That Wasn't What I Was Intending.

Does that excuse ever work? I had this great picture of Frank and I working like a well oiled machine, him pressing the cookie cutters into the dough and me skillfully sweeping the new little Winnie the Poohs or circus animals on to the cookie stone thing and 8 or so minutes later TADAH! In reality what happened was I tried to show him about the rolling pin.

I will pause this cookie story to say this. There are times in the past 2 years where memories or feelings from my very early childhood have resurfaced from who knows where I'd buried them and hadn't thought of them. Like when Frank was sick and I lay next to his crib and reached my hand through the slats and held his little hand. And all of a sudden I was in my childhood bed with my mom on the floor of my room. Or when I saw Frank trying to climb out of his pack and play and remembered when I climbed out of my crib and then couldn't figure out what to do to get back in.

This cookie experience took me back to a memory, which wasn't buried, but was instead changed dramatically. I used to remember making cookies like this. My mom would make the dough and I'd help pour things in the bowl while she manned the mixer. I'd lick the beaters. She'd put the bowl in the fridge and I'd sneak bites. A few long hours would go by full of excited anticipation. Then shed pull it out and we'd roll them out and press our shapes and bing bang boom..Cookies!

But now the memory has come back without the luster of childish delight gooped all over it. I remember trying to take control of the roller but Mom would be guiding it her way. I remember ticking my hands in the pile of flour. I remember hearing "Don't handle the dough too much or it won't work."

And what exact moment brought those memories back?

Well, back to cookie story. Frank climbs up on the kitchen chair and I tell him to get on his knees. He doesn't understand what I'm asking so I have to help him into a kneel. He sits on his bottom as soon as I let go and smiles at me. Hm. I put him back on his knees and really quickly distract him with the cookie cutter. He spots the flour instead and sticks his hand in it. Then he shakes a handful of flour in the air. Again. And again. And again. Anytime I let that hand free it is straight into that flour pile. And I am back in Fairfax with my own hand in it.

Ok rolling pin time. Oh he thinks that's super neat. He wants to help, just what I was waiting for. But for some reason he wants to pound the pin on the dough. And then roll a little and then stick his fingers in the dough. Hm. I a back in Fairfax remembering my mom guiding the pin and me trying to push it in another direction.

Then I get him going with the cookie cutter. With hand over hand we can get some cookies cut out. I start to move the cookies to the sheet and he starts pounding the cutter over and over and messes up the rest of the nicely pressed dough. And grabs a cut out one that I hadn't moved yet and tries to jam it back in the hole it left in the dough. And I hear Mom telling me not to handle the dough too much.

Another thing that I have noted through the past 2 years is that my mother must be the picture of patience, because after one stone of Winnie the Poohs I took my flour covered kid, brushed him off and gave him breakfast and finished the rest myself. Which took probably 2 hours of cutting and baking. How she made it through a whole cookie cut out session with us is beyond me. I'm wiped out. I completely understand break and bake cookies right now.

But when the first tray came out, Frank ran up and called "Mommy? Cookie? Mommy?" And I nervously gave our little food critic his first sugar cookie. And about 15 minutes later he came back and handed me the only part of Winnie he didn't want to eat....Winnie's rump-de-dumpus. It was nice to see that the majority of the cookie met with his approval.

The plan is to ice them later. Post-nap and pre-bath. Hopefully that will go easier. I mean how hard could icing cookies be...right?

Pregnant Again

Obviously it has been a bit since I've updated. Because this isn't new news to most. I am with child. Expecting. I've been knocked up.

On a Tuesday in the middle of December I got sick brushing my teeth. That day at lunch I had planed on just enjoying my Slimfast and feeling of pride that I was sticking to my diet. But somehow I found myself eating a school lunch and deciding that a Slimfast was mostly just like chocolate milk and drank it too and then started in on the pile of Christmas treats in the share pile in the teacher's lounge. I felt slightly ashamed of myself, but I had a late lunch that day and with no witnesses I kept it my little secret.

The next day I took a bath and got overheated, which is strange because I typically take baths in what could only be described as "bubbling cauldron hot." And I got sick. I wondered if maybe I was coming down with something.

Thursday I got up and fixed a bowl of raisin bran. One bite...two bites...and three...no no I'm not putting that in my mouth. I could never remember having such filth in a bowl before. Who thought of cereal? Surely it was someone very wicked who was hopefully punished severely. Oh is that an overreaction to cereal? I thought perhaps I should pick up a test. But a dollar store one, because I wasn't going to waste 8 bucks on what was surely the flu.

So I went through the school day and drove up to the Dollar Store and wandered around looking for the tests. I'd seen them in there before, but couldn't find them now. I asked a clerk and now you have to get them from behind the counter. Why? Do they corrupt small children? Do they have special chemicals not allowed to minors? I'm pretty sure Frank could legally buy one if he wanted. Sounds like The Dollar Tree has instituted a nosiness and embarrassment policy. But I digress.

Well, I should tell you that about 2 weeks before this we were sitting in church and a mother arrived a few minutes late with her new baby nestled into her shoulder. He scrunched his face and made baby cuteness and sprayed rainbows and love bugs around our section of church. Babies are nice and all, but they sure make it hard to focus on sermons. And this one was old enough to see us 2 rows back but still small enough to be called an infant. Kermit leaned over and whispered "I want one!" I sighed and rolled my eyes at him and shushed him.

Here was our plan. Frank turns 4. We consider having another.

And so, and I always feel a little bad sharing this part, like it some how takes away from this baby's...value?....something, but we were not trying. I was very good about taking the pill and Frank was still nursing 3-4 times a day. I was on the "mini-pill" because of Frank nursing, but it would appear that it was too mini, because here we are. The point is not that this baby is unwanted, but that it surely is unexpected. But Frank was unexpected. We were so worn from our loss just a couple of months before and had decided not to try and if it happened it happened, and even though the schedule still makes no sense, Frank showed up.

After school that Thursday I ran home and tested. The stick was barely damp before that line showed up. I smacked myself in the forehead. Sounds less sweet than "I burst into tears of rapture and as my sweet weeping continued, bluebirds and squirrels serenaded me." It wasn't like that though.

You know, when I found out with Frank I came out with my head swimming. I told Kermit and he cheered and threw his hand up for a high five. And I started sobbing. I was so terrified about repeating the experience we'd just been through. So a head smack is markedly more positive than that.

When Kermit came home I started grinning. I knew he'd be thrilled. I asked if he recalled what he'd said he wanted in church a few weeks before and he thought and then a huge smile broke across his face and he said "You're pregnant???"He was, of course, thrilled. If ever there was a man who loved babies, he is Kermit.

In the first few days I was annoyed. Who was this creature coming to steal our time away from Frank? Didn't it know that it wasn't supposed to come until Frank had gone through all his littleness? Who did this baby think he was? Or she?

And because I didn't know when this baby had started, I was pretty nervous what with being as big as a house already that perhaps a phone call to TLC's "I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant" would be in order.

I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant is still a little how I feel. This is the part of pregnancy I'm not fond of. You barf. You sleep. You feel blobby and not cute. You drag around feeling dizzy and cry over silly things and have indiscretions with bags of Oreos. (Which after this week I was shocked to climb on the scale to find I was 4 ounces lighter...thanks for the very specific weight chart Wii). I knew with Frank that he was a boy and it would make me made when someone suggested otherwise, but this time I don't know. I remember this feeling of "Who are you in there?" with Frank, but it felt like I had to wait forever to meet him. Right now I'm in week 14, the second trimester! I remember thinking it took forever to have the big ultrasound and find out whether Frank was a Frank or a Franci. Now it's like...4 weeks? eh. No big.

Anyway, soon I settled into the idea of being pregnant...which you know...yeah for me...like I could do anything else. But little visions of Frank as a big brother started floating through my imaginings. Especially if it's a boy! He'd be the best big brother for a boy! They could start in separate rooms but then when they're a little older we'd move them into the same and have them sleep in the nursery and have the connecting room become a play room. And they could share as long as they wished and it could become a game room/study for them when they got to school. Or what if it's a girl? She'd totally need a big brother like Frank! He'd be the best big brother for a girl!"

There was a definite BIGNESS to Frank joining our lives. We were going from being a couple to being a family. And yes we were a family before, but a family with a child felt BIG. So I'm wondering what this one's bigness will be. Maybe it's in siblings? This takes us from a family of three to a different kind of family. You know they define only children by their traits and their experiences. And Frank's going to be redefined. And this one will never be alone. There's a lot to wonder about. The same questions, but they feel a little different now. How will this change us?

What next?

Who are you, inside me?

Potty Gone Wild.

So I've been pleased by Frank's potty progress. He pees on the potty about twice a day. This morning he got up and came out and played for a bit and then asked to potty and sat down and within 6 or 7 minutes he went. Which if you don't know is fast in potty training time.

Then he was dry the rest of the morning. He took a nap and had just a TINY tiny tiny pee in his diaper. Like you couldn't really tell if he had or not. He got up from his nap and we did some things and then he told me he had to go so I put him on the potty and again, very quickly he went. And a large amount.

SO imagine my surprise when I put a clean diaper on him and he pees that almost immediately.

I change it and he's messing with the new diaper...and very soon he's peed it too.

I put another diaper on and go to stir the chili on the stove. When I come back in the room he's stripped down to just his socks, climbed in my chair and peed. I feel like collapsing with exhaustion.

I try to put a new diaper on him. He screams and kicks and is just too crazy for me to get him in a diaper. So I get out the big boy pants.

He thinks they're a great idea.

Put them on....about a minute lter he runs to the potty and sits on it...but was too late. He'd peed the undies.

He refuses to sit for more than 5 minutes and refuses to have a diaper on and so I pull out the whole stack of undies. I get a new pair on. His eyes get big and he rushes to the potty. I pull the undies off and he sits down. They're dry but now he seems to think this is a game and plays get up get down get up get down for like 5 minutes while I am about to go insane. Finally he rushes my rocker which I've cleaned once and don't intend on doing it again and I grab a diaper and yell "SIT OR DIAPER!" and hold a diaper in the air. He laughs maniacally and climbs on the rocker. I go over and start wrestling the diaper on him and he starts kicking me. "You are going to time out if you kick me. That's not nice!" And he looks very serious and I put the diaper on and take the potty out of the room.

He screamed like I'd separated him from his best friend and I collapsed on the couch.

But....it must be accomplished in the next 6 months or he may never train. he'll be going to business meetings in Pampers.

When 2 Lessons Collide

We've been working on 2 skills which my hope is will bring a lot of peace to our house. First is nodding yes. He worked hard to get the move down (though he does stick his hand under his chin to make sure his head is going the right way which is incredibly cute) and we make sure we ask questions to support his answering yes. Does Frank like cheese? YES! YES, Frank likes cheese! Did Frank poo? YES! YES, Frank pooed. Exciting things like that.

Our other focus has been food words. I was thrilled when Frank picked up "Please" and "Thank you" and easily paired them with "more." however soon this started to be a frustration for us both because he'd sign "more" and I'd say "More what?" and he'd sign "More, please," or he'd sign "please" and I'd say "Please, what?" and he'd say "Please, more," which is very polite but not very informative.

So he's learned some very important words like apple and cheese and juice (which isn't a guarantee that he'll get juice but at least he can let me know what he wants. When he wants monkey treats (Curious George fruit snacks) he makes monkey noises and when he wants turkey he gobbles.

I really saw a need for it when he started grunting at me. And I am not fond of being grunted at. So I'd say "You need to tell me what you want. We don't make that noise," or something like that. He asks nicely and then I deliver (for the most part). Then when he gets what he wants I say "Does Frank like cheese?" and he nods yes.

Well last night I fixed him a bowl of olives, a Frank favorite. He ate them all and then nicely asked for more. While I was filling his bowl he started grunting at me and I say "Frank, is that how we get what we want????"

And he is quiet so I turn in time to see him put his little hand under his chin and start nodding "Yes."

Sigh. I think we've missed something somewhere.

Potty Training or That Was Easy.

So yesterday Frank peepeed in the potty, and we almost made it there this morning when he was pooping. So obviously that's taken care of. It's a load...off my mind that he's trained. Gee, and people made it sound so hard.

Truthfully, I'd be fine waiting longer, but he's happy to go in there and sit on his potty and play with his toys when I go. It's helpful that Xmas songs are on the radio and we turn those on and he wiggles around a little. I'm not sure that toys and wiggling have much to do with pottying, but he seems to enjoy it.

He can tell me when he needs/wants a new diaper (Di di? Di di!) and he's interested in the bathroom, which the Pull Ups potty training video said was a sign. Oh speaking of, that video stinks. I was hoping it would be a video for Frank that would make potty training seem like he cool everybody's doing it kind of thing. Instead it's like "If your kid is ready, put her on he potty. Give her a sticker or a treat. The end." Oh really? I had no idea.

This morning he came to me and started looking like he was going to poo and so we rushed to the potty and he had done a little in the diaper so I thought surely there's more to this. I then sat there trying to encourage the whole poop in the potty idea. He then looked at me, made a fake "Urrrrg!" noise and then cracked up. Sigh.

I talked to Santa and he thinks that he might have the elves put together a potty training book for Frank.

But honestly...this is what exites me now? Poo and potties? And this is what seems like a good stoking stuffer? Books about poo and potties? Sigh. This too shall pass.

Jamaica: Wedding

So Saturday morning we played and went to the beach and took a nap and then it was time for the big event! As you will see walking in a straight line isn't an area at which Frank is advanced. He starts out ahead of Colleen...looking good.


Somehow he gets behind her...


And then gets distracted by the decorations and the way the wind felt blowing his curls.

He does make it....eventually.
Aren't they gorgeous!

He leaned her back for a big kiss with a dip.



Frank thought Donna's idea to decorate with balls was truly inspired.

The band at the wedding was the best wedding band I've ever seen. Here he's singing Stir It Up..or more accurately, Steer It Oop, and instructing Donna how to dance.




The wedding was beautiful and I'm pretty sure that noone cares to see more pics of us sitting on the airplane on the way home so this will close out the Jamaica blogs. If you do want to see them, they're on my Facebook. If you want to see some of the professional photos of Peter and Donna's wedding check out this link. http://www.imagexperience.com/

The Unexpected Anger

When I was in 4t or 5th grade we had Colonial Day. We went out to a one room school house and ate out of lunch pails and wrote with quills and pulled taffy and square danced. Imagine my joy when it was my turn to dance with Pud. Yup, that was his nickname. The cool kids nickname was Pud. I wish I could tell you why but he got it before I transferred to that school. And if you think I'm going to put his real name, you're crazy. The last thing I want is for someone to google him and come across what I thought was this humiliating experience.

When it was my turn to dance we joined hands and began to promenade. I was so happy to be there with him that I didn't even mind that he was making faces to his friends, grossed out faces to be dancing with dorky me. But my mom who chaperoned Colonial Day minded, she minded a lot. She swooped in and pulled Pud out of the dance space and yelled at him. I can still see the fire in her eyes as she growled "That is my daughter and you will treat her with respect!"

I was so embarrassed. Couldn't she just understand that I wanted to dance with him, whether or not he was happy about it? That if I could keep a smile about it while he made faces that maybe kids would think we were having fun and I was in on the joke and I'd be friends with him and his cool friends?

This moment came back into my mind this morning while I was washing the dishes. I never expected that at 19 months I would be hit by some unexpected feeling about Frank. People love to tell pregnant ladies that they will be blown away by the love for their child; that they could never imagine the love they'll feel. I was not blown away. I knew before I had Frank about the magnitude of that love. I completely understood it. My breath has never been taken away by the love. I saw that love coming from a mile away and was prepared when it showed up.

But what I wasn't prepared for early on was the worry. When I took Frank out of his carseat I would grip him almost a little too tightly for fear that he'd somehow turn into a soaped up eel that I would be too inept to catch when I dropped him to certain peril on the pavement. When I slept at night I'd awake and rip through the sheets looking for him, sure he'd been smothered, even though he was safe in his crib in his own room.

But I got used to worrying about him and the worry feels mostly manageable now. There are days that I worry more than others but absent from the worry is the shock that I can be so incredibly unsettled. Today though as I think on certain situations I am knocked down by the unexpected anger.

I was unprepared that a 19 month old could have his feelings hurt. And the cry for that is the most heartbreaking cry. I haven't cried when he's had his shots, because I know they're good for him. After the first few weeks I stopped crying when he'd cry because he was hungry or tired or had another need because I knew I could meet those needs. When he throws a tantrum I don't cry because I know that he is either expressing his frustration or looking for attention. But when his feelings are hurt...oh God. And I'm not taking the Lord's name in vain. I really have nowhere to turn with that response but to God.

I can't explain to him why people act the way they do or why the world is how it is. I can't explain thoughtlessness or unkindness. I can't explain why someone wouldn't want to gather him up and snuggle him and say "I've missed you," when they haven't seen him for a while. I can't explain why it doesn't change that the pettiness in daycare doesn't stop when you grow up. I can't explain why when all he wants is to give his love to someone that they'd reject it.

And this new cry sparks an anger in me that is almost uncontrollable. I can tolerate people wronging me. I can talk to friends or to Kermit when people have wronged them and say "Let them be like that. It's only them who they're hurting." But with my own child it's all I can do to remain a civilized human.

I really understand that moment now, where my mom told off Pud. I understand that the fire in her eyes was all the things she felt like saying and was holding back and trying to phrase in a way that was constructive.

I don't agree when people say "You'll understand when you're a parent..." about anything. Someone else could have this understanding without a child, but it has taken Frank to place an index in my life about this anger.

I'm not looking to hear that I must love those who hate me and forgive those who persecute me. I can get and do that fairly easily. But in the moment when someone hurts Frank's feelings....that emotion is overwhelming. Unexpected.