By nature, I am a student. I love the entire process - the initial curiosity, the exploration, finding answers, applying the answers, and the evaluation. When I finished my PhD back in 2007, I found myself at a loss. I switched to the role of teacher and suddenly the only measurement of my work was if I was kept employed and student feedback. Typically the students that give you feedback are the disgruntled ones.
As a mom I feel it's my job to be a student of my children - to learn their personalities, find ways to effectively shepherd them. On the other end of that is looking for cues that I'm doing an okay job. I thrive on affirmation, and as a mom, most of what I do goes unseen. I've struggled to find that measuring stick by which to assess the job I am doing.
Instead of allowing Jesus to transform my need of external praise to finding security in His approval of me, I've often taken a gander down the dangerous path of comparing myself to other moms. Since comparing kids just makes me feel like a total schmuck, I look at the decisions we've made: what I ate during pregnancy, home birth/hospital birth, meds/no meds, circumcision/natural, coth/disposable, breast/bottle, parent directed feeding/ child directed, crib/ co-sleep, how to sleep train, how to discipline, how to do solids, etc. My personal insecurities were projected onto other moms in the form of thinking they were judging me for the decisions I'd made.
I have some friends that I refer to as domestic godessess. We have made many of those same decisions listed above, so I compare my daily activities instead... often I fall short of their abilities to run a ship shape household. Some days I am a rock-star mom. I get Daniel to eat the entire food pyramid and use the potty. Matthew nurses like a champ and naps like a saint. I snap at no one. We spend an hour outside and only watch one episode of Curious George. The toys are picked up. I even run the vacuum over the floor once. I have dinner ready when Joe walks in the door. On other days, my only measuring stick is "Are my kids alive?" Check. Job well done.
In reality, there are is an unending supply of measuring sticks for us as moms. However, there is only one measuring stick that matters. As a follower of Jesus, my measuring stick is Jesus himself. Of that, I will always fall short. However, because I claim Christ's righteousness instead of my own, I am approved.
"For it is not the one who commends himself who is approved, but the one whom the Lord commends." - 2 Corinthians 10:18
That is my security, but there is still work to be done. God's approval of me does not permit me to sit idly by but it compels me to serve Him well. My mistake has often been to try to earn what has already been given to me. I try to obtain perfection by my own strength and in doing so, I shift my security back to what I can do on my own, which is anything but secure. Instead, "His divine power has given us everything we need for life and godliness through our knowledge of him who called us by his own glory and goodness." - 2 Peter 1:3.
Finally, I think as moms we all need a Whitney. A Whitney is that person in your life who watches from a distance, prays for you and then steps in with words of truth and love when you need them most. She reminds you that you are the right mom for your children, the right wife for your spouse. She shows you where she sees God working in and through you. She helps you put down the measuring sticks and lift up a song of praise for your blessings and the life you have been given.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Monday, August 30, 2010
PPD and Me
For the sake of learning to be more transparent and hopefully so that other new mamas don't feel alone in their struggle to adjust to a new "normal", I'm going to keep journaling my experiences with postpartum depression.
Newborns don't give a mama much sleep. I knew this, I'd done it before. I probably could have used some help last time as well, but the difference is that with the second baby, you don't have the luxury of napping when they nap. There is another kid that demands attention as well. My best hope was to go to sleep at 8:30 and try to find several hours of sleep between then at 7 or so when the morning craziness began.
Around the fourth week, I quit being able to fall back asleep between feedings. The baby wanted to eat every two hours, and some nights I was only getting three or four hours of sleep. My anxiety was heightened. One night I fumed for FOUR HOURS over a missed call from my dad, which turned out to only be a butt dial. Another night I panicked for FOUR HOURS over having let Daniel take a bottle of milk to bed and how he was going to get cavities and all his teeth would rot out. After awhile, the sleep deprivation escalated leaving me sobbing in the shower at 5:30AM while the rest of the house was peacefully dreaming.
During the day my outlook on life was much improved but my fuse was very short and I hid behind my laptop as much as possible. I got weird muscle twitches in my legs. My vision was sometimes blurry. At night, the thoughts in my head were brutal - Why did I ever think I would make a good mom? Why did I have kids? Why did I even get married? I hate myself. I was angry at God. I was angry at my kids. I felt alone and hopeless. I longed to find some sort of escapism that wouldn't negatively affect my kids and husband.
I shared this with my OBGYN, the one who is normally very funny and sassy, but he became quite serious and concerned. He said by six weeks the babies usually begin having at least one longer stretch at night (longer than 2.5 hours) and if I didn't get help and get more sleep I was going to crash. He explained how PPD is different than normal depression because all the chemical and hormonal changes can cause a much more rapid and dangerous onset of depression than a person normally experiences. He also asserted that this wasn't my fault and that it wasn't permanent.
Because I got medical help at six weeks and I am feeling so much better, I feel like there's not a struggle to write through. However, even if I feel okay now, I still experienced some very raw emotions for several weeks that would likely return if I tried to handle this phase on my own. It took me about a week and a half into seeking treatment to accept that I indeed needed help. For a couple days I was paranoid that my doctor, mom and husband were all pushing me towards medical treatment because they thought I was crazy. I felt out of control and embarrassed that I couldn't handle motherhood.
However, even I began to notice changes. I felt emotionally more connected to my kids. I didn't let things get to me. Eventually I started being able to sleep again. The OBGYN encouraged me to seek counseling as well, which I mentioned in my post "My Therapy is to Quit Being Your Therapy". I still have mixed feelings about taking medication, but for now I am thankful to be able to function!
Newborns don't give a mama much sleep. I knew this, I'd done it before. I probably could have used some help last time as well, but the difference is that with the second baby, you don't have the luxury of napping when they nap. There is another kid that demands attention as well. My best hope was to go to sleep at 8:30 and try to find several hours of sleep between then at 7 or so when the morning craziness began.
Around the fourth week, I quit being able to fall back asleep between feedings. The baby wanted to eat every two hours, and some nights I was only getting three or four hours of sleep. My anxiety was heightened. One night I fumed for FOUR HOURS over a missed call from my dad, which turned out to only be a butt dial. Another night I panicked for FOUR HOURS over having let Daniel take a bottle of milk to bed and how he was going to get cavities and all his teeth would rot out. After awhile, the sleep deprivation escalated leaving me sobbing in the shower at 5:30AM while the rest of the house was peacefully dreaming.
During the day my outlook on life was much improved but my fuse was very short and I hid behind my laptop as much as possible. I got weird muscle twitches in my legs. My vision was sometimes blurry. At night, the thoughts in my head were brutal - Why did I ever think I would make a good mom? Why did I have kids? Why did I even get married? I hate myself. I was angry at God. I was angry at my kids. I felt alone and hopeless. I longed to find some sort of escapism that wouldn't negatively affect my kids and husband.
I shared this with my OBGYN, the one who is normally very funny and sassy, but he became quite serious and concerned. He said by six weeks the babies usually begin having at least one longer stretch at night (longer than 2.5 hours) and if I didn't get help and get more sleep I was going to crash. He explained how PPD is different than normal depression because all the chemical and hormonal changes can cause a much more rapid and dangerous onset of depression than a person normally experiences. He also asserted that this wasn't my fault and that it wasn't permanent.
Because I got medical help at six weeks and I am feeling so much better, I feel like there's not a struggle to write through. However, even if I feel okay now, I still experienced some very raw emotions for several weeks that would likely return if I tried to handle this phase on my own. It took me about a week and a half into seeking treatment to accept that I indeed needed help. For a couple days I was paranoid that my doctor, mom and husband were all pushing me towards medical treatment because they thought I was crazy. I felt out of control and embarrassed that I couldn't handle motherhood.
However, even I began to notice changes. I felt emotionally more connected to my kids. I didn't let things get to me. Eventually I started being able to sleep again. The OBGYN encouraged me to seek counseling as well, which I mentioned in my post "My Therapy is to Quit Being Your Therapy". I still have mixed feelings about taking medication, but for now I am thankful to be able to function!
Sunday, August 29, 2010
The Assassination of a Wasp... and Some Cool Caterpillars
Last summer, Regan and I took the tots to Historic Oak View County Park and were given small sweet fennel sprouts, which immediately wilted but I stuck in my herb garden anyway. This summer it grew upwards of eight ft tall until I hacked back the main stem because multitudes of wasps were attracted to it. Two more stems grew out of the base, and while it still attracts some wasps, the main attraction is the caterpillars of Monarch Butterflies. Of course now I am regretting cutting it back so much, because these hungry little guys (there are probably just over ten of them) are running out of green to munch on.
Remember that bug I asked for help identifying? Look what he grew into! This Assassin bug is munching on a wasp. Smartly, the assassin was lurking by the sweet fennel. It's not a good day to be a wasp, but it's an excellent day to be one of the other small insects who is munching on the spoils as well.
...I used "munch" or "munching" three times in this post. I think I have the munchies ;)
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Friday, August 27, 2010
My Therapy is to Quit Being Your Therapy
For as long as I can remember, I've played the role of personal therapist or counselor in nearly all of my close relationships, with the exception of Joe and mom who have done a wonderful job of caring for me. My brother and sister even teased me in highschool that I was trying to play that part. It's true. For whatever reason, I seem to attract and am probably drawn to people that require frequent rehashing of issues. I even volunteered for a short time as a Life Coach at church. I've often joked that I am the band-aid friend, and when I am no longer needed in that capacity, I have no concept of how to be a friend. It sounds noble, but sometimes I think all the listening and encouraging hasn't brought real change - it's only served to act as a crutch.
A couple weeks back when it was decided I might be dealing with postpartum depression, I decided to give professional counseling a try. I only went to one session, and while we never got beyond me spewing all the stuff that's gone on in my life over the past year, my perceived issues, and brief descriptions of my relationships, it suddenly became clear to me that one of my biggest struggles was a lack of balance in my relationships. Not only was I carrying the emotional burdens of family and friends, but I was barely treading water in caring for the three guys who need me the most, and who need me sane to care for them. It's no wonder I could not sleep at night and wanted to avoid all people.
As a follower of Jesus, I believe we are called to carry each other's burdens. Being my three spiritual gifts are discernment, wisdom, and shepherding, it is only natural that I am always going play a counselor of sorts to people in my life when they are going through rough times. I also believe that there can be a difference between friendship and ministry. Friends give and take as you go through life with them, but when you minister to somebody, you pour into them perhaps without return to you, in the hopes of seeing them grow more like Christ so that they can minister to others.
In my friendships, I've found that I'm not very good at allowing others to carry my burdens. I felt extremely guilty and selfish when people brought us meals after Matthew was born. I have a hard time asking for physical help. I have no problem being vulnerable and sharing my weaknesses, but I somehow always laugh it off or follow it by flippantly stating God's got it under control and I'll be fine. This has lead to friendships where people feel close to me because of my openness, but I still feel distant because I have not been humble enough to express need, and thus I never develop trust. Because of this lack of balance and a resistance to setting clear boundaries, I've often shaved off friendships that have grown too draining. This hasn't been very gracious and I'm sure has hurt feelings and done more damage than whatever help I may have brought previously.
As silly as if sounds, I've decided to give myself assignments. Eventually I may head back to counseling, but for now it is too much stress to find a sitter and carve out time in an already packed week. I see my problems, and I have some goals. 1) I want to learn how to be a friend in the good times, not just when I am needed in a helping capacity. In reality, we still need people in times of joy, because celebrating alone is just lonely. 2) I want to quit judging women before I get to know them. There are so many times I've looked at a women and thought to myself, "I'll never get to know her..." and she's ended up being a very close friend. 3) I want to learn how to use my gifts in a healthy way. For now it simply means that I have to get healthy and rested. It also means that in my relationships, I need to scale back analyzing and trying to fix people and instead keep pointing them towards Jesus - The Healer and Counselor.
A couple weeks back when it was decided I might be dealing with postpartum depression, I decided to give professional counseling a try. I only went to one session, and while we never got beyond me spewing all the stuff that's gone on in my life over the past year, my perceived issues, and brief descriptions of my relationships, it suddenly became clear to me that one of my biggest struggles was a lack of balance in my relationships. Not only was I carrying the emotional burdens of family and friends, but I was barely treading water in caring for the three guys who need me the most, and who need me sane to care for them. It's no wonder I could not sleep at night and wanted to avoid all people.
As a follower of Jesus, I believe we are called to carry each other's burdens. Being my three spiritual gifts are discernment, wisdom, and shepherding, it is only natural that I am always going play a counselor of sorts to people in my life when they are going through rough times. I also believe that there can be a difference between friendship and ministry. Friends give and take as you go through life with them, but when you minister to somebody, you pour into them perhaps without return to you, in the hopes of seeing them grow more like Christ so that they can minister to others.
In my friendships, I've found that I'm not very good at allowing others to carry my burdens. I felt extremely guilty and selfish when people brought us meals after Matthew was born. I have a hard time asking for physical help. I have no problem being vulnerable and sharing my weaknesses, but I somehow always laugh it off or follow it by flippantly stating God's got it under control and I'll be fine. This has lead to friendships where people feel close to me because of my openness, but I still feel distant because I have not been humble enough to express need, and thus I never develop trust. Because of this lack of balance and a resistance to setting clear boundaries, I've often shaved off friendships that have grown too draining. This hasn't been very gracious and I'm sure has hurt feelings and done more damage than whatever help I may have brought previously.
As silly as if sounds, I've decided to give myself assignments. Eventually I may head back to counseling, but for now it is too much stress to find a sitter and carve out time in an already packed week. I see my problems, and I have some goals. 1) I want to learn how to be a friend in the good times, not just when I am needed in a helping capacity. In reality, we still need people in times of joy, because celebrating alone is just lonely. 2) I want to quit judging women before I get to know them. There are so many times I've looked at a women and thought to myself, "I'll never get to know her..." and she's ended up being a very close friend. 3) I want to learn how to use my gifts in a healthy way. For now it simply means that I have to get healthy and rested. It also means that in my relationships, I need to scale back analyzing and trying to fix people and instead keep pointing them towards Jesus - The Healer and Counselor.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Waging War on the Ants
Fire Ant Colony 4, building their nest this afternoon before I attacked (The attack was like a really moving Pasodoble on SYTYCD... one that brings Nigel to tears and has the angsty pre-teen audience on their feet screaming when they should be sitting in awestruck silence):
The thought crossed my mind this afternoon that it was possible that my entire back yard is one giant fire ant nest and what I thought were separate colonies are really just the various entrances to their empire. Wouldn't that be terrifying?
Let me tell you about my ant colonies. We have been battling Colony 1 for two summers. Last summer it resurfaced twice and this summer it returned once. It is in a fairly untraveled location between our house and the Bakers'.
Colony 2 was at the back corner of our property at the base of a pine tree. I powdered it last summer and have not yet seen resurface.
Colony 3 has been migrating within a five foot radius of my right most box garden. Last summer I powered it several times along the bricks, but the rotting tomatoes that I failed to pick were too enticing. Colony 3 just recently reappeared in an old stump adjacent to that box and bit the heck out of Joe's foot while he was weed-eating the area. I powered the colony and then it reappeared under a huge flower pot next to the stump. I powdered it again and am scanning the area to look for signs of a new mound.
Colony 4 is a real beast. Colony 4 is an old one from last summer that started by my jasmine on the trellises and immediately threatened the safety of my babies and their friends as it moved to the base of the sweetgum tree that shades the kiddie pool. I chased them over to the neighbors hosta plant, then to the next hosta, and then the next one, and then back to the trellis where they started. This afternoon I powdered them very well, took a rake and turned over the mulch. You would not believe the swarming at that point. I then powdered them again. It was air strike - ground confrontation - air strike - ground confrontation ...
Colony 5 was discovered in the left most box garden when I was pulling up a weed this spring. I chased them to the other side of the box and then to pea plot and have not seen them resurface since this spring.
Colony 6 is hiding underground with no mound visible, but I catch its members munching on my okra.
My brother has told me that if you cut the top off a mound and switch it with another mound, the colonies will wage wars on themselves. It's sort of like those stories in the Bible when God has the Israelite enemies wipe each other out before ever fighting the God's people. If I could ever spot two mounds at the same time, I'd give it a try.
The thought crossed my mind this afternoon that it was possible that my entire back yard is one giant fire ant nest and what I thought were separate colonies are really just the various entrances to their empire. Wouldn't that be terrifying?
Let me tell you about my ant colonies. We have been battling Colony 1 for two summers. Last summer it resurfaced twice and this summer it returned once. It is in a fairly untraveled location between our house and the Bakers'.
Colony 2 was at the back corner of our property at the base of a pine tree. I powdered it last summer and have not yet seen resurface.
Colony 3 has been migrating within a five foot radius of my right most box garden. Last summer I powered it several times along the bricks, but the rotting tomatoes that I failed to pick were too enticing. Colony 3 just recently reappeared in an old stump adjacent to that box and bit the heck out of Joe's foot while he was weed-eating the area. I powered the colony and then it reappeared under a huge flower pot next to the stump. I powdered it again and am scanning the area to look for signs of a new mound.
Colony 4 is a real beast. Colony 4 is an old one from last summer that started by my jasmine on the trellises and immediately threatened the safety of my babies and their friends as it moved to the base of the sweetgum tree that shades the kiddie pool. I chased them over to the neighbors hosta plant, then to the next hosta, and then the next one, and then back to the trellis where they started. This afternoon I powdered them very well, took a rake and turned over the mulch. You would not believe the swarming at that point. I then powdered them again. It was air strike - ground confrontation - air strike - ground confrontation ...
Colony 5 was discovered in the left most box garden when I was pulling up a weed this spring. I chased them to the other side of the box and then to pea plot and have not seen them resurface since this spring.
Colony 6 is hiding underground with no mound visible, but I catch its members munching on my okra.
My brother has told me that if you cut the top off a mound and switch it with another mound, the colonies will wage wars on themselves. It's sort of like those stories in the Bible when God has the Israelite enemies wipe each other out before ever fighting the God's people. If I could ever spot two mounds at the same time, I'd give it a try.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Saffron Rice Stuffed Peppers
Ingredients:
Bell peppers - enough to spread and fill a 9x13" casserole dish
1 5oz package Mahatma Saffron Yellow Rice
1 lb ground beef
1/2 onion diced
1 tomato diced
4 oz crumbled feta cheese
2 cups shredded cheddar cheese or blend of cheeses
Salt and pepper to taste
Prepare the rice according to the directions on the package. Brown the ground beef and onions in a skillet and add the diced tomatoes and continue to head for a few minutes. In a bowl, mix together the rice, beef, feta, salt and pepper. Wash the peppers, slice open lengthwise and remove the seeds. Boil for 5 minutes with the lid on and remove and place in the casserole dish. Spoon the stuffing into each pepper and top with the shredded cheese. Bake at 350F for 20 minutes or until the cheese bubbles.
Friday, August 20, 2010
His head's like Sputnik
"Look at the size of that boy's head. It's like an orange on a toothpick.
No kidding. His head's like Sputnik. Spherical, but quite pointy in parts." - So I Married an Axe Murderer
I just learned more about the infant cranium than your average mama... not more than my mom or Joe's mom because they are smart like that. On Wednesday we took Matthew into his two month well checkup and the doctor wrote us a referral for a neurologist because of a small fontanelle and overriding sutures. Go look it up if you want to know what it is. I didn't know and I was barraged with a list of possible genetic disorders, odd shaped heads, pictures of skulls in the midst of neurosurgery, and babies in cranial molding caps.
Today we went to the neurologist and Matthew passed the tests with flying colors. The small fontanelle wasn't of concern and we were sent to radiology to make sure Matthew's sagittal suture, which has a slight ridge, had not fused, meaning his brain has room in there to keep growing. Joe nagged the office just before closing to get our results, and we were overjoyed to hear that the suture had not closed! The neurologist will continue to monitor Matthew's head growth over the next year, but as of now, he is in the 75th percentile for head circumference. So the final word is: Matthew and his pointy head are fine!
"Head! Paper! Now! Move that melon of yours and get the paper if you can, hauling that gargantuan cranium about!" - So I Married an Axe Murderer
No kidding. His head's like Sputnik. Spherical, but quite pointy in parts." - So I Married an Axe Murderer
I just learned more about the infant cranium than your average mama... not more than my mom or Joe's mom because they are smart like that. On Wednesday we took Matthew into his two month well checkup and the doctor wrote us a referral for a neurologist because of a small fontanelle and overriding sutures. Go look it up if you want to know what it is. I didn't know and I was barraged with a list of possible genetic disorders, odd shaped heads, pictures of skulls in the midst of neurosurgery, and babies in cranial molding caps.
Today we went to the neurologist and Matthew passed the tests with flying colors. The small fontanelle wasn't of concern and we were sent to radiology to make sure Matthew's sagittal suture, which has a slight ridge, had not fused, meaning his brain has room in there to keep growing. Joe nagged the office just before closing to get our results, and we were overjoyed to hear that the suture had not closed! The neurologist will continue to monitor Matthew's head growth over the next year, but as of now, he is in the 75th percentile for head circumference. So the final word is: Matthew and his pointy head are fine!
"Head! Paper! Now! Move that melon of yours and get the paper if you can, hauling that gargantuan cranium about!" - So I Married an Axe Murderer
Monday, August 16, 2010
Elastic Strain, Plastic Strain and Hysteresis
When you add weight to a rubber band, it stretches. When you remove that weight, it returns to its original shape but not along the same path. As you remove the weight incrementally, the band contracts slightly less than it was stretched until the last weight is removed - this property is called hysteresis. If you were to observe a diagram of the stress and strain during the loading and unloading, you'd see a loop - as long as the strain was only elastic. If you add too much weight, you get plastic strain and permanent deformation.
Woman are like rubber bands: physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually. We take on all sorts of strain - pregnancy, birth, raising children, sickness, crisis, challenge, loss, etc. On the most visible level, during pregnancy we get huge over a span of nine months. We hope to return to our original shapes within two months, but more often it takes two years... and there we have HYSTERESIS. The swelling and shrinking tummy is ELASTIC STRAIN. The stretchmarks on our hips are a perfect example of PLASTIC STRAIN.
Mentally, emotionally, and spiritually this is harder to understand. In someways, I feel forever changed. My mind has permanently changed. I am not as quick on my toes academically, but when it comes to noticing household hazards and keeping track of all things baby and toddler, my brain has an amazing way of being able to multitask. Now considering I am dealing with postpartum depression which is caused by chemical changes, I'd say the jury is still out on the emotional/spiritual changes. I feel very stretched, sometimes to a point of breaking.
However, I can't imagine that deeply emotional experiences are meant to do anything BUT to change us permanently. Relationships and breakups in college forever changed me. Marriage has forever changed me. The same is true of pregnancy, childbirth, and miscarriage... disappointing friends, being carried by friends, taking my child to the ER, buying a house, losing and gaining community.
I don't expect I will ever return to where I began, mostly because like a rubber band I've been stretched and released many times over, sometimes by weights that caused permanent changes to my physical, mental, emotional and spiritual structure. However, unlike a rubber band which eventually experiences fatigue, I grow stronger given proper rest and nourishment (and sometimes good meds). This is one of the many beautiful things about women - we stretch, we change, and we grow. I look at my mother and other women who have carried burdens much heavier than my own and I see how beautiful and wise they have become. I am so tired right now, but I hold onto that hope that there will be a time when the strain lets up for just a moment to catch my breath and prepare for the next load.
Woman are like rubber bands: physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually. We take on all sorts of strain - pregnancy, birth, raising children, sickness, crisis, challenge, loss, etc. On the most visible level, during pregnancy we get huge over a span of nine months. We hope to return to our original shapes within two months, but more often it takes two years... and there we have HYSTERESIS. The swelling and shrinking tummy is ELASTIC STRAIN. The stretchmarks on our hips are a perfect example of PLASTIC STRAIN.
Mentally, emotionally, and spiritually this is harder to understand. In someways, I feel forever changed. My mind has permanently changed. I am not as quick on my toes academically, but when it comes to noticing household hazards and keeping track of all things baby and toddler, my brain has an amazing way of being able to multitask. Now considering I am dealing with postpartum depression which is caused by chemical changes, I'd say the jury is still out on the emotional/spiritual changes. I feel very stretched, sometimes to a point of breaking.
However, I can't imagine that deeply emotional experiences are meant to do anything BUT to change us permanently. Relationships and breakups in college forever changed me. Marriage has forever changed me. The same is true of pregnancy, childbirth, and miscarriage... disappointing friends, being carried by friends, taking my child to the ER, buying a house, losing and gaining community.
I don't expect I will ever return to where I began, mostly because like a rubber band I've been stretched and released many times over, sometimes by weights that caused permanent changes to my physical, mental, emotional and spiritual structure. However, unlike a rubber band which eventually experiences fatigue, I grow stronger given proper rest and nourishment (and sometimes good meds). This is one of the many beautiful things about women - we stretch, we change, and we grow. I look at my mother and other women who have carried burdens much heavier than my own and I see how beautiful and wise they have become. I am so tired right now, but I hold onto that hope that there will be a time when the strain lets up for just a moment to catch my breath and prepare for the next load.
Monday, August 09, 2010
Friday, August 06, 2010
Date with Daniel
On Thursday, Aunt Roo offered to give me a little bit of free time, and I chose to take Daniel on a date while she watched Matthew. Daniel's favorite place is Monkey Joe's - a giant inflatable gymnasium. When Sarah arrived at the house, he ran up to her and shouted, "MONKEY JOE'S!" This was possibly the hottest day of the year, and it wasn't that cool inside, but despite being sweaty and heading out right at Daniel's nap time, we had a lot of fun on the slides and cars. The only way I could convince Daniel to leave was to bribe him with Icees. He picked out what color we each got and sampled them both.
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