse=BC&Dx=mode%20matchallpartial&Ntk=Text_Search&Dr=P_CatalogName:BC&Ne=4000000&D=willmaker&Ntt=willmaker&No=0&Nty=1&Ntx=mode%20matchallpartial">here</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Ugh. There goes that excuse. This one was on sale for $30.</div><br />
Another excuse we've used is we'd like to have life insurance in place first but we don't have the extra $50/mo for that...yet someone we always manage to scrounge up enough for coffees and other <i>luxuries</i>. Not to mention, now that I have the software from Costco I could recreate the will when we finally do get life insurance.<br />
<br />
So again, now that my excuses have been wiped away, I pose the question: Why haven't we done a will?<br />
<br />
Truth: I am afraid of admitting what a will means. No, I am not afraid of dying. Rather, I am afraid of admitting that something could happen to my husband and I leaving our children. Alone.<br />
<br />
Our children. The ones we would do anything for. The ones that we are neglecting with our negligence. Our children; the biggest part and only reason we have to do a will. The thought that we might not be the ones there for every moment of their lives makes my head hurt. Admitting that they may grow up not knowing their mommy and daddy makes my heart hurt. Tears fall at the thought. So instead, I've suppressed those thoughts and tuck the software in a back drawer far from mocking and even farther from sight. <br />
<br />
And we've already done the hard part. We know if something happens to us our kids will be left in good hands. No, <i>great</i> hands. Hands that will love both of our boys as their very own. Hands that will firmly set boundaries, yet allow them to become unique in their own ways. Hands that will embrace their personalities and help them flourish. Hands that we love, adore, and respect deeply. Hands that will allow and encourage them to remember us if we're gone. Hands that will look out for their best interests, raise them with the same morals, and grow in a relationship with Christ. Hands, though not ours, that will be <em>the next best thing.</em><br />
<br />
God only You know our future. Please grant us peace and strength to complete this ever important task...for our children. <br />
<br />
<em>I can do all things through him who strengthens me. 'Philippeans 4:13'</em><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><em><strong>Readers: It can be scary to admit we aren't the ones in control. We don't have control over when we live and when we die. It's been written in His book since He knit us in the womb...only God truly knows. But if we live each day in fear, think of all we'd miss out on! And yet, as I'm realizing, it's so important to make sure you have everything lined up for the 'just in case' times. Do you have your will complete? What did you use to complete it? Lawyer? Software? Something else entirely?</strong></em></div>Gretahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14334321470489316907noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7367618772635732943.post-84777206053767918022011-02-07T06:42:00.000-08:002011-02-07T06:42:06.628-08:00The 10 foot poleRecently my hubby and I joked that the reason we have 2 end of the year babies is that March is about the time I rebound from what I'm deeming winter blues. We had a good chuckle about that not thinking too much of it until I began to realize how true it really is.<br />
<br />
I really dislike January and February (I even have a hard time getting excited about all the great birthdays that fall in there). This time of year is the holiday let-down. And now that we have 2 little boys with birthdays that fall at the end of the year, it means all the parties, planning, festivities, etc. are done. And I'm wiped. I was looking back at our personal family blog posts for the past 4 years and realized that January and February are severely lacking posts. I just don't have any desire or energy to do those things. Then, take a look at this blog. I stopped posting over the end of November and all of December so I could focus on family and all those things I listed above and have been unable to pick up the momentum since.<br />
<br />
What this means though is that come March I will be carrying a 10 foot pole. As much as I love November and December, I just don't think I can add anything else to that time of year, especially not something so deserving of more energy as a new baby. So hubby, I hope you're reading this (or a kind friend is taking notes for you) because in March I'm carrying my sticks and will be keeping you at a 10 foot distance ;)<br />
<br />
<b>Readers: What is your favorite thing to do as a family this time of year to keep the blues away?</b>Gretahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14334321470489316907noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7367618772635732943.post-31246701459920976842011-01-25T06:32:00.000-08:002011-01-25T06:32:00.202-08:00Transparent Moment--A letter to my boysDear Kadyn and Kai,<br />
<br />
I always intended to write you each letters when I was pregnant, but those months flew by. I thought "maybe on your first birthdays," but those too have come and all too quickly gone. So, here I sit, no momentous milestone sparking the urge, but having an urge just the same. And maybe that's for the better; without a momentous milestone, you can understand how heartfelt this is.<br />
<br />
When I was pregnant with both of you I would spend hours wondering what you were going to look like, smell like, feel like. I wondered what it would be like to hold you, to hear you cry, to see you smile. I spent hours wondering about the personalities you would develop, and the men that in a blink you'd become. I spent hours praying for you, for your friends, for your teachers, for each of your wives. The pictures that formed in my head during those 9 months were just bold outlines in a coloring book waiting to be filled in.<br />
<br />
Of course I had/have many hopes and dreams for you. I had hoped you would never have to experience how harsh this world can be. But alas, Kadyn, you've already begun to experience that first hand at your preschool. I had hoped I would be a perfect mother to you, leading you, guiding you, but I've realized along the way that I'm not perfect, and that is okay. Nor do I expect perfection of you...just your best. I hope that you'll strive for your best every day, but not be too hard on yourselves on the days that doesn't come easily. I could go on and on...<br />
<br />
But, the one thing that kept me from writing down all of my dreams and hopes for you was that I wanted you to create your own. I want you to fill in the pages of your coloring books with your own beautiful colors. Sure, I would love to influence what those are and become for you, but I also never want you to feel like you've failed me if you don't live up to my dreams for you. And yet, there is one thing that I feel a strong urge to convey. One thing that I hope you will always know, and always remember. One thing that I hope with all hope and pray with every prayer.<br />
<br />
I hope you always know how much we love you.<br />
<br />
Much of the world sees loves as:<br />
<i>A strong affection for one another arising out of kinship or personal ties; unselfish loyal and benevolent concern for the good of another.</i><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Definition received <a href="http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/love">here</a></span><br />
<br />
But I would also like to include how God models love in 1 Cor 13:4-8a:<br />
<i>Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil, but it rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails.</i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Verse received <a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=1+Corinthians+13&version=NIV">here</a></span></i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
Oh how I try to be patient. It can be so hard to be kind all the time. Sometimes I want to scream and cry out, and sometimes I do. And for this I am truly sorry.<br />
<br />
Love is unconditional.<br />
<br />
In my line of work I hear all too often "I love you, <u>but</u>..." I love you <u>but</u> you're driving me crazy. I love you <u>but</u> if you continue to do that we'll have to kick you out. I love you <u>but</u> I hate the way you're acting. I love you <u>but</u> I can't stand...<br />
<br />
To your daddy and me, there are <u>no buts</u> to our love. We love you both equally and whole-heartedly. <u>Nothing</u> will ever change that no matter what. Please don't mistake this for an excuse to do whatever you want; there are always consequences for ill choices. We may not love some of the choices you will choose to make, but your choices do not have to define who you are. Nor will they define our love for YOU. Ill choices aside, you are you.<br />
<br />
And I vow to always separate out my love for you and my dislike for your ill choices. I love you Kadyn. I love you Kai. That will never change.<br />
<br />
So, instead of a but, I would rather think of it as "I love you <u>and</u>..." I love you <u>and</u> I always will. I love you <u>and</u> I hope that through the harshness of this world you can also find glimmers of beauty. I love you <u>and</u> I love you so much that I will establish boundaries and consequences. I love you <u>and</u> one day, when you're ready to launch I will release you, trusting that we've helped raise you in a way to know that you're leaving with your very best wings to soar with. I love you <u>and</u> there is nothing you can do that will make me love you any less. Nothing. I love you <u>and</u> even after you launch I will still be loving you the same as I did the day you were born, the same as I did the first time you said Mama, the same as I did the day you took your first steps, the same as I did/will your first day of school, the same as I will on the first day you...no, I take that back...I will love you even more because every day that goes by, my love grows exponentially for you both.<br />
<br />
I love you my sweet boys, yesterday, today, tomorrow and forever...unconditionally. No buts.<br />
<br />
Love,<br />
<br />
Your Mom(my)<br />
<br />
<i><u>Readers: If you made it all the way through that letter, thank you. </u></i>Gretahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14334321470489316907noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7367618772635732943.post-61442038446166454072011-01-18T07:38:00.000-08:002011-01-18T07:38:10.526-08:00Transparent Moment--the 2 week waitThe two week wait. The agonizing, hope filled, nervous, what makes 2 weeks seem like years long time between when you ovulate and when you expect your period. The time when every twinge, every ill feeling, every slight difference to your normal day sends feelings of wonderment and hope rushing to your head. It's the longest 14 days/336 hours/20160 minutes/1209600 seconds EVER.<br />
<br />
This period of time is different for those that are actively trying and those that are not; those not trying don't even know it exists unless they have an 'oops.' And yet, those that are trying know all about the different emotions the 2 weeks can bring. It's different for males and females; males may be very excited and hopeful but it's the females that analyze every possible early pregnancy sign their bodies might possibly, maybe, hopefully be doing. And it's different for those on their first two week wait of actively trying and for those on their 6th+ two week wait, and even more so for those on the 12th+ two week wait; for those on their first, it's a feeling of excitement and for every month that goes by those 2 weeks become torture, agony, longing, desire, and yet, somewhere in the back of their heads, hope is holding on that this might be the month.<br />
<br />
The first few months of trying to conceive can be fun, exciting, hope filled. The two week wait is thrilling. But once you pass that third month mark questions begin to creep in to your mind. However, statistics have shown that it can take an average of 6 months to conceive so you're still able to push those questions aside. Come and go the 6th month, and the questions begin to force themselves a little closer to the front of your brain. But again, statistics have shown that 90% of women actively trying to conceive will get pregnant within their first year. So, again, you're able to push those questions aside...but not entirely. And definitely once the year mark passes the questions settle in. They take up permanent residence; "What's wrong with me? Are we doing something wrong? Will it ever happen?" Sex can easily become a chore instead of something fun, charting, temperature taking, planning, ovulation sticks, and countless pregnancy tests. And the two week wait... And even though you haven't miscarried, it can seem like a part of you dies every time your period begins. It can be easy to look at pregnant women with disdain. Or, hear stories of women like myself(<a href="http://transparenciesofmotherhood.blogspot.com/search/label/gender%20envy">here</a>) with 2 beautiful boys and harbor feelings of resentment, anger, remorse.<br />
<br />
I was very fortunate that our first was a 'surprise.' We thought we'd get pregnant sooner than we were planning on since I wasn't taking birth control (and other forms of protection aren't effective when they're in the drawer) so I didn't suffer the 2 week wait like many women. We were equally fortunate that we got pregnant with our second right away; I only had the first cycle of two week waits to sit impatiently through. Even though I don't have direct experience with painful two week waits, my heart breaks when I hear stories from my friends.<br />
<br />
<u><i><b>Readers</b>: The two week wait means something different to everyone. What does it mean to you? Share YOUR transparent stories!! </i></u>Gretahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14334321470489316907noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7367618772635732943.post-23099703840235262212011-01-17T07:02:00.000-08:002011-01-17T07:11:53.748-08:00Raising Boys; couldn't we play house instead?Lately I've been lamenting that I rarely get to do girly things. We have so much testosterone in this house that one can barely sit still long enough to read a story let alone even consider something like a tea party. And the doll my son asked Santa for either sits naked in the toy basket, or it gets slung under his arm as he chases his older brother on his bike; not exactly the cuddling I was envisioning. But alas, I have boys...<br />
<br />
So, when my son said "Mommy, let's build a city out of legos and then we'll use it to play <u>house</u>," you can understand my excitement and enthusiasm.<br />
<br />
I was happily building my contribution to the city, a cute little house with a front yard for the "kids" to play, when my son announced he was done with his. His portion of the city was complete with a pirate ship, helicopter landing station, a helicopter, and fortress. You see, he's 4. I'm... well, much older than that. And his contribution took far less time, with far more complex parts than my weeny house, but that's beside the point.<br />
<br />
It was happened next that brought be back from my blissful girly state...<br />
<br />
"Okay mom (yes, that dreaded word I spoke of <a href="http://transparenciesofmotherhood.blogspot.com/2011/01/since-when-did-i-become-mom.html">here</a>), this is a mean city. And you're the daddy. And I"m the bad guy trying to get you."<br />
<br />
Hmm. Not exactly the type of house I was picturing here. <i>Really buddy, I was thinking we could play a nice house. I'll be the mommy, or the baby or something, and you could be whatever you want, and we'll play nicely.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>"No mommy (well, half of that was sweet...but we'll have to work on getting rid of the 'no' in front of it). You're the daddy, and I <u>am</u> whoever I want cause I'm the bad guy and I'm gonna get you. Pow, Pow...you better run!"</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
Okay, so I walked myself in to that one. (Sigh)<i> Okay, AHHHHH, the bad guy is gonna get me!! It's a good thing I have my forcefield in my front yard I built so you can't break through...</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
Yes, I still played his version of "house." And, I even had a great time :)<br />
<br />
But the best part came during clean up. The part that makes me stop in my tracks and realize just what we're in for. You see, we had turned the room upside down while we were playing so I firmly announced it was time to clean up when we were done. My son said...<br />
<br />
"Mommy (yes!), I will <u>let you</u> clean up while I go potty. And, if I take too long (takes after another adult figure in our house) I will even let you finish cleaning up."<br />
<br />
Hmmm.<br />
<br />
<i><u>Readers: What did you do this weekend?</u></i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">© Transparencies of Motherhood 2011</span></i>Gretahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14334321470489316907noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7367618772635732943.post-4089559405722435952011-01-14T07:17:00.000-08:002011-01-14T07:17:42.131-08:00Raising Boys; it would've been easier to let him pee in the middle of the room...This is definitely not a conversation that would occur for parents of girls...<br />
<br />
The scenario: Our oldest woke in the middle of the night needing to pee. He sleeps on the top bunk and always hollers for me if he needs to get down to use the bathroom; something I appreciate and hate. I love that he doesn't try to stumble down the ladder in a sleepy stuppor and I hate that I have to get up. You'd think that I would give up and put him on the bottom bunk, but you see, he's afraid of the bottom bunk. He thinks that something creepy has to live down the crack by the side of the bed closest to the wall. So, getting up to take him pee it is.<br />
<br />
If you know my son you know that there are some times when you just don't mess with him. If he wakes crying in the middle of the night that is one of them. He only wants Mommy, he doesn't want to talk to tell you why he's crying (usually because he has to pee), he doesn't want the light on in the bathroom, and heaven forbid you try to help him; all things I learned through hysterical grunts in the past year since he's been potty trained at night. This was one of those nights...<br />
<br />
As he was peeing I knew he probably missed some. So when he was done, I scooped him up to take him back to bed and hollered to my hubby.<br />
<br />
Me: <i>Hon, can you please check out the bathroom to see if there's any P-E-E to clean up? </i>(As most parents I usually spell words so my kids don't know what I'm talking about or so I don't embarrass them. But, why did I spell pee? It sounds exactly the same whether it's spelled or just said.)<br />
<br />
Hubby: <i>Sure</i><br />
<br />
I come back out after about 5 minutes of songs and back scratches. And hubby is sitting on the couch.<br />
<br />
Hubby: <i>You know, next time could you have him just stand in the middle of the bathroom and pee? It would make it so much easier to clean up. It was everywhere; behind the toilet, on the seat, on the stand, on the base, on the floor. Everywhere.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
Me: (laughing)<i> Yea, I knew it was going to be mess</i>y. <i>Sorry.</i><br />
<br />
Hubby: <i>Or, you could just have him stand in the tub. That would be even better. How on earth could he have been standing right in front of the toilet and miss completely? Um, don't answer that. (</i>Pause)<i> Why didn't you teach him how to point it down?</i><br />
<br />
Pretty sure hubby must have missed the past year...like I said above, there are middle of the night times you just don't mess with our son.<br />
<br />
And until he's older and my hubby can teach him I'm grateful for the back scratches and songs to keep me occupied long enough to miss clean up :)<br />
<br />
<i><u>Readers: What are your "raising boys" stories? Or for those with girls, what are your potty training stories?</u></i><br />
<i><u><br />
</u></i><br />
<i><u><br />
</u></i><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">© Transparencies of Motherhood 2011</span>Gretahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14334321470489316907noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7367618772635732943.post-76966451958394595322011-01-13T07:00:00.000-08:002011-01-13T07:00:44.994-08:00Since when did I become "Mom?"You become a mother the moment you conceive. You learn very quickly to self-sacrifice and learn to put your needs aside for the betterment of your children. During pregnancy you spend 9 months growing each child. You decline countless drinks, high sugar foods, and anything else deemed "unsafe" or "unhealthy." You sacrifice your body to your baby; stretch marks, extra skin, sags, t-h-r-o-w-i-n-g-u-p!, possible C-section scars. Not to mention labor. And that's just the beginning. I found once they were born to be even more restrictive since I was nursing. It seemed every food and even my beloved, coveted, much needed coffee was off limits. Greens, beans, red sauce, dairy...you name it, I couldn't have it. (You mean no pizza?! What's a girl to do?! I'm surprised I didn't lose more weight than I did.) You're up all night, have countless hours of lost sleep, cracked nipples, Mommy-brain, and lost sleep (did I say that already?).<br />
<br />
And yet, if a beautiful pregnant baby belly, feeling your baby kick, feeling the rhythm of baby hiccups, bonding before birth, and meeting your baby for the first time isn't worth it...and if baby cuddles, baby kisses, baby smiles, baby coos and baby giggles weren't enough to make it all worth it (oh how the list of wonderful could go on forever)...the moment your little one stretches his/her pudgy little arms out and says "Mama," and then "Mommy," (or Dada/Daddy) Or, "Mommy, I love you." Oh. So. Worth. It. That precious word can make any sacrifice worth it.<br />
<br />
However, lately my kids have been calling me "Mom." Gosh darn it, I worked hard for that "Mommy" title. I was hoping it would stick around a bit longer. Mommy means they're still little. Mommy means I have more time for baby cuddles. Mommy means they are still my sweet little boys. But, Mom? That makes me feel old (Mom, if you're reading this...you're not old!). Mom means my boys are growing up too fast! Mom means the years have been flying by. At this point, I long to hear Mommy.<br />
<br />
This Mommy cherishes these moments. The days of organized chaos, no sleep, and lots and lots of cuddles. The days where my kids want to be with me, ask me to play with them, and will let me kiss them. The moments of discovery, of the many firsts (smiles, walking, talking, learning new words, etc), and of 'Mommy I love you.' I cherish these moments because they are numbered.<br />
<br />
And for all you Moms and Dads out there...I hope you know that deep in our/their hearts, you'll always be "Mommy and Daddy."<br />
<br />
<br />
<i><u>Readers: Have your kids switched from Mommy/Daddy to Mom/Dad? Regardless, what has been your most cherished moment?</u></i><br />
<i><u><br />
</u></i><br />
<i><u><br />
</u></i><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">© Transparencies of Motherhood 2011</span>Gretahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14334321470489316907noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7367618772635732943.post-34554085625374765302011-01-11T06:52:00.000-08:002011-01-11T07:08:28.701-08:00Transparent Moment--Miscarriage<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><i>I debated about posting this because someone dear to me recently had a miscarriage, but as always, I think it's so important to know you're not alone. This post was written by a beautiful woman who has chosen to remain anonymous. A special thanks to her for sharing her heart on this difficult topic to discuss.</i></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">As I stood in the bathroom, hovering near the pregnancy test, I could feel my heart beating in my chest. This would be our 7th month of trying. Seven long months of waiting, wondering. But our wait was over.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">It was positive.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">My hands shook as I took 3 more tests just to confirm that the first wasn't a dud. All had the same results. Oh my gosh, we were pregnant!</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Elation, excited, ecstatic, happy, and thrilled were all too small of words to describe my feelings. We were on cloud nine. We had been trying for 7 months, each month wondering if 'this would be the month.' My husband and I ran out to purchase a gender neutral outfit to mark the special day.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Immediately we told our friends and family closest to us and within a week it seemed like the world knew. Everywhere I looked I saw beautiful pregnant bellies and glowing mamas. My heart would skip a beat anxious for my belly to begin growing. Even at just shy of 8 weeks I already had dreams and ideas for the life growing inside of me. Despite not having a belly yet, my hands were constantly drawn to my tummy. I was in awe of all things baby. We were so excited to find out if I was carrying a baby girl, or a baby boy.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">And then it happened. My world came crashing down.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">It started as just a couple drops of blood. But it quickly began to gush. And the cramping. Oh, the cramping.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I lost the baby. The one I had been dreaming about, picturing in my head, naming. Gone. Nothing could have prepared me for that moment.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">At first I didn't want to tell anyone. I wanted to be in my own sorrow for awhile. But, the calls kept coming; calls of wonderment on how my 8 week appointment went, wondering if we were going to find out if we were having a boy or a girl. I couldn't ignore them forever. My once fluttering heart felt like it had stopped beating.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I asked my husband to call our family and friends. I just didn't want to face them. A few cards and flowers showed up with wonderful well-wishers. But they didn't help take away the pain I was feeling and I couldn't stand putting on a fake smile while they were there. I cursed myself for having shared our exciting news with the world so soon. It just meant that many more people that we had to tell of our devastation. And it was amazing how many people didn't know how to respond at all. After all, the baby inside of me <i>died</i>.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I couldn't believe how long the bleeding continued. It was as if it was mocking me, reminding me of the barrenness of my tummy. The cramps were actually comforting, a true pain that helped my heart feel less. I still continued to see pregnant women everywhere, as if they were screaming at me that were able to carry their babies to term and I couldn't. And the outfit we picked out still sat in the closet, beckoning me to feel the soft fabric, feel the pain, and whispering the evil thoughts that began encroaching; what if I would never be able to have a baby? What if this kept happening? What if something is wrong with my body and I'll never be able to bring a baby to term? Did I do something wrong? What if I hadn't worked out last week? What if I had taken it easier the past few weeks? What if, what if, what if...</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Slowly, the bleeding stopped. The pain was too raw to even think about trying again any time soon. And yet, after several months our desire to have a baby took over my fear of another miscarriage. Miscarriage--what a dirty word. Sure 20 to 30 percent of all pregnancies end in miscarriage, but I did not want to be on that end of the statistics again.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Miraculously I actually got pregnant again, right away this time. However, my heart was heavy; would the same thing happen again? My husband and I had originally talked about not sharing the news until we were in the 2nd trimester, but despite the fear, we were also excited and couldn't stand keeping it to ourselves for that long. We decided to tell our close family and friends, but also shared our hesitation with them and asked them to keep it quiet until our first appointment at 8 weeks when we were scheduled to have an internal ultrasound.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">From the day we found out to the weeks leading up to the internal I couldn't sleep. I couldn't breathe; it was if my very breathe was being squeezed out of me. Every twinge sent me running to the bathroom. Every cramp made me burst in to tears thinking it was happening again. But the ultrasound came and went. The baby looked good. I felt sick as a dog, but <i>the baby looked good</i>. Hallelujah! However, I still couldn't shake the feeling. I knew the risk was still high until the 2nd trimester and because of that I couldn't allow myself to attach to this baby in the same way. I refused to buy anything baby until the 2nd trimester. I refused to think about names. And I refused to dream about the future.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">But the second trimester came and went too. Finally I could allow the excitement to take over. I was pregnant. I was one of those beautiful, glowing, round, protruding bellied, pregnant women and I was finally bursting at the seems with excitement and anticipation. Our true 'wait' was over.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Just an update, a healthy, beautiful baby girl was born. And just a few months later (they thought it would take several months again!) they are now cautiously beginning the journey again as they just found out they're pregnant with baby #2. Congratulations and thank you for sharing your difficult story.</i></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><i><br />
</i></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><i>Readers: Hopefully there is someone out there that can find comfort in these words I shared with someone recently: Losing a baby, at any point, even pregnant, is still losing a baby. Despite not being able to hold (in most cases) a baby that dies during pregnancy, the baby is still yours. And the hurt is all the same. And it is important to know you are allowed to hurt, to cry, to grieve. And though you may feel like it at the time, you are not alone. Another thing to hold on to is that one day you will get to meet this baby. It may be a loss now, but eventually, it will be a gain! You will have a child to meet in heaven! If you didn't know before, you will then know if "it" was a he or a she. And you will walk hand in hand sharing all kinds of stories. But for now, allow yourself some time to grieve, and try not to beat yourself up with the 'whys.' </i></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><i><u>It can be hard for friends and family to know what to say when a baby has died, hard for friends and family to know what to do, to know how or if they should comfort. Suggestions?</u></i></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><i><br />
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</i></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">© Transparencies of Motherhood 2011</span></i></div>Gretahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14334321470489316907noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7367618772635732943.post-79106263478730249852011-01-08T22:45:00.000-08:002011-01-09T07:26:40.420-08:00Transparent Moment--Down SyndromeTypically I save Transparent Moments for Tuesdays, but this came up and I had to share it. So here's the reason I'm blogging at 10:30 pm on a Saturday night.<br />
<div><br />
</div><div>Something a pregnant mom rarely voices, but so often thinks about is "will my child have an extra chromosome?" That magic number 21 turning the chromosome count to 47 instead of 46. That fear that wracks so many women until their baby is born.<br />
<div><br />
</div><div>Down Syndrome.</div><div><br />
</div><div>At my 12 week appointment with both of my pregnancies I was asked if we wanted to do the chromosomal testing. I had asked what the reason for the testing was told that the biggest determining result would be finding out if our baby would have down syndrome. I asked if it was suggested. My Dr. then asked me in return "would the results matter to you?" I had a simple answer. No. If we were to have a baby with down syndrome then of course, we would seek God in figuring out how to be the best parents we could be. But, I still had my doubts. No, it was more fear. It bugged me, that I was fearful of down syndrome, yet accepting of it if God chose us. I think it's the fear of the unknown. The fear of uncertainty. The fear that I wouldn't be able to provide the baby/the child/the adult, with everything he/she would deserve. I really don't know what it is.</div><div><br />
</div><div>However, there is a beauty in Down Syndrome that often goes unnoticed. </div><div><br />
</div><div>I want to ask you all to consider something...</div><div><br />
</div><div>Please read this blog:</div><div><br />
</div><div><a href="http://www.kellehampton.com/2010/01/nella-cordelia-birth-story.html">www.kellehampton.com</a> </div><div><br />
</div><div>Her story is utterly beautiful. It's wonderfully transparent. This woman is amazing. Her gift of writing and photography is wonderful. And what a mom; her strength is astounding, her commitment is admirable, her love for her children is endearing. And her daughters? BOTH beautiful. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Then, please go here:</div><div><br />
</div><div><a href="http://www.kellehampton.com/2011/01/pay-it-forwardrock-oneder-fund.html">Pay it Forward</a> </div><div><br />
</div><div>Wonderful. Beautiful. True. </div></div><div><br />
</div><div><u><i>Readers: </i>After spending time reading Kelle's story, I have to say the fear has subsided. I love that she gives a voice to down syndrome in such a lovely way<i>. What were your fears when you were pregnant? </i>And please consider donating!<i> </i></u></div>Gretahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14334321470489316907noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7367618772635732943.post-47106637853113796212011-01-06T06:57:00.000-08:002011-01-06T14:15:14.710-08:00Ah-Poh-Pee-AtMy heart was heavy.<br />
<br />
My older son came home from preschool on Monday saying that one of his "friends" told him they couldn't be friends anymore. He was crushed. We talked a bit about this and ways he could respond if his feelings got hurt again. But I couldn't help but walk away from the conversation with a heavy heart.<br />
<br />
Really? This happens in preschool? Ugh. Kids can be so mean.<br />
<br />
Then, today I decided to drop him off at preschool as he was saying "I don't want to go to preschool anymore." So, we planned a special pre-preschool date just us and stopped for banana bread on our way. His spirits were lifted and he was in a good mood when we arrived at the school. As he kissed me goodbye I said a silent prayer "please God, let today be different." My son sauntered off to join the kids already there for story time. He approached the same "friend" and went to sit down by him. However, said friend MOVED. Yes, he got up and moved. I cowardly couldn't watch and turned with tears in my eyes to walk out.<br />
<br />
I weighed the options. I could "rescue" him and speak with the boy's mom since we're also friendly. I could speak with the teacher. Or, I could continue to encourage my son.<br />
<br />
I realized that I had forgotten to drop off his tuition check which was due today and since I wasn't the one picking him I dropped in as I was passing by for a work errand.<br />
<br />
Just my luck, his teacher was standing right by the front door watching the kids have play time. I decided now was as good of a time as any to do a sort-of combination of my options:<br />
<br />
<b>Me:</b> Mrs. K, I wanted to ask some advice.<br />
<b>Mrs K:</b> Sure, what's going on?<br />
<b>Me:</b> My son came home from school on Monday saying that one of the boys in the class (didn't name names) was being very mean and had even told him that they couldn't be friends anymore. I witnessed the same thing this morning when I dropped him off. What should I say to him to encourage him in this situation?<br />
<b>Mrs K:</b> Actually, I was very proud of your son this morning. He stood up for himself and when it continued he came over to me and said "Mrs. K, (said little boy) is not being Ah-Poh-Pee-At." We had a chance to talk about that and I was able to ask the little boy how he could be appropriate? The little boy responded that he could be nicer. They've been just fine ever since. I did have to chuckle to myself though with his use of the word <i>appropriate</i>...not many just turned 4 year olds would know how to <i>appropriately</i> use that word.<br />
<b>Me:</b> (BEAMING) Oh, that is such good news. Thank you!<br />
<b>Mrs K:</b> Just make sure you ask him how that makes him feel and validate his feelings if he mentions it again. (which I had done :)) You have a very wonderful little boy. He's always watching out for all the kids, making sure they are behaving and doing what they are supposed to do...without tattling. He's a delight.<br />
<br />
So, my heavy heart has lifted. I am so proud of my son at this moment. Thank you God for making today different. Thank you God for giving him the courage to stand up for himself in an <i>appropriate</i> way.<br />
<br />
I have a huge smile on my face today. Not just because he stood up for himself, but because this is the same son I had wondered about having <a href="http://transparenciesofmotherhood.blogspot.com/search/label/selective%20mutism">Selective Mutism</a> just a few months ago.<br />
<br />
<u><i>Readers: Have you ever dealt with mean kids? As the parent, how do you respond?</i></u>Gretahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14334321470489316907noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7367618772635732943.post-22136717421643501552011-01-04T07:05:00.000-08:002011-01-04T07:21:23.674-08:00Goldfish crackers went swimming...literally.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: left;">Every night just before bed I do a quick sweep of the living room to gather any toys and books my kids didn't pick up during clean up time. For the past week or so as I was putting the books away I thought the carpet felt a little damp by the bookshelf but convinced myself that I was being crazy and it must just be cold. </div><br />
Then I dropped the cracker in the kitchen.<br />
<br />
Interesting correlation huh?<br />
<br />
I think the great part of this story is that it was a "goldfish" cracker. Having a neurotic dog that would have sniffed out the cracker and either whined or barked at it until it was retrieved led me to search for the dropped cracker.<br />
<br />
I found it.<br />
<br />
In a pool of water. Appropriate the goldfish found a pool of water to fall in.<br />
<br />
Only problem was, it was under our dishwasher.<br />
<br />
Correct me if I'm wrong, but there should most definitely not be a pool of water under the dishwasher. Unfortunately, it was a 'pool' because we had to place the dishwasher below the tile level because it was so big it needed the extra 1/2 in to 1 inch 'hole.' So, as soon as my hubby got home I let him know. He turned off the hot water thinking there must be a leak in the dishwasher and began sopping up some water.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, I was in the living room playing with the boys and put my hand in a spot of water on the carpet...the same spot that I'd previously declared must be cold, not damp. I called my hubby in to show him the spot, but it was no more than the size of the ice cube the kids had been playing Dr with just an hour before. Surely it had melted there.<br />
<br />
Nope.<br />
<br />
We went on with our evening, made dinner, put the kids to bed, watched a movie...and that's when I began putting the stray books and toys away the kids missed during cleanup like I always do every evening before bed.<br />
<br />
Only my foot was SOAKED with water.<br />
<br />
I pulled the chair back.<br />
<br />
Soaked under the chair.<br />
<br />
Yeah...that dishwasher leak? Not so much. Turns out it was the ice dispenser hose...behind the dishwasher. Ugh. It's apparently been leaking for some time.<br />
<br />
I am so thankful my husband is as handy as he is. Why you might ask? Because he had to pop off the face of the granite counters he put on to pull the dishwasher out. He had to dissemble the bookcase he built to pull the carpet up. And, he'll be able to put it all back together again. Love him.<br />
<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4YjyeKbIgE4y4hQQDOw6anXIyHhRC6mEUQVfpQ17xHnrrX1vGYFqWB1War-rJRYtZeUUG-eI_dvuwlr7gxThWSn2U1i8zm3-XPYBXrIvWDmGJhk4ISoreAVDXrNoccN9jchl-srRjr2d3/s1600/DSC_0152.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4YjyeKbIgE4y4hQQDOw6anXIyHhRC6mEUQVfpQ17xHnrrX1vGYFqWB1War-rJRYtZeUUG-eI_dvuwlr7gxThWSn2U1i8zm3-XPYBXrIvWDmGJhk4ISoreAVDXrNoccN9jchl-srRjr2d3/s320/DSC_0152.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL92J2LZCwuS7pChx4TjyrXPS1xZUvfsYE-KgRAS55ByzImvSe5FEhAN-wqMwg-WapaZ7CvvtFlYrZ04YEh-hYWRZezB77mtncoshJ7f-t0LrIp2MwCmOM9dk3Q_dKEQSBgDcRCxzgkt5k/s1600/DSC_0153.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL92J2LZCwuS7pChx4TjyrXPS1xZUvfsYE-KgRAS55ByzImvSe5FEhAN-wqMwg-WapaZ7CvvtFlYrZ04YEh-hYWRZezB77mtncoshJ7f-t0LrIp2MwCmOM9dk3Q_dKEQSBgDcRCxzgkt5k/s320/DSC_0153.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>In case you're wondering, we have 3 heaters and 4 fans going 24/7 right now to dry it all out. Fortunately, there isn't any mold damage (and "we", being my husband, bleach sprayed just in case) and it should all be salvageable...though we're still trying to figure out the best approach with the carpet and pad.<br />
<br />
I am so thankful that I dropped the cracker and felt compelled to look for it. Thank you God. This could have been SO SO much worse.<br />
<br />
It can be so hard when things don't go according to OUR plan. Sometimes it can feel lonely, frustrating, scary, awful, alienating. Other times it can be just plain confusing. And other times still His plan is even better than what you or I could ever dream a plan to be. In my plan, this wasn't supposed to happen. But I know there must be a purpose behind it...I may never know what that purpose is, but what I do know is that I am not alone. It's important to know that it never is YOUR plan or MY plan BUT we don't have to go through it alone. This is something we definitely didn't need right now. But it could have been so much worse in so many different ways.<br />
<br />
<i><u>Readers: Today I am thankful for dropped goldfish crackers. What are you thankful for?</u></i>Gretahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14334321470489316907noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7367618772635732943.post-68030524398697047902011-01-03T16:06:00.000-08:002011-01-03T16:06:59.672-08:00Parenting manuals on...nipples?<div>I wish there were manuals on parenting. True manuals. Manuals that actually fit EVERY child...not just a handful. I wish the said manuals could prepare me for the following dialogue...</div><div><br />
</div><div>I should have known from the look. You know...<i>the</i> look. The one where all you have to do is see his face and you know you're about to be extremely embarrassed.<br />
<br />
Let me back up. Maybe I should have known from the beginning that the night was not going to go quite as planned. Not realizing the formality of a church function, I bravely took both my boys without the assistance of my husband. I thought it was a meet and greet for a <a href="http://www.themommyhoodmemos.blogspot.com/">missionary family</a> my church supports and a blogger friend. Rather, it was a beautiful presentation of their work in Australia. So...I set out to do what any parent would do, I tried to find everything and anything that would keep my boys quiet and still for more than 5 minutes. After I had exhausted all options, I buckled and gave my son a pin. I should have known that my 4 year old would know how to put the pin on. </div><div><br />
</div><div>After carefully placing the pin on his shirt, my son casually looked down at it. I could see his brain begin spinning. Without even much time to breathe, let alone think up something this cleaver, he reached for the pin I had given his brother and proceeded to put it on himself. </div><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://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht2DNEP1_886ZNoo2vfiPzUrXjYQ1ZAbQnJ443JPfA6Pml5Fm-Q0J3qRP0nf66hKUJW4guXUpQqH3ncy1dQvZg9bLBB_bl1vDGwiFbJQsKZgO1TPvwLNf4qw21vOFTTXlpS7xGNp3z-7dx/s1600/DSC_0154.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht2DNEP1_886ZNoo2vfiPzUrXjYQ1ZAbQnJ443JPfA6Pml5Fm-Q0J3qRP0nf66hKUJW4guXUpQqH3ncy1dQvZg9bLBB_bl1vDGwiFbJQsKZgO1TPvwLNf4qw21vOFTTXlpS7xGNp3z-7dx/s320/DSC_0154.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The offending button...</td></tr>
</tbody></table></div><div>Then, he gave me <i>the</i> look. He looked up at me with his beautiful blue eyes, his hair falling into his eyes slightly, a mischievous grin crossing his face as he proceeded to yell across the table at me. Okay, so maybe he didn't yell, but at the time it felt as if the earth shook when he said it.</div><div><br />
</div><div>"Hey, Mommy! Look! I have TWO nipples on the outside of my shirt!" </div><div><br />
</div><div>Oh. My. Goodness. Did that just happen?</div><div><br />
</div><div>Some parenting manuals would have said "ignore, ignore, ignore" so I thought maybe ignoring the situation might be effective. I mean after all, if I ignore it, he should realize he isn't getting the attention and therefore stop...right?</div><div><br />
</div><div>Nope.</div><div><br />
</div><div>It got louder. (Was that even possible?!)<br />
<br />
Another parenting manual would have said "give him a stern look, and clearly say no." That should clearly work, right?<br />
<br />
But, it wasn't in an appropriate place to explain why this wasn't acceptable behavior. Because let's face it, that would have been the next question..."Why can't I have nipples on the outside of my shirt mommy?" So, instead, I just tried the stern look. Not working...he obviously couldn't understand my non-verbal form of shut up.</div><div><br />
</div><div>"HEY, MOMMY?! LOOK!! I HAVE TWO NIPPLES ON THE OUTSIDE OF MY SHIRT! Hey, little brother...DO YOU WANT NIPPLES ON THE OUTSIDE OF YOUR SHIRT TOO?! Mommy, I'm just going to go back to the table and get some more nipples so brother can have two also. Okay?"</div><div><br />
</div><div>This time, the yelling was also complete with the swagger. The shoulders back and forth, look at me, eyebrows raised slightly, teenager trying to get attention, swagger. How do they learn these things?</div><div><br />
</div><div>I think God must have realized I didn't have the right manual and granted me wings at that moment because I don't know if it's humanly possible to move as fast as I did in order to sweep my kids out of the church.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Yes, a manual that's useful for ALL kids might be nice. </div>Gretahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14334321470489316907noreply@blogger.com4