The virtue of faith

So... this blog is very much overdue for an update. But you should thank me for sparing you an earlier post. Because it would have read along the lines of "blah blah blah... complain, complain, complain some more... my life sucks... 'nobody knows the trouble I see, nobody knows'..." and so on and so forth. However, now that I've taken some time to "process" I can hopefully articulate a few thoughts without resorting to venting.

While most my FB buddies know this, here's a short recap of the summer. I got pregnant, my grandma died, we went to California for the funeral, I came back, found out I was miscarrying, found out it was an ectopic pregnancy, went to great lengths to ensure that the baby wasn't viable any longer, had surgery to remove the placenta, which was still growing although the baby had died earlier. And then we finished remodeling our house in town. And then we went and remodeled a house out of town and moved into it a month after my surgery. We decided to move out of town because our neighbors were troublesome as regards to our kids. There you have it - mid-June through mid-August. It's fall now and definitely feels like it. The summer was over before I was ever cognizant of the fact that there was a summer.

During my self-pitying moments, I find myself thinking that it's just as well that summer is over as I would never like to live through such a summer again. But if I am honest with myself, that isn't true. I "lost" a baby, medically speaking, but I've gained my own little angel. A couple weeks back, we were visiting at a friend's house, and our friend, Patrick, began talking about a homily that Fr. Kellar had given. The reading had been about how Jesus said that it was better that Judas (his disciple who betrayed him) "had never been born." This is a very harsh statement and could make one wonder if it were better that certain lives had never been lived, that certain people had never been born. Patrick went on to discuss how Fr. Kellar had explained that this Gospel should actually give us hope. The reason being that Jesus did not say "never existed"; He said "never born." This is actually a message of hope to parents of children who were never born, who only existed for a short time in the womb. For once a person is born, they have a whole lifetime of choices to make, some which will be good, and some which will not be good. A person who is born can choose to live their lives as a Mother Teresa or as another Hitler. This isn't to downplay the beauty of living life in this world, of growing up, of making choices, and all that goes into being a conscious adult. However, in the intervening time between now and when I lost my baby, I've given this loss a lot of thought.

What I've come to realize is that I didn't "loose" a baby. I have a baby. She just isn't here with me now, but she exists. When I find myself thinking that I wish I'd never had to go through the miscarriage and surgery, I catch myself now. It's not true. Because of that experience, I have another child. Granted, I'll never see her in this life, but she is as real and as present as Greta or Joseph. The major difference is that she will always be perfect. She will never hurt anyone, she will never experience pain, loss, or suffering, and she will never sin. In short, she has what I aspire to, what I hope to help bring my children to - union with God in heaven. Granted, this is a nice thought, but it doesn't mean that I'm not grieving, it doesn't mean that I don't still experience moments of indescribable sorrow at her passing, that I don't wish with all my heart and soul that in spite of this imperfect world, I wish she could have been born and that I could have held her and watched her grow as I do Greta and Joseph. I wanted to give birth to my baby. But that isn't how things worked out and nothing I can say, do, or wish will change that.

When I was miscarrying, I prayed so hard that I would be given the faith to pray for a miracle, that my baby wouldn't die. "Faith the size of a mustard seed" and all. I took to heart "Ask and you shall receive, seek and you shall find." When it was obvious that the baby had died, but that I would still have to have surgery, I prayed that the pregnancy would be reabsorbed and I wouldn't need surgery. Well, neither happened as I had asked. For the first time in my adult life, I was truly faced with a crisis of faith. If God said all of the above, why didn't He answer my prayer? How do you trust someone who doesn't do what they say they will do? I have God's grace and my English major background to thank for getting through. Those words, "ask and you shall receive" kept whirling around my frustrated mind. A practice from analyzing English literature came back to me. You read every single word as it is written. Don't interpret just yet, don't assume you understand the author's intent. Just read what is written. Sometimes the most insightful notions came out of this exercise in class. Read "literally." On its face value, "ask and you shall receive" is just that. Nowhere does it say that what you asked for is what you will receive. Ah ha! Where faith and hope come in is when you believe that what you received is actually what is best for you.

I've always thought that you can learn a lot about a person by their struggles/crosses. I truly believe that it is through difficulty that people become better people. If everything was always perfect, no one would ever have the chance to "rise to the occasion," to exercise virtue. "Building character" is only done when said character is being tested. God knows us better than we know ourselves. He allows us certain sufferings that are particular to our given characters; what we struggle with is tailor-made to our personalities. It is exactly what we need to become the best person we can be.

To tie this monologue together, I realize that it was a good thing for me to go through this difficult summer. I'm not sure how or why, but I trust that it was right. And I'm still here, not too much the worse for wear. I'm still recovering emotionally. I go through bouts of depression and anxiety often. I struggle to be loving to and patient with my husband and children. But when that happens, I pray to my little baby, Faith, and by God's grace, I muddle through.

"You have to pick your battles": Or, What chores to give up on as a mom

So I've been thinking that there are certain chores rendered pointless by the presence of small wild animals children in the house. On the top of my list are:

• Cleaning full sized mirrors. It's ok to clean the top 4 feet, but its better to leave the 2 or 3 feet closest to the ground covered in mini hand prints. Something about a clean mirror attracts little paws.
• Organizing the bottom kitchen cabinets. Or putting anything valuable or breakable in them. This is indeed a "pick your battle" situation. Do you want your kid running around, screaming, while you are making dinner, or is it just easier to open that treasure chest Tupperware cabinet and let them go wild?
• Folding any clothes in your kids' drawers. Maybe you are blessed with children who appreciated folded clothes, or maybe you are fortunate to live in a climate where children can go around naked. Neither applies to me. My kids love to empty their clothes drawers. Folding clothes is an exercise in futility in my house.

However, certain chores I have doubled up on since having children. These are easy to list because I do these chores ALL DAY LONG. Not kidding about that.

• Sweeping the floors. Omg, oh my freakin' gosh... I sweep floors all day. Between bread crumbs, chewed up apple peels, milk splatters, I have my vocation cut out for me. The best job prep for being a mom is to have worked custodial in a previous life.
• Picking up toys. Again, unless I want to twist an ankle or break a leg, I have to pick up toys all day long.
• Neatly organizing books on the bottom two shelves. It's an attractive nuisance. Something about "order" prompts my kids to induce instant disorder. So those two shelves are disproportionately empty in my house.
• Keeping the bathroom door shut and the toilet seat down. Joseph has a toilet fetish. I mean, he is obsessed with toilets. And everything that goes in them. And anything he can put in them. I'm sick of fishing him out of the toilet. So out of self-preservation, I've become very good at bathroom etiquette.

I know some of you older and wiser moms are going to suggest that I get my kids to help me. Don't worry! I do. But they are 1 and 2 and there's only so much you can do at that age. How about you? What chores in your house are a loosing battle, and what chores are a daily staple?

Coming soon!!

No, not a new baby... yet!

So. For you avid follower who was so concerned about my lack of sleep. Thank you. I'm happy to tell you I have a solution. Not a great one. But creative... at least, as creative as a sleep-deprived mother of two little children can be.

You've heard, "if you can't beat 'em, join 'em?" That's what I'm going to do. I have a scheme (worked for 2 days so far) that pumps me up with as much adrenaline as my bouncy morning children (who are not so bouncy or joyful any other time of the day. Want to be awake to appreciate their over-abundance of zeal at the prospect of a new day).

Interested yet? First of all, credit where credit is due. This isn't an original idea. I got part of it from my highly motivated mom friends who wake up early and do things before their kids take over. I admire and respect that. But somehow, it doesn't work for me. I want to sleep, dammit! But if I have to be awake, I don't want to feel like absolute crap, as I do most days.

Ok, here it is. After a two day trial period, I found that I can speed up the waking up process by at least 2 hours if I do 5 minutes worth of some cardio exercise before breakfast. Just 5 minutes! Greta loves it. "Work out, Mamma?" as she stuffs her breakfast in her mouth. Joseph is highly intrigued by the sight of his pajama-ed Mamma jumping around, as he does his best to provide her with an obstacle course.

Once I set a date with my videographer (husband), I will put together my routine. It's made up of 10 easy, uncomplicated moves that you do for 30 seconds each. I'll do a few stretches for a minute or two, and then start the circuit. It definitely gets your heart rate up, maybe break a tiny sweat, but no doubt about it, you WILL be awake after this! 5 minutes... your coffee takes that long to brew. It's so worth it.

So check back later for the list of exercises and how to do them.

My baby has regressed

Dear Joseph! He really is quite a kid. He's nine months old now and just an adorable child. He has a big, full-faced grin that lights up a room. He has twinkly hazel eyes and curly lashes. His hair has the dearest way of growing in wisps over his forehead. His chin is as prominent as his nose. While I call Greta a "sturdy girl," I call Joseph a "wiry boy." He is longer and much thinner than Greta ever was, but he is strong. So strong! If he's not pulling himself up on something, he's pulling something down. And he's fast. He comes at you across the floor like a bulldozer, ready to take on anything in his path.

In anyone else's world, I'm sure he would rank as an "easy baby." From 0 to 8 months, he really was. Just a happy, loveable, contented little soul. But something's gotten into him recently. Perhaps it's because I'm so tired to begin with and because my attention is divided between two babies, but I've found myself so angry and frustrated with Joseph. He's stopped sleeping well at night.

He acts like a newborn... from what other people tell me. I was blessed with two very good newborns so I'm spoiled. But he is up several times a night to nurse and I'm having the hardest time falling back to sleep while he's nursing. I'm pretty sure Greta did something similar, but the key difference is that Greta would sleep indefinitely as long as I was nursing her. So we'd sleep in until 9 or 10 am. Not Joseph! He could audition to be someone's rooster based on how punctually he wakes up and crows. By 6:30 am, he is up. Not just up, but up and ready to play. It infuriates him to no end if his parents (what else are they supposed to be doing?) are not up and moving about or playing with him. We've tried a lot of things. But he's a smart kid (did I mention that?) and knows when he is being thwarted. If we put him on the floor to play in his toybox, he pulls on the sheets of the bed and yells until someone picks him up. If he was a dog, I'd give him away at that point. Fortunately for him, he isn't. His latest stunt is to stand on our pillows (or heads) and look out the bedroom window, which is at the head of the bed. He LOVES that window. He yells at the neighbors, the trees, whathaveyou for minutes at a time.

Any ideas? I need more sleep. The lack thereof is making me hate my life.

Remembering

How do all of you more organized mommies keep track of your kids' memorable moments and funny stories? I had this grandiose idea of writing them all down in a baby book (diary). But this didn't work out. I'm horrible at journaling these days because it takes a lot time to sit down and handwrite anything. I've put off writing them digitally because I'm afraid the computer will one day devour all my memories in one mega-crash. So all my baby-lore is currently being filed mentally in this momma's head. As you can guess, this data storage base quickly goes into overload because of all the information it processes in a given day. Hence, I deem it an unreliable source.

My solution has been to open two Word documents - one entitled "The Book of Greta: 2 Years" and the other, "The Book of Joseph: The First Year." I keep them easily accessible on my computer and when something funny or memorable happens to one of the kids, I type it up in my "baby book." I will print these out and put them in binders for posterity or to humiliate the kids later in life.

So what do you do along these lines or would like to do? I could use ideas.

Oh, what to do when your child is two!

The "Terrible Twos," like many stereotypes, has been a bit overrated in my world. I actually like my two year old. (knock on wood) She is sweet, responsive, obedient, caring, understanding, and a whole lot of other things that I wish I was. (KNOCK ON WOOD) I keep trying to decide what exactly is supposed to be so bad about 2 year olds. Probably the fact that they understand so much, and yet are not quite capable of expressing all that they understand. Well, being the first time mother of one two-year-old girl, I can't speak with any confidence about patterns in childhood behavior. What I did want to share is my own experience with my 2 year, 4 month old daughter.

Truth be told, I LOVE Greta at this age. Totally my favorite age so far. She really is my little buddy at home. We are together all day long and I find myself looking forward to seeing her in the morning when she wakes up and after her afternoon nap. In between, she is generally very good and very busy. She really isn't a needy child. We've always let her and Joseph entertain themselves, so it's typical to see Greta sitting on the floor, reading a book to herself. Or she will be in the bedroom, periodically rearranging my underwear drawer. Or she finds her puzzles and puts them together (after a fashion). Or I'll find Joseph and Greta together, playing some game where Greta makes a funny noise and Joseph shrieks with laughter.

The real purpose of this blog post, however, was to talk about the ways I found to amuse Greta and teach her at the same time. I very much agree with Like Mother, Like Daughter that kids thrive on being useful. With that in mind, I try to include Greta and Joseph in my daily housekeeping activities. The down side of this is that you have to everything very slowly. If you're like me and used to doing 5 things at once and very quickly, this change of pace can be agonizing until you realize that you are not only doing laundry - you are teaching your child about colors. So you're really still multi-tasking :)

It seems to me that the developmental stage Greta is at now includes learning colors, learning commands, learning to identify objects, and learning to count. With that in mind, I try to incorporate these activities into whatever chore I'm doing. Here are a few ideas. Feel free to share your own. I'm always looking for more.


Washing dishes (she's sitting on a high stool next to the sink with me):
"Greta, pick up a fork, please."
"Greta, please put the cup on dishtray."
"Greta, where is the orange cup?"

Putting away dry dishes:
Hand her a  bowl and show her the shelf it goes on.
Sort spoons and forks (usually ends up messier than we started)
Hands me plastic cups/bowls, etc. from the dishwasher or dish tray.

Laundry (the best chore ever!)
Greta carries her little laundry basket to the laundryroom.
Greta sits on top of the dryer, while I hand her clothes, ask her who they belong to, ask her what color they are, and she drops them into the washer.
I pass clothes to Greta, who puts them in the dryer.
After a fashion, Greta hangs up small items on the drying rack.
Folding - not really! Greta passes clothes to me, tells me whose they are, and I tell her what they are ("Mommy's red shirt", "Daddy's brown shorts"). Not much folding gets done because Greta has to "fold" too. I've given up on having drawers of folded clothes. My kids are far too fond of reorganizing our drawers.

Making dinner:
Greta tells me, or I tell her, what vegetables and meats we are preparing.
Greta shreds lettuce, spinach, or kale.
With a dull butter knife, Greta will "chop" zucchini.
Greta will put vegetable parings in the trash (very useful skill and pretty time consuming).

Grocery shopping:
We shop at our local co-op for veggies, and the small size of the store makes it very kid friendly. Joseph sits in the cart, while Greta walks next to me.
I tell Greta what fruit or veggie we are buying. I hand it to her, while she counts them and puts them in a plastic bag.
I'll hand her milk or yogurt to put in the cart, and she tells me what they are.
When she takes things unasked off the shelf, I teach her the oh-so-useful skill of "put it back, please."

Tidying the house:
Pretty self-explanatory. I ask Greta to put a specific object away in a specific place. It doesn't work to tell her to "pick up your toys" because her attention span isn't very long, and I believe in asking for smaller tasks that she is more likely to succeed at. So I ask her to put her doll in her room, or to put her puzzle on the table. Then I thank her and ask her to do something else (or finish it myself).

Watching younger siblings:
Greta is invaluable. Joseph is almost 9 months and at an age where he is very entertained by faces and by interesting objects. If he's crying while I'm in the middle of something, I ask Greta to bring him a toy, talk to him, read to him, turn his music on. She never fails to quiet him (at least for awhile!). When he wakes up in his crib and begins to cry, Greta is the first to tell me "baby cryin'!" after which she runs to the room and climbs in the crib with him. Which invariably causes him to cheer up.

My general observations about my two year old are:
Kids at two are very eager to do things.
They understand way more than they can communicate.
They learn very quickly if they aren't overloaded with information.


My reciprocal action as a mom is to:

- Offer lots of opportunity to learn small, everyday living skills.

- Speak distinctly and clearly. I have a natural slur or accent where I drop "g's" as in "stayin' " or "goin' ". When Greta talks now, I hear this repeated back to me. Uh oh!
- Don't say things you don't want your kids to say. Case in point, I cuss when I'm stressed. Result? Greta may or may not occasionally say "sh*t" when she drops something. It's since been changed to "shoot", but still....!
- Be very patient. You aren't actually going to get much help from your kid at this age. Any help you do get will be because of lots of patience and work on your part. But the point isn't to have help... yet! The idea is to start teaching your child skills that will help them in daily living and help you around the house eventually. Why? Because they really want to learn now and they enjoy it. What's there to lose? Chores done and children amused.

Joseph is teething!

And my life is about to end... or at least, the happy-newborn-infant part of it. Enough said. More later. Uggghhhhh!

Just another day in [mommy's] paradise

My little house is quiet. Both babies are napping. I find myself with that illusive treasure - time - and suddenly, I'm not sure what to do with it. Last night was similar. Josh went to basketball practice at 8:30, Greta went to bed, Joseph was sleeping, I'd finished with my shower, and there it was again - more time. I puttered around the house, tried to read, tried to interest myself in Facebook, but nothing was working. I was (dare I say?) bored. So when Greta woke up and started talking to herself in her room, I picked her up, blankets and all, grabbed a book, cuddled with her in our bed, and read to her. I missed my kids!! When she tired out, Joseph was ready to play. So I changed him and spent the rest of the evening with him, exchanging googley eyes and gurgley noises. It was the best part of my day.

I suppose I shouldn't have been so broken up with both children decided to scream for an eternity of 2 minutes in the middle of Mass this afternoon. I've been taking them to 11am Mass at one of the local nursing homes. It's a perfect time to go - my chores are done, Greta is getting bored, Joseph should be resting, and it's still too early for lunch. Greta loves it. After I told her we were going to Mass, I soon found her crying in her room, frustrated because she couldn't carry Joseph's car seat out. Ahhh! Love those moments. Yet even with them, I feel ever so slightly like I'm going into battle as I walk through the doors of that very, very quiet chapel. It would be an ideal place to go to church because both the priest and the nursing home residents can't hear much, and the sisters who work there love the kids. But why, oh why, oh why does one toddler talking to herself all through Mass sound like a car alarm going off? And why, oh why does Joseph sound like he is nursing into a microphone? Because Greta, who is normally very silent around strangers, feels quite at home in God's house and won't shut up. Joseph, who hasn't looked twice at his boobs all morning, suddenly takes on the behavior of a starving child. All that said, I've managed to deal with it, even finding it humorous enough to laugh at. But today... somehow, both children yelling at once, in a very quiet place, made me feel absolutely alone and helpless. I stuck Joseph under one arm and dragged Greta into a conveniently-placed "workroom." If I had been more collected, I'm sure Greta would have quieted down, but instead, my state of tears reduced her to even further shrieks of dismay. By the end of the episode, I found myself sobbing about how much I hated God and why did He have to make everything so difficult. I know, pathetic. I'm reverting back to the "terrible two's" behavior of "hating" anything you can transfer blame to. "God, if you want me to be here, you'd better show me and quickly. Or we are not doing this again." I suppose that is the downside of believing  God is real. Sometimes it's hard to speak respectfully in a crisis.

Well, I guess He did want us there, crying children and all. After Mass, Sister Joseph came up to us and asked if we would like to see where Anna (my sister) worked. She took us to the residents' lunch room, where we visited for about half an hour. Joseph (of course!) was all smiles and giggles and everyone loved him. Greta was completely dead-pan, but at least she waved good bye to everyone. And Mommy? Mommy realized for the upteenth time that the best way to stop feeling sorry for yourself is to do something nice for other people. Everyone seemed happier for having seen the babies and yes, we are going to do this again.

What's a mother to do?

For the most part, I'm a happy person. Sure, I have mood swings, but what woman isn't entitled to on occasion? And what are husbands for if not to comfort their wives, pick up the slack here n' there, get yelled for no good reason, and still offer a sturdy shoulder to cry on? But lately... ugh! I hate myself some days. I do the same damn chores over and over and OVER again, take care of the babies, make meals, try to be nice to Josh.... you get the picture. But I'm this awful combination of stressed out and bored off my ass. Stressed, because I always need to do something and am needed, and bored because it's the same thing over and over. I love my kids very much and I enjoy their company between the hours of 9am and 12 noon, and 2pm and about 5pm. But the other times! I vaguely remember what it was like to just have NO ONE making demands on my time and being able to go out and do things without bring my entourage with me. Being human, my vague recollection of the pre-baby days is overly romanticized. In my more realistic moments, I remember hating the drudgery of going to work and being accountable for things I didn't give a shit about. I also remember being very jealous of women who were "living the dream" of being stay at home moms with multiple kids.

So what's my problem? Ah, if only I could answer that. I wish sometimes that I were a different person. Perhaps one of those uber maternal types who like playing with kids all day long. Or one with a little less education. Being educated isn't always a good thing because you learn how to think and once you start thinking too much about your life, you're bound to find things that don't make you happy. Or you are able to analyze your discontent and are stuck with a problem that doesn't have an answer.

The thing is, I suspect there is an answer and that I already know it. I really ought to do something with myself. Like write that god-awful thesis of mine. It's about motherhood and I'm afraid that the current state of my hormones is going to turn it into a very negative look at the subject. I could get a job. But no job really interests me enough to motivate myself to take it and then deal with all the upset routines. Another solution is that I should probably work on my spiritual life. For those of you who don't know, I'm Catholic and I take my faith pretty seriously. I know from experience that part of being a balanced, peaceful person involves giving God priority in my life. I've thought of (and tried) to work on having a more regularized family prayer time. I'm trying to make myself read spiritual books... after all, how are you supposed to love God if you don't really know anything about Him? Sigh... all these things would be very good for me. Yet "the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak." If I have any quiet time, I end up vegging on the computer, sleeping, working out, or cleaning the house. There just aren't enough baby-free hours in a day. No one ever tells you how much energy it takes to be around your kids all day long.

I hate writing posts that pose problems but no solutions. I'm afraid that this will be one of those. The thought that keeps me going is that nothing lasts forever. The kids will get older, my health will get better, I'll have more energy, the weather will get warmer, summer will be here soon, and I will not always be this tired. But God! Just get me through the immediate future.

You have to pick your battles

Looking back from my vintage old age of 25 years, I realize that I had a lot of unidentified ideals in my younger days. Very few had to do with a husband, which seems to be common among most ladies. No, mine had to do with children. I always knew I was going to have kids... a husband as well, presumably. These kids of mine were quite the bunch! To begin with, they were very well-behaved. They acted as my siblings and I had to act in church for fear of my Dad. Which was very well-behaved. We never left church without someone commenting on what good kids we were. They never hit other kids, were always polite to adults, were interesting, intelligent, and most of all, helpful to their mother. I can still see it... all eight or ten of these imaginary children helped out with the house work and the farm chores while their benevolent mother oversaw it all and nursed the latest installment. They always did as they were asked and never said "no." These wonderful children lived in a clean house. Everything was always where it was supposed to go. The good children always put their toys away, always cleaned up after themselves, and their mother moved through her days in peace and tranquility. My imaginary children never put their mother through what my 5 siblings and I put our long-suffering mother through. She hounded us all day to finish our chores, threatened us with "no play time!" if we didn't, and despite her best efforts, our house was far from tidy on most days.

Needless to say, my imaginary children are something a thing of the past now that I have actual children. My actual children... now that is another story! I learned very early on that children love to do what you are doing. Greta is happiest when she is rearranging my pantry, meticulously moving canned goods from the pantry to the shelf under the table. Her day is not complete if she has not taken out all the pots and pans and inspected their lack of contents. The tupperware is not exempt, either. Who, if not Greta, would match them with their lids? The bookshelf is another thing of joy for Greta. She delights in "reading" books, but not as much in returning them to the shelf. Yet her greatest pleasure lies in emptying dresser drawers. Really, such an undertaking is one that my imaginary children would never have dreamed of! Oh no, those angels would have been putting their clothes neatly in the drawers. Greta, on the other hand, can spend an entire morning "organizing" her clothes. It's actually quite impressive to watch her dress her dolls in them.

So Mommy has learned to adapt. I never bother to fold Greta's clothes and make only the loosest attempt at organizing them. Dresses in the top drawer, pants and jammies in the next one, and shirts and sweaters on the bottom. Nor need you look for order in any of the lower drawers in the kitchen. There is one for "pots," one for "containers," and one for bowls. But no tidy stacks of variating sizes for us. What is the point?

Obedience is another place where my ideals led me astray. Surprise, surprise! Greta loves to say "no!" Sometimes, it's a sweet, cajoling kind of "no." At other times, it is very firmly and definitively "no!" Either way, you get the point. Again, Mommy is wizening up. When Greta does something now that she isn't supposed to do - for example, poke eyes - I give her something positive to do, such as "point to your ears, Greta." This distracts her from poking her eyes and has the added benefit of preventing her from telling me "no." This has about a 70% success rate.

At any rate, I think that the most important thing that I've learned about children since having my own is that all children are naughty and messy and disobedient at some point. Following from that, I am learning to temper my hasty judgments about other people's children. Discipline is a lot of work. I have yet to learn how to put Greta in her crib (her "time out" place) and nurse Joseph at the same time. Don't they say something about effective discipline being quick in order to be effective? Well, try waiting to finish nursing before disciplining your toddler. If I was the proverbial fly on the wall, I would be laughing at myself.

Now for a happy post

So now that I got the complaining out of my system for the time being, let's talk about something pleasant. Like... my kids.

They are really awesome. No two ways about that. Greta is now 20 months and as much the baby joy as ever. She is such a sociable girl. She knows a few words in English, but what she lacks in English grammar she makes up in her own language. If only I could speak it! All day long, she keeps very busy. If it is possible, she is busier than her mother. She has a whole dresser of her clothes that needs emptied, and then there are the drawers belonging to Joseph and Mommy that need attention. Then there is the dishwasher that requires her skills in emptying. From there, she usually moves on to the pots and pans and tupperware. Last but not least, she has a baby to care for. Baby Jesus made his entry into our home around Christmas, and despite my efforts, is here to stay. Baby Jesus is very much in the flesh around here. He is a foot long, resin Christ child from a church's manger scene. My mother in law bought him and sent him to us. He has a nice little manger to sleep in, and until Greta came along, he usually stayed there. But Greta has since adopted Baby Jesus as her baby. I mean, really! If Mommy gets to have a baby, why shouldn't Greta? Kids normally get tired of toys after a few days... a week is tops for Greta. But Baby Jesus is here to stay. When I tried to pack him up with the other decorations, Greta threw a fit and desperately tried to rescue her infant from the box of garlands. It's been about 2 months now and Greta faithfully tends her baby every day. He gets burped quite often, and he is usually wrapped in a blanket of Joseph's that Greta has commandeered. He even gets his diapers changed. I love it!

Now Joseph is another story. When I had Greta, I thought she was an easy child. I have since found out that I was wrong. Joseph is waaaaaaaay easier! He really is the most contented and contentable soul I have ever encountered. He sleeps well, eats well, and smiles. I adore a baby smile. His smiles aren't just constipation grins. No, they are all out chuckles when Mommy or Daddy smile at him. I'm finding out, however, that he strongly believes in a time and place for everything. Namely, that he should be in bed, with Mommy, and nursing at 10 pm., not in his car seat, under a table at a Rotary dinner function. Hell no! He is very clear about letting his mother know that this is not acceptable. And mother is learning very quickly. Dear Joseph....

And the two of them together? Ahhhh! Warms my heart every time. Greta adores Joseph. She must kiss him every morning and every time she sees Mommy nursing him on the couch. If he cries, she looks worried and checks on him. If he's in his swing, she will stop his swing and inspect. My favorite was when Joseph was crying in my arms and Greta heard him. She then went to find his burp cloth and brought it to me. I almost cried :) They are such wonderful babies.

What am I doing here??

Ever find yourself asking that? I do, especially when Josh and I go out for any quasi-social event. Whenever we do this, I am very forcibly reminded that I am a mother. Life is really easy until you have children. Don't get me wrong... I wanted children very much and I dearly love said children. However, children are a lot of work! And they definitely put a crimp in one's social life. I think I am still in the "adjusting" part of life right now. I'm still too close to the time when it was all in a day's work to pick up and go out for an evening with friends, or to have friends over for after-dinner drinks. We thought nothing of it. Now... Good lord! It is a veritable circus to simply get out of the house and into the car. Going out with friends involves enough planning and strategizing to fill an instructional manual. And dressing up for and attending the annual Rotary dinner... I remain unconvinced that there is anything attractive or stylish that one can wear to nurse in. And what is the point of listening to a speaker when you have a whining infant in your arms?

Get the jist? Yes, I'm complaining again. It sounds bad to say that I'm sick of my children... because that isn't the problem. I'm sick of being tired and grouchy, of never catching up, of never feeling like I'm doing a good job, of constantly "adjusting." I hate adjusting. I wish this mothering business would simply figure itself out.

Here's the thought that keeps me going on the average day.

"What is my job in life right now?"
"To take care of my children and love my husband."
"Have I taken care of my children today? Are they healthy, fed, and happy?"
"Does my husband know I love him and most importantly, appreciate him?"

If I can answer yes to the last two questions, then I have done my job. I personally may not feel like I did it well, but my own feelings of success or failure are independent of whether or not I've actually done what I'm supposed to do in a given day. Of course, it's nice to have the satisfaction of feeling good about your job, but it doesn't always happen that way. I personally thrive off of affirmation and that warm, fuzzy feeling of  "a good well done." But there are good days and bad days and blah days. These feelings won't last. No child stays 2 months old forever, nor are rashes on a toddler life-threatening. Now if only it could be spring....

Cold Coffee Days

I have been trying to write this post for about three days. The only reason I remember it is because I liked my title. By "cold coffee" I'm not talking about that delicious beverage known to mankind as an iced latte, the perfect treat on a warm summer day. No, I'm referring to the unpleasant sensation of putting your lips in a cup of coffee that you have been carrying around all morning, only to find that the delectable, steamy coffee has transformed into something lukewarm and - to this coffee snob - nauseating. This now seems to happen to me every morning and it is not the most enjoyable way of starting one's day.

So back in time, when I had the leisure and the income to be a coffee snob, nothing would do in the morning but to start it off with freshly ground coffee made impeccably in my French press. My friend Megan and I would meet up in the kitchen at work, fill up the coffee cups, and smuggle the coffee-goodness back to our desks... and enjoy! The afternoon wasn't a proper afternoon if we didn't bring a cappucino or latte back from lunch. Josh and I might wind down our evenings with another cup of (properly made) decaf after dinner with dessert.

Are you gathering from this that I LOVE COFFEE? Because if you haven't yet, you should hone up on your reading comprehension skills. :)

Fast forward a few years and a few babies. I roll out of bed to the sound of Joseph crying and Greta chattering. My eyes are dry and bleary from being up 2 too many times last night. My clothes are damp and sticky from nursing in bed (you have to be a nursing mom to appreciate quite how nasty this feeling is). All I want it... silence and a cup of coffee. So begins the battle to reach that happy shore. I change Joseph's diapers, change his clothes, wash my face, change my clothes (showers come later)... all the while fending Greta off from my new dresser drawers. She is enamored with removing clothes from people's drawers and relocating them in various corners of the house. At this point, it becomes "mommy over baby." Joseph cries in his swing while I stumble into my messy kitchen (messy because El Husbandito made Greta breakfast and didn't clean up) and yes! start on the coffee. Then Joseph is rescued from his swing and nursed before his milk supply becomes contaminated with caffeine. Back to the swing with Joseph and off to the kitchen goes Mommy. But Greta apprehends the maneuver. She waylays Mommy and demands... never mind what she demands, but she demands in no uncertain terms. Mommy buys her off with a cheese stick or half a slice of bread. Ideally, Mommy would have politely offered her a carrot or a slice of cucumber, but "desperate times call for desperate measures." There will be no day without that illusive cup of coffee!  Ahhhh! Pour the half and half into the coffee cup, fill a bowl with cereal and milk, and run for it! Problem is, there is no place to hide from babies, so Mommy opts for the next best option. The kitchen table will at least guarantee that there will be no spills when Greta comes demanding her lion's portion. Which she does. Greta has an incredible ability to sniff out carbohydrates. And what is cereal but carbs? Believing that discretion is the better part of valor, Mommy agrees to share her breakfast with Greta. Just not the coffee. Please not the coffee, Greta!

At this thrilling junction, Joseph makes his presence felt with a few heart-rending screams. How can one selfishly eat breakfast when one's child is starving to death not 3 feet away? Now we are back to nursing Joseph and feeding Greta. And that dear cup of coffee is just sitting there, steaming its coffee life away. Joseph is asleep again. Quick! Put the laundry in before he wakes up. Empty the dishwasher and fill it up again because Lord knows that is complicated with a babe in arms. Where did I leave the coffee? Oh no... Greta has put her finger under a pot lid and is pushing down on it with her other hand... and screaming because it hurts. I rescue Greta and reintroduce her to the magic of her bookcase. Crap. Where did all this dirt on the floors come from? Better sweep it before Joseph wakes up. Time to switch over the laundry.

By now it is 11 am and my vagabond coffee cup has traveled the range of our house. The house is relatively in order, the babies are in order, and silence? Yes, I think I hear silence. Silence and a cup of coffee. That's what I was aiming for this morning. For the record, "silence" means "the absence of unhappy noises." I sit down at the computer, put that coffee to my mouth... ugh! cold coffee already?!?!

But on the bright side, the babies are peaceful and the house is tidy. You have to pick your battles.

Brothers and Sisters

Sitting here in front of the computer with Greta on my lap has suggested the topic of the Greta-Joseph dynamic. Simply put, it has been awesome. Greta looked at Joseph rather sceptically at first, but she warmed up to the idea of "baby!" very quickly. She loves to give him hugs and kisses and pats and pokes and... you get the idea. So much in fact, that she was responsible for Joseph's first bout of pink eye at 3 weeks of age. But it was so hard to keep her away from him because she would cry like a tormented soul if she was not allowed to kiss "baby."

Joseph is 6 weeks old today. Yay for Mommy and Daddy! It's been a long haul, but hopefully it will keep looking up.

Waiting, waiting, waiting...

Well, the long and short of it is that I am bored out of mind. These last weeks of pregnancy haven't been fun. Actually, this whole pregnancy hasn't exactly been a barrel of monkeys, but unless you are one of those incredible women who enjoy being pregnant, what pregnancy is? But lately... ugh! At least I didn't have anything to worry about health-wise earlier. However, since I came back from Florida, I've had high blood pressure, low red blood cell count, low sugar, tested positive for GBS... nothing exactly uncommon, life-threatening, or terribly serious, but all added together, definitely an annoyance in the extreme. But on the bright side, the baby seems fine. So it could always be worse, right? Keep reminding me that as these days drag interminably on. At first, I was freaking out because I was worried about having the baby before 36 weeks. Now that I've hit the magic 37 week marker, I want very much for him to be out. My midwife is taking it all in stride. The high protein diet she put me on, plus the assortment of "calming" herbs and teas are really working to lower that pesky blood pressure. I blame Gallup, again. I'm telling you, this place is slowly trying to kill me. Little girls from the cloudy midwest states were not meant to live 6,500 feet up in the air, where they can't breath and where their blood count drops deplorably. Because I don't have any of the other typical indications of preeclampsia or toximia, I'm blaming the high blood pressure on the high altitude and Greta. Kids are ones for getting your blood pressure up and keeping it there. The worst part of it all is that as of Sunday, I'm on "bedrest." Hearing that was like receiving a death sentence... for me, anyways. I am happiest when I am up, busy, doing chores, keeping things in order, and relaxing when everything is together. Thankfully, the herb supplements have been working to the point where my blood pressure stays low enough that I can get up, take care of most things around the house, go for walks.... the principle difference is that my mother in law is here to keep on eye on Greta most of the day. That is a huge help! I miss Greta, but this works out perfectly because I've also hit the point in pregnancy where I am tired-off-my-ass most of the time and it takes the biggest act of will to move anywhere, especially in the evening.

I apologize that this is such a sucky post. I am just absurdly tired, wallowing in self-pity, anxious, impatient.... God help me! And if I'm not pathetic enough already, I really wish my MIL would go to bed so I can spend some alone time with my husband, who I haven't seen all day. There. That is the pettiest thing imaginable to say at the moment, but whatever.

You can come anytime now, baby dear. Bring on the labor pains, the sleepless nights, the crying, the nursing, the baby blues... at least I won't feel like the girl who turned into a blueberry in Willy Wonka.

What are friends?

I'm dedicating this post to all my friends, but especially the ones I've come to know better through that artificial medium - Facebook. These days, there is a lot of bashing of online relationships by some of us more conservative folks. Don't worry, I've been there and done it myself. But that was back in the day when I had school, a job, what most would term a social life. Somehow, before one has children, it is so much more easy to engage in a social life. However, a social life requires just that... engaging. An active participation on your part to keep it up, invite people over, go out randomly, make and return calls, plan fun things, hang out.... If you're doing that now, you know what I mean. If you used to, you definitely know what I'm talking about. Yet when one decides to be a "stay at home mom," having a social life in the typical sense becomes much harder and requires more from you than it does your single or newly married friends. For one, there is a lot less room for spontaneity when you have kids. And spontaneity is the soul of having a social life. But how can one be spontaneous when a small someone has to go to bed at 8pm. Otherwise, the consequences include waking up in the middle of the night, waking up too early the next day, being a cranky pants all day next day. It's harder to go to a party and then end it with a late night in the pub because while your single friends can go home and sleep off their hang-overs, you are going to roused by a bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, and HUNGRY child at 6am. Strong coffee, anyone? Children are no respecters of weekend, sleeping-in privileges, the saving grace of those Friday night parties. Even "hanging out" with a girl friend and engaging in some good girl talk is not the same when your child is unpacking a tissue box, scattering crumbs all over a cutely decorated apartment, or pulling all the DVDs off a shelf. The quality of conversation is strained when you aren't giving it your full attention as you smack your kid away from the cups of hot tea. Heart to heart conversations take a lot more cultivation under the circumstances.

So it's been my finding that "real friends" - as in friends you physically spend time with or do things with - are much harder to come by once you have children. It's not that they aren't there, or that I don't have a few faithfuls from my college and work days who put up with my decreased topics of conversations or inability to focus. It's just that the quality of the friendship changes a bit. And making new friends! If they aren't moms, moms to be, or single friends with an interest in child psychology or babysitting, forget it. It's at this time in my life when I find my daily source of female companionship to be Facebook. I actually count Facebook as a blessing in my life, no kidding. Because of it, I have made so many new friends with girls I either barely knew in my past life, girls I didn't know at all but who were friends of a friend, girls I knew by name but never hung out with, or girlfriends who are now moms. What is friendship, anyways? As with most good relationships, it is based on a common factor. Ours is kids. My circle of friends has become so much more eclectic since having Greta because now I have something in common with all the diverse people I would never have dreamed of becoming close friends with back in college or at work.

A couple friends come to mind immediately. One I met in grad school during my first year there. She stood out in my mind because fellow classmates said she'd leave class to nurse her baby. "That's awesome," I thought. (I don't know if that was actually true or not, but it impressed me favorably). "Baby, teaching and grad school. I want to be that person." The next year, when I waddled into class, very pregnant with Greta, she was there again, too, also pregnant. The main difference was that she had lots of intelligent things to say, while I felt more or less a prisoner of baby-brain. We never became close friends in grad school, but since then, she has been one of my favorite go-to moms for good advice, a necessary laugh now and then, an overall inspiration on how to balance your life. Another VIP in my Facebook world is someone I never actually talked to in real life! She's the very intelligent and well-educated older sister of a friend of my younger brother's. How's that for a far-out connection? But she is one of those people I'd like to be some day. Teaches in college, has a PhD in English (I think it's English), has two kids under 6, married to a seemingly great guy, has a farm in Ohio, knows all about canning, gardening, farming.... all the wonderful things I miss so much and want to rediscover when our life allows. Literally, she's living my dream life, as far as I can tell from FB. And just reading her status updates makes me feel smarter... poetry quotes, political opinions, or just random humor. Can I say "hero worship"? There are many other friends I could name, but then this post may make me look even more like an inveterate Facebook stalker than I really am.

So friends, how was this for a suck-up to say, "please keep my Facebook life interesting for the next couple weeks as I wait anxiously for this kid to come out?" Thanks, all :)

Parents are my heroes

I don't mean just my parents, although they have had to be pretty damn heroic these past years with so many drama-filled teenagers moving through the house into adulthood. No, I mean that parents in general are my new heroes. Next time you watch that perfectly dressed mother of two out for a walk with her tidy kids, know that that put-together woman has spent hours and sleepless nights growing those kids. She's given tepid water baths at 3am to bring down fevers, she's cleaned up throw-up, wiped up poop, probably sat in an emergency room at some point... you get the picture. Next time, before passing judgment on that frumpy mother with the screaming toddler in the checkout line, remember that she, like every mother, has endured the long discomfort of pregnancy, the pain of childbirth, and those pensive, anxiety-ridden first months of new life. Until you yourself become a parent, you cannot even imagine the work it takes to "raise" a child. There's a reason I understand now why they tell you that you will never fully understand or appreciate your parents until you become one yourself. I'm beginning to think that there is no occupation that is quite comparable to bringing up one's children. Every other job you can "leave at work" to a certain extent. Every other job you receive monetary compensation (instant satisfaction). Every other job can technically be terminated at any given moment at your whim. Not so parenting. Although I have no experience in the military, I rather imagine that it can best be compared to soldiering. It becomes your life. You have to 'see it through.' There are times when it is dangerous or difficult, as in active combat. But there are plenty of times when you're on the base, enjoying down time and some semblance of relaxation. However, unlike the military, no one is going to give you a medal for sitting up with a sick kid without loosing your temper. Yet the military cannot boast the sweet, smiling baby faces that kiss you and try to cheer you up after that bad night. So it all works out.

Last night, as I tried to fall asleep on the couch in Greta's room at 5am, after three rounds of vomiting and diarrhea with Greta, waiting for the fourth volley to hit, I found myself thinking out the sketch of this post. Parents everywhere, I salute you :) Thank you for the often thankless, unnoticed work that you do for no earthly compensation. Or is it really thankless work? For a face like this, I contend not.

When it rains, it pours

So during that same night I was feeling so miserably sorry for myself, guess what? Josh reminds me how lucky we are that Greta sleeps so well through the night and, to quote him, "She's never had one of those throwing up incidents!"

Never, never say this to yourself. In fact, never say that your child will never do something because he/she will most definitely do that thing. Just be thankful every day that nothing went wrong that was irreparable. When you think that your kid is a shining example of good behavior and infant virtue in the face of screaming toddlers, just remember that your time will come. When you are about to pass judgment on the sniffley-nosed kid and its mother sitting in front of you at church, keep in mind that 'but for the grace of God' go you and your baby. Some people have it worse, some better, but I think it's par for the course that inevitably, the miseries of childhood will visit you.

All that to say... you probably guessed it. I'm not very subtle. But that night, Greta woke us up at 4am, throwing up everywhere. It was the saddest thing. She was still sweet and cuddly, although cuddly is not exactly what you want to do with a baby who has puke all over her. But she was so sad. And pale! My goodness, I forgot how pale people get when they throw up. She had eaten a whole plate of beans at the picnic that day (smacks hand of parent who let her), but it isn't like she doesn't regularly eat beans. Well, those beans made their unwelcomed appearance last night in a very unaltered state. Josh was a trooper. He kept his head and changed the sheets while I held our sad, sad child and dealt with the remainder of the throw up. Soon she was clean and back to sleep. We all slept until about 8am, when we were awakened by another throw up incident, this time accompanied by diarrhea. Not just diarrhea, but explosive, get-all-over-the-sheets diarrhea. I will simply leave the rest to your imagination. The happy ending is that after that thorough purging, Greta was just fine and (knock on wood) has been fine all day. But her poor Daddy now isn't feeling well. I'm dreading the thought of getting sick like that. God knows pregnancy is bad enough. But I haven't been sick-sick so far and would like to keep it that way.

Moral of the story? Never say never!

A nothing post

I'm just in a mood to write something, but haven't the foggiest what I am going to write about. So....

For the last few days, Josh and I have been 'nesting.' Oh yes, guys do it, too, only theirs is more obsessive-compulsive. He's been organizing the basement, which I swear to God will become his man-cave. With all the beer bottles down there, it already looks the part. Throw in some tools, a comfy chair, and a large ass TV and there you have it. I, in the mean time, have been "home making" upstairs... my territory. My kitchen is turning into a thing of beauty and joy forever and my bathrooms... well, I don't want to make anyone jealous :) The reality is that they are small, with no trim or floorboards, and the ceiling in one isn't painted. But they are mine and there is not one, but two of them. I have obsessed for my entire married life about renting or owning a place with two bathrooms. And now I do. Hence, joy and gladness.

Last night, we raided WalMart for furniture, and as usual, I came back victorious and slightly more broke than I went. I found a coffee table for 10 dollars. Granted, the top is probably paper, but it's sturdy enough and matches all the dark wood furniture in the living room. I'm living another dream here... matching furniture.

This week, after Josh finishes up another exam, we are moving Greta out of our bedroom. This is indeed bittersweet. I like having her nearby, I love watching her sleep, I HATE nursing her now. She is 15 months old and since pretty much the moment I got pregnant, it has been torturous to nurse her. Yes, she has teeth, but I think it's more because the pregnancy makes my nipples sore (sorry, TMI....). Ok, not just sore, horribly painfully sore. And I've put up with this for her good for 6 months now. Time to go, Greta. The thing is that she doesn't even nurse to eat, she nurses for comfort when Mommy is too tired or lazy to get up and feed her. This can be understandable because sometimes she takes it into her head to be starving at midnight, 3am, or 6am... all inappropriate times for small children to be eating, as far as I'm concerned. So hopefully, getting her into her own room will help along this weaning process. Wish me luck.

Well, the hubs is out of the shower and we have our midnight snack of ice cream to eat. I love that husband of mine!

What's in a name?

So now that I have my virtual audience waiting with bated breath for that oh-so-exciting announcement of "boy or girl," let me take this opportunity to make you hear my diatribe on the subject of "names." Ever since I was a kid, I was obsessed with names. Under my direction, my siblings and I played an acting game that involved picking new names for oneself, an appropriate age, etc. And of course, it involved dressing up. Unfortunately, none of my favorite names back then stood the test of time. I cycled through quite a few. I recall "Christina," "Cherry," "Brittany," "Mildred," and "Karen" being top choices at one point. But what has lasted are my Hate List. "Nancy," "Nan," "Jane," "Peggy," and "Sarah" are the ones that stand out the most. (I take part of that back; "Jane" and "Sarah" aren't bad names anymore... but "Nancy"? Never NEVER NEVER!). At some point later, when our inventive interests took a turn towards reenacting the Civil War, I developed similar lists for boy names and subsequently renamed my siblings with appropriately soldierly names.... usually something from "Rifles for Waiti," "Across Five Aprils" or "Friendly Persuasion."

Oh, why do we have to grow up? If I hadn't grown up, gotten to know more people, and developed odd turns of the mind, I might happily have named all my kids for the sibling in "Across Five Aprils." But in recent years, or rather, since the reality of naming real children has struck, I don't like giving my kids a name of someone I know. It matters not whether I like said person or not. It's just that if they have a name, it's their name and I will always associate that name with them. It feels weird to me to call a brand new kid by someone else's name. Ahhhh... the things we confess to in blogs for the sake of being amusing, interesting or different! Now, I know that if everyone thought this way, we would very quickly run out of names and everyone would be called by some new fashioned, made up name like "Jayden" or Kylie." Oh wait....

So it's lucky for the human population that most of us do not think this way. However, in my case, I can't conceive of having more than a dozen children; in which case I'm sure I can humor my preference for not using the names of friends or close relations. Greta's real name is Margaret Elisabeth Rose. I adore the name Margaret, and yes, I do have a few good friends with that name. But I conveniently got out of calling her Margaret by nicknaming her the German derivative, "Greta," No one EVER gets this connection except honest-to-goodness, first generation Germans. And I love them for it.

Are you sufficiently impatient for me to get to the point about this kid's sex? Well, the English major in me won't let me do so until I've attempted to make the connection between the evolution of names and my baby's sex. You see, I want a girl because I absolutely love the girl's name we decided on. It was everything I love about a name - unique, classic, different, traditional, and Anglo-Saxon based (as are most of the names I tend to prefer). I won't tell you what it is, but I will say I checked to make sure it was NOT on the Top 100 Most Popular Girl Names for 2000, 2001, 2002, 2003, 2004, 2005, 2006, and so on. In fact, it peaked in popularity in the 1930's. And it is not Mildred. The middle name was a family name and worked beautifully with the first name.

And now, I will have to wait to use it.

Yes, we're having a boy. Once again, Josh was right and I was wrong, With Greta, I was subconsciously sure that I was having a boy, but Josh "thought it would be nice" if we were having a girl. That is how my husband is about these things... never pushy or assertive, but pleasantly suggestive. Well, his "suggestion" proved correct in Greta's case. Once I got used to the idea that I was having a daughter and might have to raise someone like myself, I was very excited about Greta. This time, Josh "thought it would be nice to have a boy. Just for variety, Maria." There, future rebellious, teenage son of mine. Read that and feel sorry for yourself. No, Josh tacked on the last part because I'm sure he knew how much I loved my girl's name and how much easier I thought it would be to have another girl at this point in time. No new wardrobe, no new momma skills to learn, two cute, little girls to dress... sigh.

But now that I actually know we're having a boy... whoopeeeeee! I can finally call "it" something other than "it" and I can start talking to Greta about her little brother. And everyone I know seems to like their little boys very much, saying that they are less complicated and more fun, etc. And who knows? Maybe Little What's His Name will love me as much as Greta adores her Daddy. So when all is said and done, I'm very excited that this baby is a boy... my first little boy, my wee Christmas angel.

But oh, what to name him!

Josh wanted "Ingeborg" for Greta. His equally creative suggestions this time were "Ignatius," "Otto," or "Honorius."  I'm going to assume that he was and is joking. We've tentatively come up with a name... not telling, of course, but here are a few you can rule out. 1) No Italian names. I hate them. No offense meant to the growing number of people whouse them, but I've been conditioned by years of reading English and American literature to associate such names with effeminacy and a lack of manliness. Thank the WASP movement for that unconsciously anti-Catholic sentiment. 2) No made-up new names. I am not a fan of all the Jaydens, Kaydens, Haydens, Raydens and their ilk running around. Maybe Sayden. Josh suggested that, but in the interests of being Catholic, I think we will pass.

Well, here's to the next 20 weeks until we meet our first baby boy. If nothing else, there's always "Nicholas Nickelby." Then Josh would feel like we are more related to our dog, Smike. "Nicholas Nickelby Montagnini." Now, that has a unique ring to it!