What do you do to get yourself out of a funk? How do you motivate yourself to clean? Do you have any ways of "tricking" yourself? The more tips the better!
A Peek into Our Life
1 hour ago
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Ten minutes
That's the amount of time I give myself as a challenge on days when I'm lazy or tired. I know it sounds ridiculous, but it works, lol! Especially when a mess seems overwhelming to tackle. I promise myself that at the end of 10 minutes, whatever is done, is done and then I can go about my lazy way. I start the timer and start attacking. Most of the time, once I'm in the cleaning groove, I can't stop, lol. So it's a way of psyching myself out, I guess. But other times, once the timer stops, I'm done. I don't know why I felt the need to share, lol.
What do you do to get yourself out of a funk? How do you motivate yourself to clean? Do you have any ways of "tricking" yourself? The more tips the better!
What do you do to get yourself out of a funk? How do you motivate yourself to clean? Do you have any ways of "tricking" yourself? The more tips the better!
Monday, December 7, 2009
Done
While most of my family members and friends await the arrival of their BFP (big fat positive), I cringe just thinking about it. I was damn near heart failure while standing in line the other day, waiting to buy my pregnancy tests. I was hyperventilating because I was two days late.
Some of my family members and friends have already gotten their BFP's and while I'm thrilled beyond words for them, I get a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, hoping that I never see those double lines on a test again.
Is that weird? Abnormal even? I LOVE being a mom to my little Franky. I love it more than I've ever loved anything else in my life. So why does the blood in my veins run a little slower, run a little colder when I think about having another baby? Franky is almost 15 months old. I should feel ready. But I don't. I feel sick. Some part of me thinks Franky will never be "oldest," but forever "only." And honestly, a tiny part of me feels okay with that. Welcomes the thought.
Being that I'm the oldest of five, for most of my life, I always thought I wanted a whole brood of babies, a football team even. I always thought I wanted at least three kids, five being the most. I thought I'd love pregnancy and delivery. I thought wrong. Pregnancy was not kind to me and delivery fucked me royally. While I loved feeling Franky move around inside my belly, I was not a fan of any other part of it. Not the morning sickness, not the Polyhydramnios, not the sleepless nights, not the incessant need to pee, not the goddam c-section. None of it.
Everyone tells me that when I'm ready for baby #2, I'll know it. Mainly, I feel like I've been forcing the idea rather than embrace it. I feel like I'm trying to trick myself into believing that I want more. I don't feel ready. Not now. Maybe not ever.
The more I think about it, the more I feel like Franky might be my only. If he is the only child I ever have, I won't feel deprived. I won't feel like I'm missing out on anything. If anything, because he's my "only," he'll have that much more of me and I won't be spreading myself thin with more babies than I can handle.
I've seen my fair share of horrible moms who keep popping out babies when they can't handle the ones they already have. But I haven't seen an equal amount of moms who have more than two who handle it and juggle it and do it well. I know of ONE mom who has more than two who does it well and whose kids are incredibly well-behaved. One. That's sad. Not that she's an incredible mom, but that she's the only mom I know with multiple kids who can do it and do it well. The rest fall under mediocre.
I know I'm a great mother. I'm not tooting my own horn or being boastful or cocky or arrogant. Motherhood is the one thing in my life that I've been great at consistently without breaking a sweat. I love it and enjoy it and do it well. It's not that I would love any other babies any less or be any less of a mother to them that I am to Franky...I just feel so...disconnected from the idea.
The more thought I give to the idea of having any more babies, the more I feel like I'm done. Is that cynical or depressing? Maybe it is to some, but for me, knowing that Franky is my one and only brings me a sense of clarity and relief and peace. Who knows, maybe God has other plans. Maybe He knows what's right for me. For all I know, He'll bless me with four more. Or maybe He'll know that Franky is never meant to be an "oldest," but always an "only."
While I'm not on birth control, I do use natural family planning, as well as other preventative measures of avoiding a BFP. I am a planner and try to control as much as I can, but inevitably, I know it's in God's hands and I trust that He knows what's best for me and my family.
I've talked about it many times with my husband and I know he wants more. He would love for us to get a BFP now. He's never judged or criticized or tried to coax anything, but I know that deep in his heart, he's disappointed with how I feel. Am I selfish for not including him in my "plans?"
I don't know. For all I know God will intervene and I'll have a BFP next month. I won't cry or scream or stomp my feet. I'll be happy and thankful and blessed. Maybe I'll be ready for Franky to go from "only" to "oldest" once I'm thrust into the situation and can't turn back. For now, all I know is...I'm done.
Some of my family members and friends have already gotten their BFP's and while I'm thrilled beyond words for them, I get a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, hoping that I never see those double lines on a test again.
Is that weird? Abnormal even? I LOVE being a mom to my little Franky. I love it more than I've ever loved anything else in my life. So why does the blood in my veins run a little slower, run a little colder when I think about having another baby? Franky is almost 15 months old. I should feel ready. But I don't. I feel sick. Some part of me thinks Franky will never be "oldest," but forever "only." And honestly, a tiny part of me feels okay with that. Welcomes the thought.
Being that I'm the oldest of five, for most of my life, I always thought I wanted a whole brood of babies, a football team even. I always thought I wanted at least three kids, five being the most. I thought I'd love pregnancy and delivery. I thought wrong. Pregnancy was not kind to me and delivery fucked me royally. While I loved feeling Franky move around inside my belly, I was not a fan of any other part of it. Not the morning sickness, not the Polyhydramnios, not the sleepless nights, not the incessant need to pee, not the goddam c-section. None of it.
Everyone tells me that when I'm ready for baby #2, I'll know it. Mainly, I feel like I've been forcing the idea rather than embrace it. I feel like I'm trying to trick myself into believing that I want more. I don't feel ready. Not now. Maybe not ever.
The more I think about it, the more I feel like Franky might be my only. If he is the only child I ever have, I won't feel deprived. I won't feel like I'm missing out on anything. If anything, because he's my "only," he'll have that much more of me and I won't be spreading myself thin with more babies than I can handle.
I've seen my fair share of horrible moms who keep popping out babies when they can't handle the ones they already have. But I haven't seen an equal amount of moms who have more than two who handle it and juggle it and do it well. I know of ONE mom who has more than two who does it well and whose kids are incredibly well-behaved. One. That's sad. Not that she's an incredible mom, but that she's the only mom I know with multiple kids who can do it and do it well. The rest fall under mediocre.
I know I'm a great mother. I'm not tooting my own horn or being boastful or cocky or arrogant. Motherhood is the one thing in my life that I've been great at consistently without breaking a sweat. I love it and enjoy it and do it well. It's not that I would love any other babies any less or be any less of a mother to them that I am to Franky...I just feel so...disconnected from the idea.
The more thought I give to the idea of having any more babies, the more I feel like I'm done. Is that cynical or depressing? Maybe it is to some, but for me, knowing that Franky is my one and only brings me a sense of clarity and relief and peace. Who knows, maybe God has other plans. Maybe He knows what's right for me. For all I know, He'll bless me with four more. Or maybe He'll know that Franky is never meant to be an "oldest," but always an "only."
While I'm not on birth control, I do use natural family planning, as well as other preventative measures of avoiding a BFP. I am a planner and try to control as much as I can, but inevitably, I know it's in God's hands and I trust that He knows what's best for me and my family.
I've talked about it many times with my husband and I know he wants more. He would love for us to get a BFP now. He's never judged or criticized or tried to coax anything, but I know that deep in his heart, he's disappointed with how I feel. Am I selfish for not including him in my "plans?"
I don't know. For all I know God will intervene and I'll have a BFP next month. I won't cry or scream or stomp my feet. I'll be happy and thankful and blessed. Maybe I'll be ready for Franky to go from "only" to "oldest" once I'm thrust into the situation and can't turn back. For now, all I know is...I'm done.
Saturday, December 5, 2009
Do it, according to your own rules.
I wanna give a disclaimer before I start on this one: I am not a parenting expert and do not claim to be. I am just a parent, baring her soul (or something along those lines).
A really good friend of mine (who is expecting her first) asked me what the hardest part of being a parent was. I felt like I should have known the answer to that right away, like it should have poured out of my mouth with the same ease as washing my hands. But it wasn't. I had to think about it for a minute. What's the hardest part?Is it the sometimes sleepless nights? The loss of me time? The around-the-clock rhythm of changing diapers, giving baths and making food? The tantrums or the messes made or the act of juggling duties and multi-tasking? Nope, it was none of the above. I explained that, to me, all of those things are what make it all worth it. Those are the easy things. For me, the hardest part about parenting is the feeling of having to defend my actions or decisions. Having to justify why I do things one way when the vast majority do it differently.
For most of my life I have gone against the grain. I have rebelled against the status quo. Not that there's anything wrong with being normal, but "normal" just never worked for me. Still doesn't. Maybe I just look at things differently, view things from the opposite side of the fence. Who knows. I just know that what some may view as a rebellion is what I call my "normal." So it's no surprise that my "normal" extended to motherhood.
While most are following the advice of Dr. Such-and-such or Dr. This-and-That or the author of "this" book or expert on "that" technique, I follow another "expert" or whatever you want to call her. She's the voice inside my head, or maybe she's the voice inside my heart. Who knows. She's called my Intuition, and all mother's have it. Even the shitty mother's have it, whether they choose to listen to it or not.
I'm a firm believer in parenting according to my own rules. I listen to my child and follow his cues. I never did the "cry it out" or the strict schedule or the forcing anything upon him. From the moment he was born, I followed his cues and listened to what he was "telling" me. If he was hungry, I fed him, regardless of what time it was or how long it had been since his last feeding. Fuck the schedule or the stupid piece of paper I'm supposed to write it on. Or, on the flip-side, if it was the "time he's supposed to eat" cuz it's been two hours since his last feeding, but he wasn't hungry, I didn't force the boob on him. I'm the same way now. Some days he eats everything in sight. Other days he subsists on a fry or two, and that's fine. Hell, if I'm not hungry, I'll be damned if someone is gonna shove a fork in my mouth.
If he was tired, I let him sleep, despite his last nap or how it will affect the time he sleeps later. Fuck it. I listened to him. When he cried, I picked him up, even though some "experts" will tell you that doing so will spoil them or make it difficult to ever put them down. Bull shit. I held my son for most of his early months because I'm his MOTHER. He wanted me, to be near me, at all times. And you know what? I loved every moment of it. Savored and treasured it because I know that one day he'll be pulling away from as hard as I'm trying to reel him in. One day he'll be too big for cuddles and kisses. The "experts" would be horrified to know that I baby wore for damn near the entire first four months of Franky's life. And you wanna know what? He is an independent little guy. In every sense of the word. He isn't whiny or clingy or needy because I held him too much. I met his needs. He is independent and confident and knows that I am just an arm's length away if he needs me. So fuck you, Mr. Expert. My kid is independent and well adjusted and has no abandonment issues, despite what you told me.
I guess most of the reason that I feel the way I do is because it seems like every second Tuesday of the month there's a different "expert" with a different "way" of doing things. Ummm, thanks, but no thanks. I'll continue to parent according to my own rules. I'll continue to listen to my instincts as well as my child.
My argument may be one-sided. You may think, "Oh yeah sure, lady. That's easy for you to say when you don't have a job outside your home." Okay, fair statement. Yes, as a SAHM, I do have the luxury of a lax schedule, of not having to follow a regimented schedule. BUT I do know many mom's who don't follow a strict routine and do things according to how they see fit who do work outside the home.
Did I tell my friend to flip the "experts" the bird? No, I didn't, even though I wanted to. Instead, I told her to listen to that little voice inside her head and to follow the signs her baby gives her. I told her instead, to give the bird to those who question her parenting because she is the expert, and no one will know her baby better than her.
A really good friend of mine (who is expecting her first) asked me what the hardest part of being a parent was. I felt like I should have known the answer to that right away, like it should have poured out of my mouth with the same ease as washing my hands. But it wasn't. I had to think about it for a minute. What's the hardest part?Is it the sometimes sleepless nights? The loss of me time? The around-the-clock rhythm of changing diapers, giving baths and making food? The tantrums or the messes made or the act of juggling duties and multi-tasking? Nope, it was none of the above. I explained that, to me, all of those things are what make it all worth it. Those are the easy things. For me, the hardest part about parenting is the feeling of having to defend my actions or decisions. Having to justify why I do things one way when the vast majority do it differently.
For most of my life I have gone against the grain. I have rebelled against the status quo. Not that there's anything wrong with being normal, but "normal" just never worked for me. Still doesn't. Maybe I just look at things differently, view things from the opposite side of the fence. Who knows. I just know that what some may view as a rebellion is what I call my "normal." So it's no surprise that my "normal" extended to motherhood.
While most are following the advice of Dr. Such-and-such or Dr. This-and-That or the author of "this" book or expert on "that" technique, I follow another "expert" or whatever you want to call her. She's the voice inside my head, or maybe she's the voice inside my heart. Who knows. She's called my Intuition, and all mother's have it. Even the shitty mother's have it, whether they choose to listen to it or not.
I'm a firm believer in parenting according to my own rules. I listen to my child and follow his cues. I never did the "cry it out" or the strict schedule or the forcing anything upon him. From the moment he was born, I followed his cues and listened to what he was "telling" me. If he was hungry, I fed him, regardless of what time it was or how long it had been since his last feeding. Fuck the schedule or the stupid piece of paper I'm supposed to write it on. Or, on the flip-side, if it was the "time he's supposed to eat" cuz it's been two hours since his last feeding, but he wasn't hungry, I didn't force the boob on him. I'm the same way now. Some days he eats everything in sight. Other days he subsists on a fry or two, and that's fine. Hell, if I'm not hungry, I'll be damned if someone is gonna shove a fork in my mouth.
If he was tired, I let him sleep, despite his last nap or how it will affect the time he sleeps later. Fuck it. I listened to him. When he cried, I picked him up, even though some "experts" will tell you that doing so will spoil them or make it difficult to ever put them down. Bull shit. I held my son for most of his early months because I'm his MOTHER. He wanted me, to be near me, at all times. And you know what? I loved every moment of it. Savored and treasured it because I know that one day he'll be pulling away from as hard as I'm trying to reel him in. One day he'll be too big for cuddles and kisses. The "experts" would be horrified to know that I baby wore for damn near the entire first four months of Franky's life. And you wanna know what? He is an independent little guy. In every sense of the word. He isn't whiny or clingy or needy because I held him too much. I met his needs. He is independent and confident and knows that I am just an arm's length away if he needs me. So fuck you, Mr. Expert. My kid is independent and well adjusted and has no abandonment issues, despite what you told me.
I guess most of the reason that I feel the way I do is because it seems like every second Tuesday of the month there's a different "expert" with a different "way" of doing things. Ummm, thanks, but no thanks. I'll continue to parent according to my own rules. I'll continue to listen to my instincts as well as my child.
My argument may be one-sided. You may think, "Oh yeah sure, lady. That's easy for you to say when you don't have a job outside your home." Okay, fair statement. Yes, as a SAHM, I do have the luxury of a lax schedule, of not having to follow a regimented schedule. BUT I do know many mom's who don't follow a strict routine and do things according to how they see fit who do work outside the home.
Did I tell my friend to flip the "experts" the bird? No, I didn't, even though I wanted to. Instead, I told her to listen to that little voice inside her head and to follow the signs her baby gives her. I told her instead, to give the bird to those who question her parenting because she is the expert, and no one will know her baby better than her.
No shame
I have not an ounce of shame when it comes to purchasing certain, ahem, items from any given grocery, dollar or convenience store. Or a wholesale store or a pharmacy for that matter.
Why is it that any time you put said items on the counter or conveyor belt to be rung up, the person behind the register always gives you a funny look, like you're doing something naughty or sneaky or wrong? Or, depending on the item, and the gender of the ringer-upper, you either get a "way to go" look or a smirk? Or even worse, the avoidance? The "I won't make eye contact with you cuz it's too awkward" avoidance. Argh, just effin' ring me up already, dude!!!
I guess you're wondering what "items" I'm rambling about, right? Well, mostly, condoms and pregnancy tests. But the category isn't limited to those items alone. They can also include tampons, KY, or feminine wash.
And it doesn't matter how old you are either, the looks are always the same. Yes, at 25 I still get the sideways glance from cashiers whenever I buy condoms that I did when I was 18. Same freaking look. Like I'm doing something wrong. And the fact that at times my husband or my son are with me make no difference.
However, if my husband purchases them, the guy behind the counter gives him a "high five" kinda look. Yeah, real mature buddy, real mature. Uh-huh, you guessed it right. The man handing you his debit card while his wife wrangles a diaper bag on one arm and a toddler on the other is definitely getting lucky, hence the condoms. But I digress.
Or the woman standing at the blinking number in check-out lane number 3 yesterday, who kinda smirked as she rung up my pregnancy tests and looked relieved as she handed them to me (probably thanking God it wasn't her). Um, excuse me, I have no scarlet-tinted cheeks or a thread of embarrassment in my soul. I will not feel ashamed to purchase my pee sticks thankyouverymuch. And for the record, NO, I am not pregnant, but I was two days late (and I'm never late) so I wanted to make sure. Aunt Flo made her ghastly appearance about two minutes before I grew the balls to pee on the stick. Yep, I was just the teeeeeeeniest bit nervous and damn near vomited when I looked at my little calendar to find that, gasp, I shoulda been bleedin' two days ago. But that's neither here nor there cuz I'm a bleedin' and there is no bun in this oven. Not for a while, anyway. Ahem, once again, hence the condoms Mr. Convenience Store Clerk.
Do you all know I'm talking about or am I just a load of paranoid crazy walking around?
Why is it that any time you put said items on the counter or conveyor belt to be rung up, the person behind the register always gives you a funny look, like you're doing something naughty or sneaky or wrong? Or, depending on the item, and the gender of the ringer-upper, you either get a "way to go" look or a smirk? Or even worse, the avoidance? The "I won't make eye contact with you cuz it's too awkward" avoidance. Argh, just effin' ring me up already, dude!!!
I guess you're wondering what "items" I'm rambling about, right? Well, mostly, condoms and pregnancy tests. But the category isn't limited to those items alone. They can also include tampons, KY, or feminine wash.
And it doesn't matter how old you are either, the looks are always the same. Yes, at 25 I still get the sideways glance from cashiers whenever I buy condoms that I did when I was 18. Same freaking look. Like I'm doing something wrong. And the fact that at times my husband or my son are with me make no difference.
However, if my husband purchases them, the guy behind the counter gives him a "high five" kinda look. Yeah, real mature buddy, real mature. Uh-huh, you guessed it right. The man handing you his debit card while his wife wrangles a diaper bag on one arm and a toddler on the other is definitely getting lucky, hence the condoms. But I digress.
Or the woman standing at the blinking number in check-out lane number 3 yesterday, who kinda smirked as she rung up my pregnancy tests and looked relieved as she handed them to me (probably thanking God it wasn't her). Um, excuse me, I have no scarlet-tinted cheeks or a thread of embarrassment in my soul. I will not feel ashamed to purchase my pee sticks thankyouverymuch. And for the record, NO, I am not pregnant, but I was two days late (and I'm never late) so I wanted to make sure. Aunt Flo made her ghastly appearance about two minutes before I grew the balls to pee on the stick. Yep, I was just the teeeeeeeniest bit nervous and damn near vomited when I looked at my little calendar to find that, gasp, I shoulda been bleedin' two days ago. But that's neither here nor there cuz I'm a bleedin' and there is no bun in this oven. Not for a while, anyway. Ahem, once again, hence the condoms Mr. Convenience Store Clerk.
Do you all know I'm talking about or am I just a load of paranoid crazy walking around?
Friday, December 4, 2009
ER visit
I never prepared myself for the scares or worries that would come along with parenthood. We've had a few scares with Franky already, the most recent, just a few nights ago when he tore his frenulum. Or the last time we had to take him to the ER when he was five months old cuz my sister dropped him.
Needless to say, I am no stranger to the scares. What I am a stranger to is being alone when Franky gets hurt. Any time he has fallen and hurt himself or bumped himself someone else has always been around to calm me down or let me know he isn't hurt or that he's okay. Today was different. Today I was alone and flipped into panic mode.
Franky and I were in the living room, he in his Pooh chair and me at the computer desk. Bear had to go potty, so I went to let him out. I hadn't even opened the back door when I heard a loud THUD. Then nothing. I ran into the living room to see Franky lying face down on the floor, not making any noise. I picked him up and he was doing one of those silent cries. His mouth was bleeding, so I tilted his head back and saw that he had torn the part of his frenulum that was healing. He still wasn't making any noise so I blew air in his face, which caused him to take in a deep breath, then he started screaming. I looked at his face and saw that a huge goose egg was starting to form on his forehead. I kid you not, in about 30 seconds it went from just a little red bump to a huge purple knot that was about two inches across and an inch sticking out. I grabbed my phone to dial 911 but when I pressed send I dropped the phone. I picked it up then pressed send again and it started dialing the first number on my call list. I looked back at Franky and he had calmed down but was acting like he wanted to go to sleep. I then remembered that I dropped Ryan off so I had our car. I didn't even take the time to put a jacket on Franky or myself. I grabbed the keys, got us in the car and drove full speed to the ER by our house.
We got there and they checked him out. They took his temperature and blood pressure, then looked in his eyes, ears and nose. The ER doc said his pupils were dilating and that other than the hematoma on his forehead, he looked fine, but to take him back if he starts to act confused or if anything changes. She also told me to wake him up every few hours to make sure he's alert and recognizes us. As long as he continues to act normally, he'll be fine, but the hematoma will take some time to go away.
I am soooo thankful that he is okay, but still pretty shaken up about how hard he knocked his head. I'm still cursing our stupid hard wood floors and seriously considering carpeting the whole house because of how many times Franky has hurt himself by sliding or falling and bumping his head. Had I known when we bought the house and renovated it that we would have a baby so soon, I would have put carpet down instead of refinishing the floors. They are dangerous. He is constantly slipping or sliding or falling and smacking his head right on the hard wood.
These pictures honestly don't do the hematoma justice. It looks a lot worse in person than it does in pictures. I told my husband that people are going to start thinking we abuse him or something for as much as he gets hurt on these stupid floors...all I know is I'm thankful to God he's okay...
Needless to say, I am no stranger to the scares. What I am a stranger to is being alone when Franky gets hurt. Any time he has fallen and hurt himself or bumped himself someone else has always been around to calm me down or let me know he isn't hurt or that he's okay. Today was different. Today I was alone and flipped into panic mode.
Franky and I were in the living room, he in his Pooh chair and me at the computer desk. Bear had to go potty, so I went to let him out. I hadn't even opened the back door when I heard a loud THUD. Then nothing. I ran into the living room to see Franky lying face down on the floor, not making any noise. I picked him up and he was doing one of those silent cries. His mouth was bleeding, so I tilted his head back and saw that he had torn the part of his frenulum that was healing. He still wasn't making any noise so I blew air in his face, which caused him to take in a deep breath, then he started screaming. I looked at his face and saw that a huge goose egg was starting to form on his forehead. I kid you not, in about 30 seconds it went from just a little red bump to a huge purple knot that was about two inches across and an inch sticking out. I grabbed my phone to dial 911 but when I pressed send I dropped the phone. I picked it up then pressed send again and it started dialing the first number on my call list. I looked back at Franky and he had calmed down but was acting like he wanted to go to sleep. I then remembered that I dropped Ryan off so I had our car. I didn't even take the time to put a jacket on Franky or myself. I grabbed the keys, got us in the car and drove full speed to the ER by our house.
We got there and they checked him out. They took his temperature and blood pressure, then looked in his eyes, ears and nose. The ER doc said his pupils were dilating and that other than the hematoma on his forehead, he looked fine, but to take him back if he starts to act confused or if anything changes. She also told me to wake him up every few hours to make sure he's alert and recognizes us. As long as he continues to act normally, he'll be fine, but the hematoma will take some time to go away.
I am soooo thankful that he is okay, but still pretty shaken up about how hard he knocked his head. I'm still cursing our stupid hard wood floors and seriously considering carpeting the whole house because of how many times Franky has hurt himself by sliding or falling and bumping his head. Had I known when we bought the house and renovated it that we would have a baby so soon, I would have put carpet down instead of refinishing the floors. They are dangerous. He is constantly slipping or sliding or falling and smacking his head right on the hard wood.
These pictures honestly don't do the hematoma justice. It looks a lot worse in person than it does in pictures. I told my husband that people are going to start thinking we abuse him or something for as much as he gets hurt on these stupid floors...all I know is I'm thankful to God he's okay...
Five Question Friday
1. Favorite gift you are GIVING this year?
This may sound really cheesy, but my favorite gift, always, is the one I've been given: my son. As far as my favorite gift that I'm giving...hmmm...to be honest, I've only barely started my Christmas shopping, so I'm not sure, lol. I know some of my favorites are the gifts for my son, baby sister, niece and nephew.
2. How many parties are you attending between now and Christmas?
So far, two. One at my FIL's work and a family one on my hubby's side of the family.
3. What is your favorite Christmas song?
Carol of the Bells. There's something beautiful and somewhat spooky about it that I love.
4. Who was your favorite elementary school teacher and why?
Mr. Dunn, my 5th grade teacher. He was the coolest, ever.
5. If you had a choice to live in any other period of time (other than now) what era would you choose and why?
Oh wow, there are a few! I would have loved to live anywhere from the 1920's - 1960's, or during the Medieval or Victorian eras.
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Six years ago...
...on this very day, I met the man I now call my husband. Actually, I met him at around 5:30 pm on Tues, Dec 2, 2003. So technically, six years ago, at this very moment, I hadn't met him yet, lol. But that's only if we're talking specifics ;-) Crazy how much has changed since then...
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Homeschooling
From a very early age, I knew I wanted to homeschool my kids. I had a positive homeschooling experience during parts of my junior and senior years in high school. I loved the freedom and flexibility that came with it, as well as going at my own speed.It is something I am seriously considering doing with Franky and any future babies we have.
My cousin has had her son in private schools since he started school and said she loves it as much as he does. My main two problems with private schools are 1. the hefty tuition 2. the religious aspect. I have yet to find a private school in my area that isn't based around religion. I'm not an athiest. I do believe in God, I just follow a more spiritual path than any specific religion.
My question is, do any of you mommies home school or have your kids in private schools? What are the pros/cons in your opinions?
My cousin has had her son in private schools since he started school and said she loves it as much as he does. My main two problems with private schools are 1. the hefty tuition 2. the religious aspect. I have yet to find a private school in my area that isn't based around religion. I'm not an athiest. I do believe in God, I just follow a more spiritual path than any specific religion.
My question is, do any of you mommies home school or have your kids in private schools? What are the pros/cons in your opinions?
Torn Frenulum
I'd never heard of that word until last night. And, to be honest, I wish I wasn't in a situation where I had to learn of it's meaning. What is a frenulum, you ask? I found the best definition of what it is here:
"The Labial Frenum is a little tag of tissue in the center of the
upper and the lower lip that attaches the lip to the gums."
Franky loves to run around and play and toss his toys all over the place in the living room and dining/play room. Because we have no carpet or rugs and the floors are all either hardwood or tile, he slips and slides quite often. Typically, we let him run around with bare feet because the floors aren't cold. But last night they were, so I left his socks on.
As he ran to pick up his giant bouncy ball, he tripped, fell and face-planted right into the edge of the Lego basket we had just gotten him a few hours earlier.
As he ran to pick up his giant bouncy ball, he tripped, fell and face-planted right into the edge of the Lego basket we had just gotten him a few hours earlier.
Franky is a pretty tough kid, so whenever he gets hurt he hardly lets out more than just a loud whine. Well, not last night. He cried. Hard. And for a long time. Right after I saw him fall, I rushed over and picked him up. He had blood literally pouring out of his mouth. I thought maybe he'd bitten his tongue. I looked and didn't see any damage to the tongue. I grabbed lots and lots of paper towel and soft kitchen towels to soak up the blood, which was now splattered all over my shirt and Franky's. A good ten minutes passed before Ry and I were able to stop the bleeding and able to get a good look inside his mouth. Upon closer inspection, I saw a decent sized gash along his gums and right through the side and bottom of his upper frenulum.
Let me tell you, that was pretty scary. He never cries like that and has never gotten hurt where he gushed blood before. My immediate response was to want to take him to the ER for stitches, but apparently wounds like that should be left to heal on their own.
Once we got the bleeding stopped and Franky calmed down a bit, we let him eat a popsicle to numb the area up and make him more comfortable. Right after he finished his popsicle he knocked out. Poor little guy.
He woke up this morning and acted like it never happened. He has a slightly fattened upper lip and slightly bruised nose, but other than that, he's doing well. He's eating normally too, which is nice.
I have a feeling "boo boo's" like this are just a sign of what's to come as my baby boy turns into a big boy.
Saturday, November 28, 2009
O Christmas Tree! O Christmas Tree!
Have I mentioned I love the holiday season? I love everything about it. The cold, the smell of pine trees, putting up and decorating the Christmas tree while listening to Christmas music, midnight mass, exchanging gifts, the first snow of the year, the bulky sweaters, hot cocoa, everything!
I've been fighting the urge to put up my Christmas Tree for over a week now. The dilemma? Furniture arrangement and baby-proofing. Last year, we had different couches and Franky was too little to get into anything. This year, we are going from one sofa to two, and Franky can get into everything.
Because we bought a house just months before getting married, every extra cent that didn't go to the wedding went into the house renovations. So, when decorating time came around, we were empty-pocketed. So, what did we do in our time of sofa-need? We went driving around on garbage night and garbage picked them from someone in our neighborhood. I have no shame in admitting that. They were in excellent condition. I am amazed at what people in my neighborhood call "garbage." Most of the time the stuff laying at their curb isn't even worthy of being called "used" cuz it's in excellent condition.
I'll give you an example. A few weeks ago, Ryan and I went to Meijer in search of a toy box for Franky's play room. We found the perfect one, but it came with a hefty price tag. We decided to just make the most of our current system: a large storage bin with handles. As we were about to pull into our driveway, we noticed a toybox sitting at the curb, just one street away from us. We shoved it in the trunk and brought it home, but not before we noticed a Little Tikes kitchen a few houses away from that. So we grabbed that too. They were in excellent condition. Inside the toy box was a brand new shopping cart cover! Even though it was blue and perfect, I gave it to my MIL, cuz we had just purchased one for Franky the week before. I spent the better part of 3 1/2 hours scrubbing and cleaning both items the next morning. We kept the toy box and gave the kitchen to my baby sister <3
Anyway, my point is, people throw away perfect good things all the time. Hubby and I don't venture out on garbage night often. Typically once or twice a year just to see what's out there.
So, the sofas we garbage-picked, while they were in excellent condition when we got them, they were not in excellent condition when we put them out at our own curb a year later. Why? Because my 80 lb pitbull/shepherd mix who sheds like crazy thought they were her dog beds. The were filthy, smelly and covered in fur by the time we got rid of them.
It just so happens that our neighbors down the street had a sofa laying at their curb on the same night we put ours out. So what did hubby and I do? We walked our butts out there in the middle of the freezing cold, snowy night and carried the thing home, lol.
But, now it's time to bid farewell to this too. Not because it's in bad shape. It's in great shape. But only because we are getting hubby's grandmother's sofas and they will fit our lifestyle more practically. Now we'll have lots of places for visitors to sit.
So, back to my original point. I can't put up the tree yet, because I don't know how I'm gonna set up the living room once we have the couches here. And because we have no ornaments. I gave ours away to a friend because they were glass and shattered once they hit the hardwood. So out they went. Now I'm keeping my eyes peeled for plastic ones that are nice and safe. And rather than use hooks, I'm thinking about tying them to the tree branches with ribbon. As far as keeping Franky away from the tree, that's where the furniture will come into play. I'll find a way to block it off with the love seat and the coffee table. I'll figure it out. And I'll make sure I post lots of pictures of the final result, lol.
Okay, I'm done rambling...for now, lol. See what happens when I'm a blogging lazy ass? I have too much to catch up on!
Oh, for a Franky fix: he has 8 teeth, a head full of crazy curls that get crazier and longer by the day, he loves taking things out of things and putting them back in (like baby wipes and kleenex) and he loves sleeping next to Bear. More to come soon!
I've been fighting the urge to put up my Christmas Tree for over a week now. The dilemma? Furniture arrangement and baby-proofing. Last year, we had different couches and Franky was too little to get into anything. This year, we are going from one sofa to two, and Franky can get into everything.
Because we bought a house just months before getting married, every extra cent that didn't go to the wedding went into the house renovations. So, when decorating time came around, we were empty-pocketed. So, what did we do in our time of sofa-need? We went driving around on garbage night and garbage picked them from someone in our neighborhood. I have no shame in admitting that. They were in excellent condition. I am amazed at what people in my neighborhood call "garbage." Most of the time the stuff laying at their curb isn't even worthy of being called "used" cuz it's in excellent condition.
I'll give you an example. A few weeks ago, Ryan and I went to Meijer in search of a toy box for Franky's play room. We found the perfect one, but it came with a hefty price tag. We decided to just make the most of our current system: a large storage bin with handles. As we were about to pull into our driveway, we noticed a toybox sitting at the curb, just one street away from us. We shoved it in the trunk and brought it home, but not before we noticed a Little Tikes kitchen a few houses away from that. So we grabbed that too. They were in excellent condition. Inside the toy box was a brand new shopping cart cover! Even though it was blue and perfect, I gave it to my MIL, cuz we had just purchased one for Franky the week before. I spent the better part of 3 1/2 hours scrubbing and cleaning both items the next morning. We kept the toy box and gave the kitchen to my baby sister <3
Anyway, my point is, people throw away perfect good things all the time. Hubby and I don't venture out on garbage night often. Typically once or twice a year just to see what's out there.
So, the sofas we garbage-picked, while they were in excellent condition when we got them, they were not in excellent condition when we put them out at our own curb a year later. Why? Because my 80 lb pitbull/shepherd mix who sheds like crazy thought they were her dog beds. The were filthy, smelly and covered in fur by the time we got rid of them.
It just so happens that our neighbors down the street had a sofa laying at their curb on the same night we put ours out. So what did hubby and I do? We walked our butts out there in the middle of the freezing cold, snowy night and carried the thing home, lol.
But, now it's time to bid farewell to this too. Not because it's in bad shape. It's in great shape. But only because we are getting hubby's grandmother's sofas and they will fit our lifestyle more practically. Now we'll have lots of places for visitors to sit.
So, back to my original point. I can't put up the tree yet, because I don't know how I'm gonna set up the living room once we have the couches here. And because we have no ornaments. I gave ours away to a friend because they were glass and shattered once they hit the hardwood. So out they went. Now I'm keeping my eyes peeled for plastic ones that are nice and safe. And rather than use hooks, I'm thinking about tying them to the tree branches with ribbon. As far as keeping Franky away from the tree, that's where the furniture will come into play. I'll find a way to block it off with the love seat and the coffee table. I'll figure it out. And I'll make sure I post lots of pictures of the final result, lol.
Okay, I'm done rambling...for now, lol. See what happens when I'm a blogging lazy ass? I have too much to catch up on!
Oh, for a Franky fix: he has 8 teeth, a head full of crazy curls that get crazier and longer by the day, he loves taking things out of things and putting them back in (like baby wipes and kleenex) and he loves sleeping next to Bear. More to come soon!
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