Growing Up

The little ones in my life finished their school year a few days ago.   They started the school year thinking they would be in the South for who-knows-how-long...and finished the year in the Midwest. 

They grew and changed and embraced change and made me one proud momma.

T-Man took the changes in stride.  He smoothly transitioned from one climate and culture into the next.  He is a helper, a leader, a reader, and radiates positivity.  Ironically, his name means "long-winded talker" and "cheerful".  Both of those meanings fit our little T-Man perfectly.  And I love him to pieces for both of those qualities.

Fearless had the hardest time with the changes--he is one that loves the routine and anticipating what is coming next.  Moving and starting over with new school rules, new friends, new climate...it took awhile for him to adjust.  But being the little rock star he is, he realized he was having a hard time and every night he would pray that he would be happy.  And each day he tried hard to choose to be happy. 

That attitude is pretty grown-up for a five year old.  I'm so proud of him for pushing himself to grow and embrace the change. 

And this little lovey?  She's still my doll-baby; but she's grown-up too.  She loves her independence and is communicating what she needs and wants like a champ.  And although we lovingly refer to her as our little F5 Tornado (or just F5 for short) I love her curiosity and her sense of adventure.  I love hearing about what is going on in her mind. I love learning what is important to her, so it can be important to me too. 

Having them all home everyday means that our home is full of ruckus & chaos at any given moment--and surprisingly, it doesn't bother me.  Just having them close and deepening our relationship is worth all the noise and Lego messes.

Yay for 3 months of uninterrupted time for me to spend with my little ones!!

Bring on summer!!

The Other Side of the Card.

While I am currently focused on our upcoming move and in the thick of trying to keep my house clean for potential buyers (Side note: Anybody want to buy my house?  And: Please don't make me go through the work of getting/keeping my house ready to show if you aren't going to buy.  Just sayin'.) I am attempting to mix in at least a few of our annual Christmas traditions.

One of which is our annual Christmas card pictures.  I was happily getting the kids in their Christmas picture clothes, when our realtor called and told me some people were coming to look at our house in an hour and 15 min., and could we please be out by then?

At which point, Dr. C and I cranked the stress level up about 50 notches, threw the Christmas-pic clothes on the kids, buckled them all into the van, turned on Charlotte's Web and then frantically ran back inside to do some last-minute OCD arranging of the towels in the linen closet cleaning.

By the time we drove away, my once-happy-children had been imprisoned sitting in the van for almost an hour, Charlotte had long since died and that Norman-Rockwell-Christmas-picture ideal died with her.  (Note to self: Next time I put the kids in the van to frantically clean, choose a reeeaaaalllllly long movie.)

We went anyway.

I did get a *few* good ones...enough for the card...but I got a wholelotta bad ones.  Lovely.

Here is a sampling, for your viewing pleasure.  (Displeasure?)

Freed from the confines of the van, Fearless takes off the moment we get unbuckled.  Takes several minutes to bring him back. 

Don't be fooled by this cute pic--T-Man was pinching Fearless on the back.  Nice. 

T-Man: I will fake smile now because I know I'm in trouble for pinching.
Miss B: There is drama happening, so I must cry.
Fearless: "Mooooooommmmmy...T-Man PINCHED me!"

We are lucky to be alive after receiving that look.

Now it's T-Man's turn to run away.  Yay.

This cry was legitimate, fell down and scraped her knees.  So sorry, little love!

Miss B to T-Man: "Why the heck are you smiling?!?"



Another legitimate sad face...Fearless cut his hand a little on something and no amount of band-aids, kisses, reassurances would make it better.  On a positive note, T-Man shaped up after the pinching moment.



And now she's outta there.

The End.

Sometimes, Kids Know Best.

Here's the Update from Miss B's big-girl bed transition.

Fearless is very protective of Miss B.  While he isn't always extra-careful with her himself, when other people are around, he is her personal bodyguard.  And if Miss B runs in the street (which is one of her fave things to do) Fearless is the first one to chase after her.  He looks after her, shares his snacks, helps her open marker lids so they can have a color-your-arms-purple party, gets her toothbrush ready at night, likes to help pick out her clothes and hairbows for the day, and always picks up an extra sticker/prize/treat for her when he gets one.  In short, he spoils her.  Don't get me wrong...they fight, just like all brothers and sisters do; but it's easy to tell Fearless has a special place in his heart for Miss B. 

(T-Man does too, but that's for a different day.)

Ok, with that background, let's go back to the bed-transition update.  Miss B has a twin bed; I put it in the corner and then put rails down the whole long side so that she wouldn't fall out.  The only open spot to possibly fall out of is the end of the bed.  And after doing the same set-up with both boys without having any problems, I was confident it would work.

Fearless knew better.

Fearless: Mom, we should put a rail at the end of the bed too.
Me: I don't think so, she would have to move around the bed A LOT to fall out all the way down there.
Fearless: But Mooooom, she could get hurt!
Me: You and T-Man never fell out the end.
Fearless: Let's get another rail.
Me (exasperated and thinking I know best and tired of the battle): Maybe next time I go to the store.
Fearless (unconvinced): um, okay.

I put Miss B to bed that night, and she was easy-peasy.  Didn't make a sound, didn't get out once, didn't cry...just went right to sleep, no problem.

At 1:34AM, I woke up to her screaming bloody murder.  In a sleepy-panicked-rush, I booked it to her new bed, only to find it empty.  With my panic level rising, I checked the end of the bed.

My poor little lady had fallen out the end, right into her empty laundry basket.  Just like Fearless had said would happen.

I would be screaming bloody murder too if I had been happily dreaming and all the sudden found myself falling into a laundry basket, wouldn't you??

Ack! What a bad-mommy moment! If I had just listened to Fearless, there wouldn't have been a problem.


Thankfully she was unhurt, just scared out of her wits.  Not that I blame her.

Back into the crib she went.

We won't be putting her in her big bed until we get another rail.

I really should have listened to Fearless.

S'mores in January

At our house, there are no rules when it comes to "seasonal cooking".  Right after Dr. C and I got married, we were the neighbors that were out on the porch grilling during a snowstorm.  Nothing can quite compare to some nicely marinated and grilled stakes and portobello mushrooms you have prepared while wearing full-on snow gear.

Our little ones have picked up on our love for cooking whatever-whenever and they convinced us that we needed to make s'mores in the fireplace.  I must admit that I was pretty easily swayed.

(Please overlook the image quality...I have been experimenting more with my camera...which means that some events have pictures that are not-quite-perfect.  I'm learning though!)

Miss Banana had a death wish strong desire to climb into the fireplace, so we had to plop her into the circle-of-neglect to keep her safe. 

We made sure she still ate her share of s'mores.

I've decided that s'mores in January taste just as good as the s'mores in July.  In fact, anytime I get to make fun memories with my kiddos, it's a winning recipe in my book.

Pay Attention

I get frustrated with my kids for not listening when I tell them something or when I ask them to do something.  It's probably close to the top of my list of parent-pet-peeves.

Apparently, I still need to learn the lesson myself too though...as evidenced by this exchange.

T-Man: Mooommmm!  Fearless forgot to flush the toilet!

Me: (automatically) Fearless!  Go flush the toilet! (My part done, I checked out of the conversation and continued working on dinner)

T-Man: I flushed it for him.

Me: (not hearing T-Man, but noticing that Fearless had not moved) Fearless!  GO FLUSH THE TOILET!

T-Man: Mom, I already flushed it!

Me: (still not listening...and still no movement from Fearless) Fearless!  Go flush it now!

(Fearless runs to flush the toilet.)

T-Man: (bewildered) Why, Mom??  Does he just need to practice??

Me: (finally registering what T-Man had been trying to tell me and trying to recover quickly) Umm, yeah, practice.  Good idea.

Oops!  I guess I need to work on paying attention too!  Just another reminder that I still have lots of room for improvement!

Picky Eating and Some Amazing Skills

*This is another one of those gross parenting stories...if you don't like those, feel free to skip it!  But, if you'd like a real picture of things that go on in my household, read on, my friend.  Read on.

Fearless is an extremely picky eater.  The only foods I can guarantee he will eat have to either be 1) fruit 2) pepperoni pizza or 3) something with honey on it.....and even at that he pretty much has to be blindfolded and plugging his nose to take a bite.  I seriously have no idea where the kid gets the energy that he has because it certainly doesn't come from his food intake.

To top it off, Fearless has an extremely sensitive gag reflex.  As in, he can make himself throw-up at will. 

Nice. 

Picky Eater+ Strong Gag Reflex = Seeing Lots of Dinners Twice. 

This combination is especially lovely when we eat dinner at other people's houses...like the time right after we moved to The South and Dr. C's boss had us over for dinner and I quickly learned how to use my body as a shield to protect some family heirlooms brought over from Sweden from being covered with some ABC pasta. 

Ahem.

Last night, we had enchiladas for dinner.  For Fearless, this was a cause for major distress.  They had red sauce.  They had shredded lettuce on the side.  They had (heaven forbid) poison  black beans! 

Oh, the torture!

My rule is that he has to have four bites.  He can choose which four bites--he can drink as much water as he wants in between bites, but he does have to have four.  And last night I was in no mood to deal with the whining and whimpering and gnashing of teeth that usually comes with dinner...so I informed him that if he made himself throw up, he would be heading straight to bed for the night. 

(Sounds harsh, I know, but if you dealt with your child throwing up at will whenever you weren't serving something drowning in honey, I bet sending your child to bed wouldn't sound bad.)

He made it through dinner. (Hooray!) But as soon as he got down, the wailing began--"Enchiladas taste SO SO BAD!!  I'm ALLERGIC to them!!  I'm NEVER NEVER NEVER eating enchiladas again!!" and so on.  Sigh.

We eventually got him calmed down, got ready for bed and I figured the drama was over for the night.  Little did I know that at 3:15AM, I would be receiving some serious super-woman-mom training.

Dr. C and I were asleep--deep asleep when the door to our bedroom flew open and Fearless made THE sound.  That "I'm About To Toss My Cookies" sound.  

Instantly, I popped up and before I realized what I was doing, I had leaped out of the far side of the bed and to the door in a single bound.  I grabbed Fearless, and in another amazing moment, we were back across the room, around the corner, and into the bathroom.  I threw open the toilet just as Fearless was beginning to open his mouth.  It was no small feat--from dead asleep to saving my carpet from stomach contents in a snap. Zero to 60mph in less than .5 seconds.  I was pretty proud of myself--I bet my high school track coach wished I had had that sort of agility and speed back then!

As soon as he was finished, Fearless proclaimed, AGAIN, that he was allergic to enchiladas and that he would NEVER NEVER eat them again.  Apparently, he had woken up, thought about how much he hated enchiladas, and made himself throw up.  Lovely.  At least I didn't have to clean up the carpet.

Two Encounters

A few weeks ago, I had two encounters--a day apart from each other--that made me stop and think.

Encounter #1--I went by myself to a new fabric shop here in The Village for the first time.  The lady that runs the shop was extra chatty...and to make a long story short, she mentioned something about working on quilts when she spent a long time in the hospital while her informally-adopted son was sick with brain cancer and then he passed away.  I said something about knowing about hospitals because my daughter had had a congenital heart defect.  She then asked if that had stunted Miss B's growth.  And I told her that yes, she is little, but she has Down syndrome, so who knows if she is little from that or from the heart defect or the combination of the two?

As soon as I mentioned "Down syndrome" the lady, who had been pleasant (pushy, but pleasant) made a face...like the "I just smelled something really stinky" face.  Then she went on to say that she has "a r*tarded brother"--and she said "r*tarded" in the slang way, not the medical way--"who only has the brain function of a four year old...And how when he was born, the doctors didn't think he could live so they just left him in the incubator pushed to the side to die...but he didn't die...And how he rides horses and does the contests where they jump over fences and bushes and such...and how everyone says how great he is doing at it and what a wonderful rider he is...when really it's just a great horse and her brother can't really do anything..."

Every sentence was full of disgust and irritation and...embarrassment maybe?  I'm not entirely sure.  But not positive AT ALL.  She went from being chatty to venting...and then after she vented about her brother, she couldn't get rid of me fast enough.  It was eerie and unsettling and offensive...I mean really, didn't I just tell her my daughter has Down syndrome?  Did she expect me to wallow in her intolerance with her?  I know that life can be hard on siblings of kids with special needs--that is something I worry about with T-Man and Fearless--but I certainly hope that in our family, Miss B brings out more tolerance and patience and love in all of us...not bitterness. 

Which brings me to Encounter #2--I went to another fabric place--a furniture factory warehouse where you can get upholstery fabric for $4/yard and under (LOVE that place!).  As I pulled into the parking lot, I noticed a truck that had the same Down Syndrome Awareness specialty license plates that we have on our van.  I got excited because I VERY rarely see other people with Down syndrome...just a handful of times in the past two years...so I figured I'd have to walk in with my radar on ultra high, just so I wouldn't miss them.  As I was unloading Miss B and Fearless from the van, an older typical man walked out, alone, and headed to the truck.  I was disappointed that I still would not be seeing anyone with Ds, but either way I didn't want to pass on the opportunity to speak to someone else in The Club.

So I said hello and pointed out that we had the same specialty plates...and instantly, I went from strange-lady-in-the-parking-lot to a close friend.  The man had an 8-year-old granddaughter with Ds and he told me all about how she was just wonderful.  And he wanted to meet Miss B and hold her and talk about any health issues she'd had and tell me about his granddaughter's health issues and on and on.  He ooohed and aahhed over Miss B just like she was his own granddaughter. We stood there talking for 15 minutes in the hot, humid Southern summer...simply because we both loved someone with some extra genetic material.  When the conversation ended, I was on cloud nine.

I've been rolling these two encounters around in my brain...trying to figure out the difference in reactions.  What happened in the first lady's family that caused her to be so bitter?  What about the Grandpa made him so loving of not only his own granddaughter, but even toward my daughter--whom he had never even seen before?  Is it just different personalities?  What do I do to encourage T-Man and Fearless turn out more like the Grandpa and less like the fabric shop lady?  Why do some families embrace and encourage their family members with special needs while other families splinter because of it? 

I don't have any of the answers to those questions...but the stark contrast between the two encounters has deepened my resolve to do whatever I can to foster good relationships between my all of my children.  To teach them all to respect each other and support each other.  I know it can be done.

Oh, how I hope we are on the road to that place!

My First-Grader

Today was T-Man's first day of first grade.  And in some ways, I think it was a little harder than his first day of kindergarten.  At least with the first day of kindergarten, I expected it to be hard...but I hadn't really prepared myself to have a first grader. 

And yet, here he is.

Isn't he just the cutest first grader you've ever seen??  Love this kid.

In fact, I love this kid so much, that I spent two hours (?!?!!) waiting in line in the carpool lane to pick him up today.  During those two hours, I also witnessed a car accident with some wild carpool-lane-road-rage smackdown.  Also during those two hours, Fearless wet his pants (after holding it for 30 min.) and you really can't expect a four year old to hold it for two hours.

T-Man, I hope you know we love you.

Is it enough?

This is the question that runs through my head every night as I try to fall asleep.

When do we know that we are doing enough for our children? 

With Miss B in particular...
Am I doing her "homework" with her enough? 
Did I talk to her enough today? 
Did I play with her enough to today? 
Did she get enough exercise time? 
Did I relax enough with her?
Did I sign with her enough?
Did I sing to her enough?
When is it enough?

And then there a zillion questions about T-Man and Fearless too...
Did they each get enough one-on-one attention?
Did I teach them enough today?
Did I play with them enough?
Did I laugh with them enough?
Did I say yes enough?
Did I say no enough?
Did they get enough exercise?
Did they get enough sleep?

In general, I think I'm adequate as a mom; but wouldn't it be fabulous to be more than "adequate"?  To be able to walk that thin line of teaching my kids independence and ingenuity and some plain ol' "Figure It Out" skills while at the same time being everything to them?  And not only just being able to walk that line...but to KNOW that I am walking that line so I wouldn't have to worry that I wasn't?  (Hopefully this is all making sense!)

Not that I wouldn't have worried about "enough" before with the boys, but with Miss B...there are just so many little things that if I don't do "enough" could have some seriously major ramifications later on. 

Take the pincer grip for example...for most kids it just happens...but for Miss B...we've been working on it and working on it...and breaking it down into so many smaller parts (who knew there was a inferior pincer grip?!? and a tip pincer grip?!?) and that she needs to learn each one well to lay the foundation for all of her fine motor skills--writing in particular--later on. 

So if I blow it off now, it could be years and years before my daughter will be able to legibly write her name. 

But then, maybe it will be years and years before she can write her name legibly anyways? 

Or maybe she'll bust out writing her name like a pro by age 4--with or without being able to pick up a Cheerio perfectly. 

Who knows???  I certainly don't.

10 Minutes At My House

Tonight I was planning on posting all about Fearless turning 4...waxing eloquent about how he's grown and changed and being mushy and lovey-dovey about my second-born.

And then...

Well, let's just start this way.  I had the kids by myself.  I let them stay up late because they were playing nicely.  Miss B was crawling all over the place and practicing standing up while only holding on with one hand.  I eventually told the boys to get their pj's on and go use the potty to get ready for bed.

T-Man took his time, but got changed and ready for bed.  Fearless started to get into his pj's...but then changed his mind half-way (and half-dressed) and decided to use the potty. 

I was still playing with Miss B and T-Man.  After a long while, I realized that Fearless had not yet emerged from my bathroom.  (Side note: Why do these things always happen in my bathroom??  You'd think they'd have adventures in their bathroom...but so far, no such luck.)

A moment later, Fearless poked his head and half-naked self out the bathroom door and in his quietest, little-boy-poor-pitiful-me voice he said, "Mommy, there is water coming out of the toilet."

I raced into the bathroom, and sure enough, there is water coming out of the toilet.  LOTS of water.  LOTS and LOTS of water.  Let's just say the term "flooded" would be an understatement.  It was more like FLOODED. 

And the new roll of toilet paper I had just put in the bathroom was now in gobs and  floating and swirling in the flood.

I yelled for T-Man to go get the plunger from their blissfully dry bathroom.  I told Fearless to go get some towels to stop the water from spreading into my bedroom and to start trying to dry it up.

T-Man got back first with the plunger.  Miss B decided to head over to the bathroom to check out the commotion. 

Splash, splash! 
This is funny, Mommy! 

Grabbed Miss B, put her in the furthest corner of my bedroom to give me a few moments to fix the toilet.  T-Man decided to go get towels too...and in the process, runs smack into half-naked Fearless who is returning with the first load of towels.  And not just any running into...it was a full on
head-butting.

Complete with tears all around and a now spurting-bloody nose coming from Fearless.

Left the toilet for a moment, grabbed a kleenex for Fearless. 
Checked to make sure T-Man didn't have a concussion. 
Fearless started freaking out because there was blood on his hands. 
Got more Kleenex to wipe it off. 
Instructed Fearless on the proper way to handle a nose bleed. 
Instructed Fearless SEVERAL times on the proper way to handle a nose bleed. 
Ran back to the bathroom to check on the ever-flowing-toilet.  Still flowing. 

Miss B was back in the bathroom and had spit-up (thrown-up?) on the one dry part of the floor and my bedroom carpet. 

And she was chewing on the plunger. 

YUCK. 

(On second thought, maybe she chewed on the plunger, then spit up because it was DISGUSTING, then went back to chewing on it??  Either way, ICK, ICK, ICK.)

Grabbed Miss B, put her in the hallway, closed the door. 
Fixed the toilet.
Wiped up the spit-up off the floor and carpet. 
Dried the bathroom floor. 
Checked on Fearless' nose.  Stopped the bleeding.  Checked to make sure there were no broken noses.

Sent Fearless to use the potty AGAIN, because apparently the first time he had just been playing the "How much toilet paper can you send down the toilet?" game and hadn't actually accomplished anything while in there.

Started a load of wet towels/bath mats in the washing machine.
Brushed 3 sets of teeth.
Listened to T-Man and Fearless talk about how cool it was that Fearless had blood everywhere.  I guess once it stops bleeding, it's apparently pretty cool to be bloody.  Between the two of them, he is a hero for getting blood to squirt all the way down to his hands and knees.  He was definitely not that excited about it as it was happening...but now...he is TOUGH STUFF.  (Boys.  I give up.)
Sang songs, read scriptures, prayed.
Tucked 3 kiddos into bed.
Decided that the birthday post will have to wait until tomorrow when I'm feeling a little more chipper about my child being 4.

Summer

For most of the year, I am a scheduled person.  But when the days get longer, my organization skills and well-laid plans seem to melt away as the temperature rises.  I try really hard to stick to the schedule--every year I promise myself that THIS year during the summer, I will still have dinner on the table at 5:30.  THIS year, my kids will be dressed everyday by 8AM.  THIS year, bedtime will be consistently at 8PM, no matter how light it is outside.

And that "firm resolution" lasts all of...um...well....to be honest, I'm not sure that it lasted at all this year.  The first few weeks of summer the kiddos go to bed at 8, then 8:15, then 8:30...until we reach the point we are at now, when we are routinely putting them to bed after a full day of hot summer play at 9:30 or 10 and they are begging to go to sleep. 

This probably makes me some sort of bad parent; but a summer full of playing in the pool, running in the sprinkler, playing at the park, catching fireflies, and eating Popsicles sounds much more fun than being responsible and on time. 

We'll have to catch that "summer schedule" thing next year.

Who knows? and Who cares?

I think Miss B is getting to "that" age.  The age where she's not as much of a baby and people are starting to notice that she isn't doing the typical one year old things.  It seems like now that I say she is one, people are a little more cognizant that it isn't typical for her to still be riding around in her infant carseat. 

And after asking how old she is, the next question is ALWAYS about if she is  walking or not yet.  ALWAYS.  Really.  As soon as you say, "one year old" there is some sort of automatic conditioned response that leads people to say, "Is she walking yet?"  As if walking is the only hallmark of being one.  Forget about talking, signing, eating table foods, getting into cupboards, loving to read books, etc...no one cares about anything except that ONE gross motor skill.  But I digress...

Anyway, I have had a string of events recently that have made me wonder who knows that Miss B has Down syndrome and who doesn't.

The first event came when I was talking with some people from church.  I said something about Down syndrome, and a lady that sees Miss Bannana EVERY week--and holds her often--looked at me, bewildered, and said, "oh, do you know someone with Down syndrome?"  Um, yeah.  MY DAUGHTER.  It made me laugh because obviously she had no idea.  Who would have thought someone that has seen her consistently for months would have no clue?

The very next day, I took Miss B to a doctor's appointment and the nurse told me that she wasn't sure that Miss B had Down syndrome or not--she had to check her chart to find out.

Right after that appointment, I ran to the store, and as I was checking out, the cashier girl told me she has a sister that is 15.  And me, not connecting the dots, thought: that's-great-why-is-this-girl-talking-to-me-about-a-random-sister-I-just-want-to-pay-for-my-stuff-and-get-out-of-here! And then she was asking me all sorts of questions about Miss B, which I thought was a little odd...(And I STILL wasn't connecting the dots!)  Until she asked if we had gone to the BuddyWalk in the fall.  Then it dawned on me that this girl had instantly known that Miss B has Down syndrome because her sister has Down syndrome and that we were part of the same club.  I sure wish I had clued in earlier--I would have chatted more!

My point is--some people know right away.  Some people aren't going to know at all.  Some people will wonder (especially now that she is getting older) but won't be sure.   And each of those things is OKAY. 

Because Miss Banana has Down syndrome.  It is part of who she is.  It is part of who we are as a family. 

But just PART. 

People can get to know us because of that part (like the connection with the cashier girl).  They can get to know us without it (like the lady from church).  Or they can wonder and ask questions about it--or not.

We love our Miss Banana for who she is--ALL of who she is--and if other people know or don't know about her having Down syndrome so be it.  She's perfect either way.

The Child-Critic

Miss B turned one this week! We're having her party tomorrow, so I'll post her whole birthday post after I get the smash-the-cake pictures.

Anyway, this post is actually about T-Man, who has picked up a horrible little habit of being sassy. Ahh, the joys of parenthood!

Yesterday, he was sent to his room for some rudeness--which of course started a new round of rudeness.  He was NOT happy about getting a time out, and wanted to make sure I knew it. Ugh.

Later, when we had both calmed down, I talked to him and we worked it all out and life was good again.

Until T-Man said our family prayer last night.

And I quote:

 "Please bless mommy that she will be nice....not like she was today." 

Driving Lessons

We took a last minute trip to Grandma and Grandpa's for Spring Break. Dr. C had too much work to do, so I drove the 7+ hours with three kids by myself.  That is always an adventure!  I learned a few lessons along the way:

• Putting a T-Man in charge of feeding Miss B her baby food while I was driving had mixed results-as in the food got mixed up all over Miss B's face and carseat.
• I can drive with one hand and reach all the way across the van or all the way behind my seat to hand snacks/books/marker caps to various children.  I think this should make me better at yoga.
• I can take all three children into McDonald's bathroom for a potty break/diaper change and be out in 3 min.
• Singing VeggieTales' "The Pirates Who Don't Do Anything" at the top of your lungs will keep you awake for a long, long time.
• NPR stories get more and more interesting the longer you drive.
• Snacks are ESSENTIAL.  (For me, not the kids.)
• Pulling into the driveway with everyone happy is a very large victory!

Happy Spring Break everyone!

Mulling it over

I've been thinking a lot about the facebook exchange I posted yesterday, and now that I've had time to calm down--I have some more thoughts on the matter.

First of all, I am not proud of how I responded.  This teenager was rude, inconsiderate, and downright mean, and I got angry.  While I think that my comments were still in bounds, I need to work on not getting mad about this kind of ignorance, but just teaching in a loving, respectful way.  It seems counterproductive for me to want to teach the world about inclusion and acceptance if I get mad when people don't like the lesson. 

The hard part is that this issue revolves around MY BABY, and I don't want her to get hurt.  But unfortunately, getting hurt is part of life, and I need to learn to control my reaction so that my children can learn how to handle mean people in a kind way too.  This is going to be hard to do!  But I promised Miss Banana I would do whatever I could to make the world a better place for her and responding in kindness to the haters is part of that.

I appreciate everyone's reassuring comments and the encouragement to keep working towards the elimination of that word.  I am so grateful for all the good people in the world that make any effort to be more understanding, more considerate, more kind to those who are different from them.  To all of you who set a good example of love and kindness--THANK YOU!!!

Pampers vs. Huggies

*I was not paid in any way to talk about diapers.  This is just my opinion and experience.

There comes a point in all of motherhood where you just have to talk about baby poop. Today is that post. For those who have no desire to read about it, now is the time to stop reading.

Ok, for the rest of you, consider yourself warned that I will be talking about baby poop and baby poop is gross.

I hate paying for diapers. Seriously. I really have no idea why poop collectors cost so much, but it is ridiculous. With T-Man, we went majorly low-budge on the diapers. I saw no reason to spend extra amounts of money on name-brand diapers. We went with whatever was cheapest--usually some no-name Wal-Mart brand. T-Man pooped out of those diapers almost every single time. Being a first-time mom, I thought he just had an incredibly powerful pooper, until one day my friend said, "Um, do you think it's the diapers you are using?" Oh, DUH! Of course it was! I still didn't want to pay extra though, so I stuck with the Wally world cheapos until one rather unfortunate day at the St. Louis Science Center when T-Man pooped everywhere and I didn't have an extra pair of pants for him and I had to choose between rinsing his poopy pants out in the public bathroom sink and then wearing them wet, or having him go pantless (he was about 2 yrs old at the time) or spending $30 on official Science Center sweatpants that were only available in sizes XS or XL (he needed a medium). That day I swore off the cheapos and moved up to Luvs.

With Fearless I figured Luvs were a compromise. Not the cheapest, but not the most expensive either. And they were fine. No leaks, but diaper rashes were common. Fearless has horribly sensitive skin, so we just dealt with those like we dealt with all of his other skin issues.

Then Miss B came around and spent a week in the NICU where they use the really soft Pampers Swaddlers diapers. They were so nice and soft and just looked more comfy than the other diapers I'd used. I don't know if it was just because I was so worried about her or if it was because she was a girl or what, but I just wanted her to have THE BEST of everything--including diapers. Dr. C went along with it (even though he would have rather just stuck with the Luvs) mainly because I was a crazy lady and if expensive diapers were important to me for some inexplicable reason than we would buy Pampers to avoid me going off the deep end. (I love that man! What a gem to put up with all my craziness!) After life had calmed down a bit and I wasn't quite so touchy about everything, Dr. C convinced me to try some Huggies. A step down from the Pampers fabulousness, but not all the way back down to the Wally cheapos. At this point though, Miss B had become accustomed to her pillow-wrapped bottom and she started getting rashes. (Ha! An excuse to go back to the Cadillac diapers.) So the Pampering continued.

Lately though, I've turned into a couponer, and have really been trying hard to get things on sale, or with coupons or both, to cut down on our household expenses and to get the thrill of a great bargain. And so I relinquished my new love of Pampers to try Huggies Natural diapers this time. (They were a super good deal!)

Miss Banana decided to let me know her thoughts on the matter. I was holding her with her head up on my shoulder, body against my chest. All of the sudden she made that infamous grunt, and poop exploded everywhere—my neck, my shirt, her shirt, her legs, her chest, her hair, my hair, my pants, her hands, my hands—you get the idea. As I went to clean her up, I opened up her Huggies diaper and there was only a smidgen in the diaper. How did that happen?!? Apparently my little diaper diva was so unimpressed with the Huggies that they weren't even fit for her to poop in. Tomorrow, we go back to Pampers.

Little Gems

Fearless goes to a preschool that is funded by some federal grant. As some part of the whole grant program, the parents of the kids have to attend parenting classes (only 6 hours during the whole school year, so not too bad.) This morning was my first class, and I have to admit that I was grumbling about going. Thursdays are supposed to be my lazy days where I can relax a little, play with the kiddos, read a book, etc. so to have to get up and get ready right away was not welcome. Plus, I am a parenting book junkie...I seriously have several shelves devoted to parenting on my bookcase. Do I really have to go to the class too??

With that attitude, I showed up, expecting...nothing really. Just two hours of blah, blah, blah. I was surprised when I received some little gems instead. Just little things that let me know that God knows me and takes care of me and reminds me of His love and what He wants me to do when I least expect it.

The first came when another mom in the class was watching Miss B play. After a little bit, she asked, "How old is she?" When I replied six months, she said, "Really? Only six months? She's so smart!" I beamed. "I know, isn't she great??" (In retrospect, I really shouldn't care what other people say, but sometimes it's nice for external validation!) The class was already starting to look up.

The next gem came when the instructor was talking about the difference between surviving and thriving as a parent and child. I have been thinking about this a lot lately...for the past six months, I feel like we have been simply surviving. Just making it through. But I don't want to just survive, I want to thrive. Why settle for fine when life can be Amazing? The instructor put it well when she said (in her very Southern accent) "Motherhood (and I would add being a wife too) should be your "Hallelujah! time". How right she is. I think it was another nudge from my Heavenly Father that it's time to move past survival mode and move into HALLELUJAH! mode. Isn't that how life is supposed to be?

The last gem was probably the most unexpected. I was sitting next to another mom who had her baby in her lap. Her little girl was sitting well and just looked...I don't know...sturdier? than Miss B. I felt a few little pangs, wishing that Miss B was a little more solid. (Unimportant, I know, but sometimes when it's blatently obvious that kids that are younger than her have more advanced physical skills, it stings a little.) After the class was over, we chatted a bit about our babies...who are exactly two months apart. Another pang came. As if trying to justify why my baby was smaller, I told this mom about Miss B's heart surgery at 2 1/2 months. Come to find out, her oldest son had had open heart surgery when he was 1 week old (he had transposition of the greater arteries.) and could totally relate to the stress and worry and fear that I feel/felt. Instantly, I had a new friend. A few minutes earlier I had passed this lady off because her baby was sitting better than mine. Silly, isn't it? I thought of a line from one of my favorite hymns:

Who am I to judge another when I walk imperfectly?
In the quiet heart is hidden sorrow that the eye can't see.

It was reminder that we all have things than make our hearts hurt and that we when we reach out and connect with others, our lives are better.

I needed those little gems today.

To Become An Advocate

Now that I can relax a little more about Miss Banana's health since her heart surgery is over, I find myself pondering more and more about how to be the best for her--and for others with Down syndrome. I have dipped my toes into this realm, but I haven't really had a moment to embrace advocacy fully. (Part of that is because we are still in the moving process and I'm hoping life slows down once we are fully settled into our new home.) As I think about it and read other blogs/opinions/experiences of parents of kids with Ds, I have come to realize there is SO much ignorance, misunderstanding, and just plain old stereotypes about Down syndrome in our society, that I am overwhelmed. But when I look at Miss Banana--I want her to have the best, be surrounded by the best, and of course to be shielded from any harm. When people say things to me that are incorrect (or when they use the dreadful r-word) I find myself weighing my options--should I correct them or just let it go? When people stare, do I tell them Miss Banana has Ds, or do I just assume that they are admiring her for the darling little lady she is? When people say things that they think are helpful/comforting but are actually horribly offensive, is it worth the emotional energy to explain the offense? As these questions and other swirl around, I have realized that advocacy is not a simple thing--it is a constantly upwardly evolving process...it is something I need to become. I read a post of a dad whose daughter has Down syndrome, and he said, "She requires you to deal with who you are; you cannot pretend, pretense means nothing." And I totally agree. As I deal with who I am, I am committed to be an advocate so Miss Banana and others with Ds are accepted, included, and embraced into society. Miss Banana, I promise you I will be who you need me to be.

Family time

This week was pretty lazy. After the chaos of last week, it was nice to not have any big plans. We went to the zoo on Saturday afternoon for a family outing and got some cute pictures of the boys. Not surprising that Miss Banana slept through it! It was a pleasant afternoon--nothing particularly noteworthy happened while we were there, but the joy of just spending some happy, relaxed time with my family always makes life a little sweeter.

Good news

Just a quick post before I'm off to bed. Yesterday at the pediatrician, Miss Banana weighed 9lbs 13oz, which still isn't a lot, but enough that the doc said we can let her sleep at night and just feed her when she wakes up on her own! So last night, she went to bed around 11:30, woke up at 4 to eat, and then didn't wake up again until about 8:30 this morning. It was SOO nice to get more than 1 1/2 hours of sleep at a time.

And, in even bigger news, Miss Banana smiled at me for the first time today!! It was super cute, but only happened once and way to fast to get out the camera. I'll have to try again tomorrow. I did take some pictures tonight--she's just too cute! Plus, I love her little outfit for today--I think I'm starting to get into this dressing a girl thing--there are just so many cute options it's hard to chose. I'll admit that I have changed her outfit half way through the day just so I can try out some other cute clothes on her!

She was totally absorbed in watching Daddy in this one.

Here she is with Daddy--I'm not sure if it's just her, or the camera angle, but I think this picture makes her look tiny!