But now……strangely tempting.

Have you ever seen one of these?

I was in a bookstore the other day and saw this. Basically, it’s like a high chair or a car seat for your toddler. It’s mounted on the wall near the floor in the bathroom, so you can restrain your small child while you tend to business. I had seen them “pre-Leah,” and always thought they were somewhat barbaric…as any of you who don’t have children probably do now. Now, though……it’s strangely tempting. No, I don’t actually see myself using one, because I think I would be wracked with guilt somehow when I looked up and saw Leah strapped to the wall (regardless of how close to the floor it was), but I can understand the concept. There are *lots* of things in a public restroom that would be irresistible to a toddler, and *none* of them are notoriously clean. I’m just sayin’. It’s not a bad idea. That’s all I’m sayin’.

Cordial

As Leah and I were playing outside the other day, one of my neighbors walked to his mailbox. I waved a friendly wave at him, and he waved back; as he turned to head back inside, though, I felt a pang of conviction.

I have lived across the street from him for nearly 5 years, but I do not know him. His name is Ray, and he had cancer a few years ago that forced him to retire. He’s in remission now. Has a daughter named Sarah and a son named Matt and a tiny black dog that is, apparently, nocturnal. That much I do know.

But do I know him?

And my other neighbors? William, who had a heart attack a few months ago? Or Trish, his wife, who had breast cancer but is now okay? What about Jim and Cheryl? Mitchell and Jessica?

I live next to these people. I know their cars when they pass, and we wave if we all happen to be outside at the same time. A few of them have given Leah gifts, and some have brought us cookies at Christmastime.

What have I done? Nothing. I know more about the people whose conversations I overhear in a restaurant than I do about these people who live their lives alongside mine on a daily basis.

That’s sad.

Practical Advice From One Who’s Been There

This post wound up being much longer than I originally intended, but *please* read it. The important stuff, I think, is toward the end.

Leah’s been sick this week with her first honest-to-goodness cold, and through this time I’ve learned a few things that I thought might be worth sharing with you. (Let’s face it…..the kiddos are going to get sick, so if we can learn from each other instead of having to reinvent the wheel, that’s got to be better.)

These four things make up my “anti-snottle” arsenal.

Well, no, that’s not true. There’s really no way to prevent the icky stuff from flowing once it decides to take up residence in your baby’s nose, but these things have helped make things somewhat more bearable around our house. Boogie Wipes, if you haven’t tried them, are moisturizing saline wipes that are gentler on baby’s nose than dry tissues or even *ahem* baby wipes. Don’t think for even a second that this means that your little one will like having his or her nose wiped…..but it’s better than the alternative. Plus, they smell fantastic.

We’ve used the Simply Saline spray pretty much every night since Leah was born, but this has been a “several squirts a day” kind of week. I like it because the nozzle is really little, so it fits right in Leah’s tiny nostril without further irritating it, and the spray is a stream instead of a bunch of drops. That works better for us since Leah is one strong little girl and you have to be f.a.s.t. to get the saline into her nose before she grabs hold of it and pushes it away. There’s just no time for drops. Paired with the nasal aspirator from the hospital, you can get just about anything out of there. (We have a couple of other aspirators, but none of them are as good as the enormous one they gave us when Leah was born.)

And, of course, Baby Rub. I was always gooped up with VapoRub when I was sick growing up, so it seemed like a natural thing to break out with Leah’s first cold. I really like the Baby Rub, though, because it’s not as fierce as the adult version. It doesn’t feel as cold once it’s applied, and the scent isn’t as strong, either, since it’s also got some lavender and chamomile in it. It really seemed to help her sleep.

There is one big thing that I’ve learned this week that isn’t directly mucus-related, though. And friends, if you don’t remember a single thing I’ve said in this post so far, please remember this: WHEN THE BABY IS SICK, WE HAVE TO TAKE CARE OF OURSELVES.

I hate to bring up the whole airline image of putting the oxygen mask on yourself before trying to help anyone else, but really….that’s the best image.

We cannot help our children if we, ourselves, are going down. I let this happen to myself this week, and it was a very bad thing. Because Leah wasn’t feeling good and had yellow, um, stuff flowing from her nose, I didn’t want to take her anywhere. (I didn’t want to be “that mom” who takes her sick child out and risks getting everyone else in a one-mile radius sick, too.) We went to the grocery store on Tuesday, and Tuesday evening Scott and I went to cell group. Other than going to the gym for 30 minutes on Thursday night, I didn’t leave the house until this morning. That’s three whole days….and probably two whole days too long.

With my social anxiety, it’s easy for me to do that for a little while, but the easy thing is not the best thing. In other words, I have to force myself to go out, even – nay, especially – when I don’t feel like it. If I don’t, the result is what happened yesterday. I relapsed into my old depressive, agoraphobic ways. My phone rang, and I ignored it. I hid from the computer for much of the day because someone can reach me that way if they want to. I thought about calling someone just to talk, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I had been incommunicado for long enough that it became scary to reconnect. My fuse was very short with Leah, and I was generally not the Jess or the mama that I want to be. I felt sad, lethargic, scared, and anxious. Last evening, though, as Leah ate her peas and cheese, I reached out to Scott. When he called back, I poured it out to him and told him what was going on with me. I didn’t want to, because I was afraid he would internalize it and somehow blame himself for how I was feeling, but I knew that I had to. I knew that I had to tell someone what was going on because I could feel the downward spiral beginning. I could feel it setting in; the only way to stop it is to do the very last thing I want to do.

Once I told him, I felt better. He said that today would be “Mommy Day,” and that I could have the entire day to do whatever I want to do. (And I’m here with you! Don’t you feel special?!)

All of that is to say this: I AM NO LESS IMPORTANT THAN LEAH, and believe me….that’s hard for me to say. As mamas, I think it’s really, really easy for us to allow ourselves to focus all that we have on our children and our mates. I thought it was best to stay at home this week because Leah wasn’t well, and really, it probably was best…..for her. That, in and of itself, is a good thing. Looking out for our children’s interests above our own is part of motherhood. We are called to act selflessly, doing what our children need us to do for them. What we are not called to do, though, is neglect ourselves, especially to the point of illness. We need to recognize our own needs as clearly as we recognize those of our little ones, and be as quick to do for ourselves the things we need for our own wellbeing as we are for others.

I didn’t want to get physically sick this week. I took Vitamin C (to the point that I have an aggravating sore in my mouth). I gargled with hot salt water. I used my Netty Pot religiously. I bought Sudafed and other cold medicines to take at the first sign that I was getting what Leah had. I ate right, and made sure I got the sleep I needed. My physical health was not going to be compromised.

But my spirit? It was ignored and allowed to wither. I should have called my mom to come and sit with Leah for a little while so I could get out for a bit. I should have gone for a drive, if nothing else.

Ladies, each of us has different needs. We each require different things to feel like we are the best version of ourselves. I believe that it is part of our job as mothers to recognize those things and make sure we get them. We are of no use to our families if we don’t.

So yes…the Boogie Wipes and Baby Rub and saline spray and all of that are useful tips from me to you. But hear this: TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF. The rest will follow.

Just Like Mommy

Leah found this purse on the floor of my closet last week, and since then it has become part of her massive toy collection in our family room. I rarely used it because, well, it’s too small for my purposes unless I’m going to a wedding or something fancy like that, so I’m fine with her using it for her trips around the house. She always wears it around her neck, and likes to perch toys or snacks on it so she has them when she needs them.

She just cracks me up.

“The Girlfriends’ Guide To Toddlers,” by Vicki Iovine

I just finished reading The Girlfriends’ Guide to Toddlers, by Vicki Iovine, and I have to say: YOU MUST READ THIS BOOK. (By “you” here I mean “all of you who are mothers of toddlers or babies who one day will be toddlers”…..though others of you who have already raised toddlers might find it entertaining and amusing…and a way to reminisce and laugh at those of us who are still there.)

I seriously thought this book was great. It took me longer to read than it takes me with most books, which seems strange until I remember that I have a toddler. =)

Vicki Iovine is hilarious. She doesn’t have a degree in child psychology or early childhood education or anything like that which would make her a certifiable expert on the subject of toddlers, but she has raised 4 children through toddlerhood. I consider that more than enough training to fill us in on the intricacies of the toddler psyche, which she does beautifully. She has a way of getting the reader into the mind of a toddler which, though scary, is very enlightening and helpful as we try to figure out what on earth these little people could be thinking. Leah’s just a very young toddler, but I can see a lot of truth in what this book says as I watch her exploring and navigating the world around her.

My favorite part of this book was the simple fact that the stories and insights constantly reminded me that I’m not alone in this game of motherhood. As a stay-at-home mother of a child who’s really too young for real playdates, it’s easy for me to think sometimes that I’m the only one. This book, though, shows that not only am I the only one who’s here, but that I – and Leah – will survive this interesting stage of life, and we’ll both be stronger for it.

Vicki Iovine has also written girlfriends’ guides to pregnancy (which I read) and the first year of a baby’s life (which I somehow didn’t read). Grab one. Seriously.

Cheesehead

Buttoned Up (UPDATED)(sigh......and UPDATED AGAIN)

I've been wondering how to do this for quite some time, and after doing some research, I think I've done it! I have a button!

If you're wondering what that means, I'll be happy to tell you. Basically, I'm going to post my nifty button on my sidebar. If you, too, feel like you are adjusting to the world, or if you *ahem* think my blog is interesting and would like to share it with your own readers, grab the code that will be underneath it, and post it as a gadget on your own sidebar. It *should* be that easy, but I'm learning here, too, so let me know if it doesn't work.

UPDATE: I've already had one comment that it isn't working.....and I can't check it because, well, I already have the button on mine. Has anyone else tried?
UPDATE AGAIN: I'm pulling the button. It isn't working, and I'm a little too disappointed right now to work on it some more. I'll try again sometime later. But for now.....sorry. =(

“When We Were Little” Wednesday

When I was little, there was one thing we could have on the menu that would make me cringe and, at times, throw a fit. One thing.

Leftovers.

In our house, though, they weren’t called leftovers; they were called “musgoes.” Seem weird? That’s my family for you. They were called musgoes because if we didn’t eat them that night, they “must go.”

Get it?

I still call them that, and I imagine that it won’t be long before poor Leah cringes when Mama announces that the menu for the evening contains musgoes. She had them tonight, though, and didn’t seem to mind a bit as she polished off last night’s green beans and fruit cocktail.

This picture has nothing to do with anything, but it does feature two of the biggest opponents of musgoes the world has ever known. Judging by Ashley’s morose expression, they might have been served on that particular night. She might have been planning to fight them off with Dad’s flip flops. I must have been recruited to keep her from running away. As for the leis…..well, I have no explanation. Cute, though, no?

About Face

Last weekend we had a monumental turnaround in our household. We turned Leah’s car seat around, so she’s facing forward like a big girl.

She loved it, whooping and shrieking all the way into town and looking back and forth between Scott and me in a way that said, “So THAT’S what you’ve been doing up there all this time!” She never stopped smiling.

She was excited, yes, but I was thrilled. I’ve always (as in, long before Leah was even a glimmer in our minds or a bump in my belly) had this vision in my mind of being able to look toward the back seat of my car and see the sweet face of my child looking back at me. Now, after more than a year of seeing her only in a tiny little warped mirror, my vision is finally a reality. I love it.

Me and My Shadow

   

Wherever I go, there she is.  It’s frustrating sometimes, and exhausting….but it’s wonderful.  My little shadow.

Sleep Lady Shuffle: Update

It’s been awhile now since we ended our adventures with the Sleep Lady Shuffle, so I thought some of you might be interested to know how it has been around here since I ended my daily updates.

In a word: FABULOUS.

Every night we go through our bedtime regimen of “bottle, bath, book, bed,” and every night she points to her bed as we end her bedtime story. We lay her down (whichever of us is at bat that night) and she curls up on her side, making nary a peep, and goes to sleep. What’s more, if she wakes up or has reason to cry a little at night, she puts herself right back to sleep. On the rare occasion that we have (felt we had to) leap from our bed to go up to her, she has been asleep again before we even reached the stairs.

Seriously.

I’ve even been able to use the same method (or close to it, excluding the bath) before her naps during the day. It works beautifully.

If your child has any issues with sleep, I recommend this book. You don’t have to do everything the book says because, like I mentioned in my review, she addresses mainly worst case scenarios. You can tweak her advice to fit your family’s needs, and if you stick with it, I can almost guarantee that it will work.

Try it. I still can’t believe how well it works. As my own mom said, “I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.”

Moody Toddlers: A Photo Essay

 

If you have a toddler, or have been around toddlers any amount of time, you probably see the humor in this.  She wanted my camera which, of course, I wouldn’t give her.  She fussed and cried, wailed and whined….until she saw a fuzz ball on my chair.  Then she forgot there was anything to be upset about.

He took my place.

I had to go to a certain cable company today (starts with a C and ends with OMCAST) to get a cable box….you know the story, since we’ve all had to deal with this.

In any case, I knew the line was apt to be horrendous so I packed Leah’s snacks and a few toys and other essentials in her stroller. When we walked in the front door, I patted myself on the back a little for being so prepared; the line was looped around and around the tiny little room, with people standing in the doorway because there was nowhere else to go. Fortunately (and predictably) Leah was in good spirits (she’s a gem, I tell you) and was far too interested in looking around at all of the new people to even think about getting bored or fussy. We inched forward, very slowly, and I overheard some conversations about how long people had been in line. The general consensus, it seemed, was that it would take approximately an hour to get from the doorway to one of the customer service reps. I didn’t panic. We were both rested and had full bellies, so barring any unexpected happenings (READ: toddler-esque mood swings) I figured that we would be just fine.

As I leaned over and whispered to Leah, trying to give her attention so she wouldn’t beg to be taken out of the stroller, someone tapped me on the shoulder.

“Excuse me, ma’am? You’re here with your baby?”

“Um, yes, sir. I am.”

“Please. Please. Come to my place in line. I’ll trade places with you.”

Now, before I go any further, let me tell you where this man was in line. His place wasn’t near mine whatsoever. Because of the looping and twisting of the line through the rope-maze, he was directly next to me; his place in line, however, was much further ahead than I was. I was still nearly at the end, while he had only two people in front of him.

“No, sir….I can’t do that. She’s okay, really. We’ll be all right.”

“No, please….I insist. Please. Come ahead.” He lifted the rope up for me to pass under, and gestured for me to come through. “Please.”

I didn’t know what to say or how to refuse such an offer, so under the rope we went. As I reached his place in line, he stepped into mine. I was speechless and offered my awkward thanks.

“Um, thank you! Thank you so much! You don’t have to do this…but thank you. Thank you so much.”

Before I could grasp what had happened, the two people in front of me (whose friend, I then realized, was in my place at the back of the line) turned around, and one spoke up. “Please, ma’am. Go ahead.”

I was absolutely speechless. I had gone from the back of the line all the way to the front of the line in less than a minute, while a complete stranger stood where I should have been in the back of the line….after having waited an hour to get to the front himself.

Speechless.

It wasn’t until I was telling this story to my husband tonight that I realized the powerful parallel between what the man in line did for me and what Jesus did for me. Twice, someone took my place….and twice, I have been unable to fully express my gratitude or repay the extravagant kindness. Very different situations, but it made me think. It somehow gave me a new perspective on the word “sacrifice.”

Catch the Kitty

This picture has very little to do with the rest of this post, but I had to include it because of the incredible shot of Leah’s widow’s peak. I think she looks like the Fonz....or that kid from The Munsters. Please ignore the horribleness of the picture of the other person. =)

Sunday afternoon, the temperatures were divine and Leah had an abundance of energy (when doesn’t she?), so we spent some time outside when we got home from church. It had rained for about two days prior, so everything was w.e.t; I had the fun job of keeping her off the grass since it would soak right through her clothes if she fell.

What follows is how she spent a good portion of her time in the great outdoors:

“Where’s Kitter?”

“Hmm…..I know I saw her come up here…. Where’d she go?”

“AH! There she is! Oh, Kit-ter……”

“Catch the kitty…..catch the kitty…..must catch the kitty……”

“Catch the kitty……..gotta catch the kitty…….gonna catch the kitty…….”

She never did catch the kitty. The kitty made sure of that. (She also didn’t say any of the above narrative. She said her “kitty” noise, which kind of resembles the actual word and occurs when she sees the kitty….but the rest of the captioning was based on Mommy’s observations. I’m just assuming that’s what was going through her mind. Pretty good guess, I’d say.)

“When We Were Little” Wednesday

When I was little, I lived down the street from a nice family. (Some of you know where this is going.)

When we moved to the neighborhood, they welcomed us and invited us to their church.

Their daughter showed my sister around school, and they eventually became best friends.

Their son, though several years older than me, was cute and had a cool car.

When I graduated from high school, the nice family gave me a set of bath towels to take off to college with me.

I didn’t know that I’d eventually marry that cute guy with the cool car, or that our wedding would be in the church his family brought us to. I didn’t know that the nice family down the street would become my family, or that my daughter – their granddaughter – would use those same bath towels for her nightly baths.

I think it’s a good story, but I’m a little bit biased.

Book ‘Em: Leah’s Picture Book

Last week I finally was able to do something for Leah that I had been wanting to do for a long time. I didn’t feel too badly for my procrastination, though, since she is only now hitting an age when she will appreciate it.

Months ago, I found a cheap photo album at the Dollar Tree and had been working on filling it ever since. I collected an assortment of recent pictures of her family – aunts, uncles, grandparents, great-grandparents, cousins – and made her a picture book.

My main motivation for this project came when I realized that she wouldn’t recognize family members she doesn’t see very often when they were able to come visit (or vice versa). It might be expecting a lot from her at this point, but I thought that maybe seeing their faces more often might help with the “stranger danger” reaction when they’re in front of her in person. (It couldn’t hurt, anyway.)

I’m hoping it has the added benefit of helping her learn to say names, now that she’s trying to talk more and more and is obviously developing a fondness for people she knows.

We flip through the pages together and point out the people she sees, saying their names as we go. Some she recognizes, some she doesn’t. Some she even kisses and hugs.

She loves to look at the pictures, though, and I think is thrilled that those pictures – unlike so many of the others around the house – are hers to play with.

Rethinking Gifts

A few years ago Scott and I made this crate for a series at church. I don’t remember the message of the series, or why this crate was the perfect visual aid for it, but I have never forgotten building this box with my (then) new husband. Since then, this picture – of the box in one of our church’s trailers after the series was over – has been on our refrigerator; I saw it the other day, in the middle of some things I’ve had going on, and it seemed to resonate. Here’s why.

If you’ve been reading my blog for awhile, it’s no secret to you that depression and anxiety have been something I’ve suffered with for a long time. I have the diagnosis of general anxiety disorder with agoraphobia (read: fear related to social situations) and depression. Recently, I had the opportunity to share my story – in graphic and ugly detail – in church, following a message entitled, “I’m Not Who You Think I Am.” (If you’re interested, you can hear the message and my testimony here. I’m at the very end, starting at about 35:00.) It was very difficult for me, and I shed many tears in preparation for doing that. I speak up front every week, but never like this; it was scary to rip off the mask I’ve worn for so long and expose the ugly truth about who I am and how I live.

In any case, I did it and I got a huge response from it. I experienced real healing from revealing that part of my life and seeing that people still loved and accepted me in spite of it, and I had the opportunity to speak to a lot of people afterward who struggle with the same (or similar) things but always thought they were alone. There have even been people who have completely different struggles who have come to me and thanked me for my honesty, because my openness and transparency and boldness in sharing allows others to do the same, or to at least feel safe and free to do so.

I won’t lie. It wasn’t fun or easy to do it, and it hasn’t been fun since then. Yesterday at church, after I did my welcome spiel at the beginning of the first service, I nearly panicked. I told Scott, “They’re looking at me funny. They’re all thinking about what I shared last week. They’re looking at me differently.” With the help of a friend and some reflection, though, I realize that yes, they were looking at me differently…but not in a bad way. You see, now I’m real to them. I’m a person with struggles and fears and problems…and they can relate to me.

Through this, I’m seeing something become reality that I’ve suspected for awhile: My depression and anxiety, while a thorn in my flesh and something that I am going to have to work through for the duration of my natural life, is a gift from God. He is using it for something absolutely beautiful, and I’m a vessel for His work. My struggle is about more than me. God’s working in it to change more than just me. This thing I’m living with, while very personal, is not about me.

That’s the truth, and I’m seeing it come to life.

My vial of anointing oil.

Yesterday in church we continued with the series we’re in right now, talking about “things you can’t say in church.” After the message and during worship, we offered the chance for prayer and anointing with oil. As one of the leaders of the church, I was available to pray with people up front.

All I knew was that I had people in line to talk and pray with me. All I knew was that I prayed a lot, and my hands were slippery with anointing oil, and that my heart was now heavy with the confessions of suffering whispered in my ear. It wasn’t until after worship that I was told, by one of the women I admire most in the world, that my line was the longest. People were flocking to me, wanting to pour out their grief and pain and suffering to me.

This is not a statement of pride. This is not a pat on my own back. This is an expression of awe.

You see, this struggle that I’ve had was never something I intended to share with people. I saw it as a weakness…a flaw in my character and a chink in my armor. I never wanted anyone to know…but God did. Years ago, He had a plan for the nervousness in my heart and the tears in my eyes. He paved the way for me to be in a spotlight position in my church, and cleared the path for me to share my story. He knew that others needed to hear that. He knew that my story would combine with my God-given talents to touch lives. He knew that, even while I cried alone in the darkness. He saw my tears, wiped them away, and made a way for it all to be bigger than myself.

He did it, and He’s not finished. Everything – every good and perfect gift – is from above, and He turns everything around for my good. I believe that. I’ve seen it. It is a reality in my life, and I have to figure out how to stay out of His way and allow His will to be done.

So think about that. Something I wanted to hide – like an old stage prop in a storage unit – was pulled out, dusted off, and placed in the spotlight for everyone to see….and to be used for something so much bigger than it was originally. What gifts do you have stowed away in the dark recesses of your life? Is there something you’ve been through that could be meant for something bigger? Can’t God do something magnificent with your suffering? I think He can, and He will.

“It’s my party, and I’ll do what I want to.”

Leah’s party was so much fun. I won’t lie – I was completely and totally exhausted afterward, but it was fun. There was just something special about everyone coming together to celebrate my daughter – it definitely felt different than any other birthday party I’ve ever been to. Hard to describe. I think everyone had a nice time – even Leah, who definitely had no idea that all of the fuss was for her.

I have nearly 1,000 pictures, so it was really hard to decide which ones to include. These are but a few of the good ones. They pretty much capture the essence of the day.

The decorations. I got her Elmo balloons (of course) and made her cake to look like a tag since that’s her main “thing” this year. (The tag cake idea went much more smoothly in my mind than in reality. We worked it out, though – a group effort.) The letters on the cake kind of looked like Elmo’s fur, which tied everything together. I also put her Taggie blanket and toys on the table, along with a picture of her sucking on a tag, to put everything in context. I think it worked.

During presents, her attitude was pretty much, “This is neat, but let’s move on to more wrapping paper.” She didn’t really grasp at the time that the gifts that we were opening were hers to keep, and she was clearly more interested in the paper and ribbons. I feel like I spent most of that time saying, “Leah, LOOK!” trying to get her to be enthusiastic about the sweet gifts that people had chosen for her. That, um, didn’t work so well (hence the title of this post).

Now….the ones everyone’s waiting for. A first birthday party is really about the cake, and she did just as I had expected her to. She dug right in. She made a mess, yes, but not as much as *ahem* some people do (you know who you are if I’m talking about your daughter here), and we were pretty pleased that more of the cake got IN her than ON her. Also as expected, she loved it when everyone sang to her. She gave us all a very enthusiastic round of applause when we finished.

Highlights: Elmo balloons, a “tag” cake, everyone under one roof (worlds colliding!), lots of Elmos, two bouncy balls, super cute clothes, a festive tutu party outfit, people singing, sharing her toys with her cousins, and cake. Lots of cake.