Just a little something I snapped this morning.
May 23, 2011
May 20, 2011
More Three Month Pics
Oh, Sadie...you are just too cute.
I call her Bright Eyes. She just sparkles when she smiles.
But, boy is she a daddy's girl. She's the spitting image of her birthfather, Roman, except with birthmama's pretty eyelashes. It's hard to see them in this photo - she's all wiggly these days and hard to capture in a still shot.
See the photo below? Her hair looks like that most of the time. Actually...all the time. I wet it down for some of the blog photos. This is her natural bouffant.
While awake, Miss Sadie prefers to be in her Jolly Jumper. All her wiggling makes her hard to hold onto. But she'd rather be standing anyway.
Then again, a mama is not much competition when it comes to the entertaining antics of a three-year-old boy:
When she's not in the jumper, Sadie spends a fair amount of time in this contraption.
The little stinker can turn the pages of the plastic book. REALLY! I can hardly believe it.
And, yes, she brings a whole lotta love to the household.
I call her Bright Eyes. She just sparkles when she smiles.
But, boy is she a daddy's girl. She's the spitting image of her birthfather, Roman, except with birthmama's pretty eyelashes. It's hard to see them in this photo - she's all wiggly these days and hard to capture in a still shot.
See the photo below? Her hair looks like that most of the time. Actually...all the time. I wet it down for some of the blog photos. This is her natural bouffant.
While awake, Miss Sadie prefers to be in her Jolly Jumper. All her wiggling makes her hard to hold onto. But she'd rather be standing anyway.
Then again, a mama is not much competition when it comes to the entertaining antics of a three-year-old boy:
When she's not in the jumper, Sadie spends a fair amount of time in this contraption.
The little stinker can turn the pages of the plastic book. REALLY! I can hardly believe it.
And, yes, she brings a whole lotta love to the household.
Sadie's Three-Month Milestones
What a big girl! She has so much personality right now.
Weight: 12 pounds
Sadie can...
- smile and giggle or coo
- smile back at you when you smile at her
- smile spontaneously
- squeal in delight
- sit up in her supportive chair
- sit up if you support her hips
- lie on her stomach and support her upper body with her arms
- completely lift her head up in any direction while lying on either her front or her back
- bear weight on her legs if you help her stand
- notice if Mama enters the room
- reach for an object and try to grab or hit it
- scoot off the end of the changing table
- sleep for six hours at a time (yay!)
- coo and gurgle
- bounce in her jumper in the doorway
- roll over
Want to see how far Sadie's come?
Here is her Two-Month Update and her One-Month Update.
**Note: I am photographing Sadie each month in this chair. Look at past months to see how she's grown!
May 19, 2011
Aw, Poop!
WARNING: If you are not a parent or a medical professional, it is highly recommended you avoid reading the following post until you have, at the very least, spent three months raising a child.
It started out kinda funny. Little P took his first errant poop (post potty training) out in the garden - little bum hanging off the edge of a raised garden bed. It grossed Mama out, and some words were said about the appropriate place for poop. But Mama did not overreact. Mama was hoping that, if this was an attention-getting device, the lack of drama would kill any future overtures.
But no.
The next two adventuresome poops also occurred in the garden...and Papa dealt with the matter in his own way. Then came a series of poops in the overnight diaper some time after 7:00 in the morning. And finally...
Little P pooped in the plastic toy bin in his bedroom.
Really.
See, sometimes, when he is out-of-control or too wild or fake crying or screaming, or refusing to wear underwear, Little P is asked to spend some time in his room calming down or playing by himself until he is ready to sweetly (wearing underwear) rejoin other folks in the house. And sometimes he finds ways to show his displeasure. Prior to these recent pooping incidents, he would tear books. But that's another post.
Papa assisted in the clean-up of the bin while Mama fumed in another part of the house. And two days later...
Little P pooped in the plastic bug bucket in his room - the one that has a lid that is completely a magnifying glass. Does anyone want to know what poop looks like magnified 50 times? I thought not.
So the whole thing went down like this:
Mama is sitting in the baby room, rocking and feeding Sadie. Little P was sent to his room for a little "calm down" time.
Suddenly he appears in the doorway with a small African drum hanging around his neck and no pants or underwear on.
LP: I need you.
Mama: I will be happy to talk to you when you are wearing underwear.
LP: There's poo-poo in my room.
Mama detaches the bottle from Sadie's lips, places her in her crib, and heads towards Benjamin's room. Fast.
LP: Wait! No! Don't go in my bedroom! No, no, no, no no!
He races to his closed bedroom door and tries to block it. Mama swoops past him and into the room.
It smells like sh**.
Mama scans the room and spots it - magnified 50x in the clear plastic bug bucket. We will not even go into all the things that ran through Mama's head. Through all the things she wanted to say but did not, in an effort to be a self-controlled, effective parent.
Instead, she grabs the bucket and marches into the bathroom.
Mama: Come in the bathroom, please.
LP enters, sucking on his fingers and looking worried. Mama sets the bucket on the floor next to the toilet and opens the lid. The poop is no longer magnified, but the smell is greater than ever. Mama swallows a gag.
Mama: Here's the deal. Whenever you poop in something other than the toilet, you have to clean it up.
Mama covers the poop with tissue so as to make it easier to pick up.
LP: No, Mama! No! Waaaaaaaa-aaaaaaaa. (Fierce sucking on the fingers, snot running, wet face.)
Mama: Yes. It is your responsibility to take care of your messes. If you choose to poop somewhere besides the toilet, you are responsbile for cleaning it up.
LP: I can't! You do it! Waaaa-aaaaaaaaa.
**NOTE: Papa arrives home for lunch. He never knows what he is going to walk in on. He watches from the stairway, holding back laughter.
Mama: I am happy to wait here until you are ready. (Mama gets comfortable sitting on the edge of the bathtub.)
Some time passes, much snot is rubbed across Little P's face by the back of his hand. Minutes go by as he stares at the bucket with dread.
Mama: Do you need help picking it up?
LP: Yeah.
Mama reaches for his hand and puts both of their hands on the toilet papered poo. Little P panics. He thought that he could get Mama to do it for him. He whimpers and tries to tug his hand away. Mama is stronger.
With one of Mama's hands, and one of Little P's hands, the poop is lifted into the toilet. Both Mama and Little P end up with poop on their fingers.
LP starts yelling about the poop. He is distressed by seeing it on his fingers.
Mama: OK, now it's time to wash our hands.
Hands are scrubbed, a small bottom is wiped, the toilet is flushed, but the yucky bucket remains. Little P takes it down to the utility sink where he puts dish soap in it and fills it with water to soak.
LP: (after the ordeal is over, cheerfully says...) I'm sorry for pooping in my room, Mama.
Mama: I forgive you. That's no fun, is it.
Little P: No way!
Let us hope the problem is solved.
It started out kinda funny. Little P took his first errant poop (post potty training) out in the garden - little bum hanging off the edge of a raised garden bed. It grossed Mama out, and some words were said about the appropriate place for poop. But Mama did not overreact. Mama was hoping that, if this was an attention-getting device, the lack of drama would kill any future overtures.
But no.
The next two adventuresome poops also occurred in the garden...and Papa dealt with the matter in his own way. Then came a series of poops in the overnight diaper some time after 7:00 in the morning. And finally...
Little P pooped in the plastic toy bin in his bedroom.
Really.
See, sometimes, when he is out-of-control or too wild or fake crying or screaming, or refusing to wear underwear, Little P is asked to spend some time in his room calming down or playing by himself until he is ready to sweetly (wearing underwear) rejoin other folks in the house. And sometimes he finds ways to show his displeasure. Prior to these recent pooping incidents, he would tear books. But that's another post.
Papa assisted in the clean-up of the bin while Mama fumed in another part of the house. And two days later...
Little P pooped in the plastic bug bucket in his room - the one that has a lid that is completely a magnifying glass. Does anyone want to know what poop looks like magnified 50 times? I thought not.
So the whole thing went down like this:
Mama is sitting in the baby room, rocking and feeding Sadie. Little P was sent to his room for a little "calm down" time.
Suddenly he appears in the doorway with a small African drum hanging around his neck and no pants or underwear on.
LP: I need you.
Mama: I will be happy to talk to you when you are wearing underwear.
LP: There's poo-poo in my room.
Mama detaches the bottle from Sadie's lips, places her in her crib, and heads towards Benjamin's room. Fast.
LP: Wait! No! Don't go in my bedroom! No, no, no, no no!
He races to his closed bedroom door and tries to block it. Mama swoops past him and into the room.
It smells like sh**.
Mama scans the room and spots it - magnified 50x in the clear plastic bug bucket. We will not even go into all the things that ran through Mama's head. Through all the things she wanted to say but did not, in an effort to be a self-controlled, effective parent.
Instead, she grabs the bucket and marches into the bathroom.
Mama: Come in the bathroom, please.
LP enters, sucking on his fingers and looking worried. Mama sets the bucket on the floor next to the toilet and opens the lid. The poop is no longer magnified, but the smell is greater than ever. Mama swallows a gag.
Mama: Here's the deal. Whenever you poop in something other than the toilet, you have to clean it up.
Mama covers the poop with tissue so as to make it easier to pick up.
LP: No, Mama! No! Waaaaaaaa-aaaaaaaa. (Fierce sucking on the fingers, snot running, wet face.)
Mama: Yes. It is your responsibility to take care of your messes. If you choose to poop somewhere besides the toilet, you are responsbile for cleaning it up.
LP: I can't! You do it! Waaaa-aaaaaaaaa.
**NOTE: Papa arrives home for lunch. He never knows what he is going to walk in on. He watches from the stairway, holding back laughter.
Mama: I am happy to wait here until you are ready. (Mama gets comfortable sitting on the edge of the bathtub.)
Some time passes, much snot is rubbed across Little P's face by the back of his hand. Minutes go by as he stares at the bucket with dread.
Mama: Do you need help picking it up?
LP: Yeah.
Mama reaches for his hand and puts both of their hands on the toilet papered poo. Little P panics. He thought that he could get Mama to do it for him. He whimpers and tries to tug his hand away. Mama is stronger.
With one of Mama's hands, and one of Little P's hands, the poop is lifted into the toilet. Both Mama and Little P end up with poop on their fingers.
LP starts yelling about the poop. He is distressed by seeing it on his fingers.
Mama: OK, now it's time to wash our hands.
Hands are scrubbed, a small bottom is wiped, the toilet is flushed, but the yucky bucket remains. Little P takes it down to the utility sink where he puts dish soap in it and fills it with water to soak.
LP: (after the ordeal is over, cheerfully says...) I'm sorry for pooping in my room, Mama.
Mama: I forgive you. That's no fun, is it.
Little P: No way!
Let us hope the problem is solved.
Uh, That's Mama to You
Little P decided he was done with his sandwich. Without informing Mama, he started playing around in the family room. As he has been eating a peanut butter and honey sandwich with oranges on the side, you can imagine this was a problem.
Mama: Are you finished eating?
LP: (no answer)
Mama: Benjamin, please come wash your hands before you play.
LP dawdles, dragging sticky fingers across the couch.
Mama: Benjamin, come to the sink right now. If you choose to stay in the living room, there will be a consequence.
LP comes running into the kitchen.
LP: Do not talk to me that way, Jessica. You are not respecting me.
Mama tries not to laugh. She puts on her serious face.
Mama: First of all, I am Mama. You call me Mama.
LP: Oh.
Mama: Second of all, I am talking to you like this because you are being disrespectful to me by not answering me.
LP: Oh.
Mama: Now climb up here and let's wash your hands.
LP: OK.
Climbs onto stool and washes hands.
Mama: Thank you. You can go play now.
LP: (smiling) Thank you for respecting me, Mama!
Mama: Are you finished eating?
LP: (no answer)
Mama: Benjamin, please come wash your hands before you play.
LP dawdles, dragging sticky fingers across the couch.
Mama: Benjamin, come to the sink right now. If you choose to stay in the living room, there will be a consequence.
LP comes running into the kitchen.
LP: Do not talk to me that way, Jessica. You are not respecting me.
Mama tries not to laugh. She puts on her serious face.
Mama: First of all, I am Mama. You call me Mama.
LP: Oh.
Mama: Second of all, I am talking to you like this because you are being disrespectful to me by not answering me.
LP: Oh.
Mama: Now climb up here and let's wash your hands.
LP: OK.
Climbs onto stool and washes hands.
Mama: Thank you. You can go play now.
LP: (smiling) Thank you for respecting me, Mama!
Thursday Morning Play
Benjamin has turned his balance bike upside down. He is spinning the front wheel and saying:
"I'm driving in my race car to New York. I'm driving fast in my race car. I'm driving fast to New York."
"I'm driving in my race car to New York. I'm driving fast in my race car. I'm driving fast to New York."
May 18, 2011
Sittin' Pretty
Look who's sitting up in her chair! Sadie can't sit on her own yet, but she's happy to sit in her chair.
More Benjaminisms
When going over a hump and then dip in the road:
"Whoa. My tummy is dizzy!"
* * * * * * * *
Referring to the delicate plants in the garden such as dill and fennel:
"Mama, those are fancy plants."
* * * * * * * *
Driving on the freeway, we pass some tall buildings:
LP: Mama, are those tall buildings sssssssky ssssssscrapers?
Mama: Yes! They are.
LP: Do ssssssskyscrapers ssssssscrape the ssssssssky?
Mama: It looks like they do because they are so tall.
LP: Those tall buildingsssss are ssssssky ssssssscrapers because they ssssscrape the sssssky!
"Whoa. My tummy is dizzy!"
* * * * * * * *
Referring to the delicate plants in the garden such as dill and fennel:
"Mama, those are fancy plants."
* * * * * * * *
Driving on the freeway, we pass some tall buildings:
LP: Mama, are those tall buildings sssssssky ssssssscrapers?
Mama: Yes! They are.
LP: Do ssssssskyscrapers ssssssscrape the ssssssssky?
Mama: It looks like they do because they are so tall.
LP: Those tall buildingsssss are ssssssky ssssssscrapers because they ssssscrape the sssssky!
May 8, 2011
And now...Happy Mother's Day!
To all you mamas out there, I wish to share this reflection by Matthew B. Redmond. You can reach his original post by clicking here.
Romans 8:1
There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.
Thesis: Mothers, if you are in Christ Jesus, you ought to have no fear of condemnation because of your standing of righteousness because of Christ's work on your behalf on the cross.
Mothers, even though you may feel you are...
You are not condemned by your messy home.
You are not condemned by your lack of desire to homeschool.
You are not condemned by your personal sins.
You are not condemned by the knowledge of how easy it is for you to love one child more than another.
You are not condemned by your miscarriages.
You are not condemned by your lack of desire to have more kids.
You are not condemned - even though you feel it - when you read over and over about others' perfect parenting moments on Facebook.
You are not condemned - even though you feel it - when you read over and over about others' perfect parenting moments on Facebook.
You are not condemned by your inability to cook.
You are not condemned because your kids are not 'normal'.
You are not condemned because your kids are not 'normal'.
You are not condemned because you are divorced.
You are not condemned by your desire to be alone, away from the kids, for a time every. single. day.
You are not condemned by your body, which may not be what it once was.
You are not condemned by your repeated failures as a mother.
You are not condemned by your rebellious children.
You are not condemned by the frustration of having to scrape mac and cheese off the kitchen floor. Again.
You are not condemned by all the fears and tears which flirt with insanity and take you to the precipice of despair.
You are not condemned by not being able to throw the birthday party of the year for your kids.
You are not condemned for not feeding your kids meals that did not come from Whole Foods.
You are not condemned by your need for a vacation. Away from the kids.
You are not condemned for not living up to the standards of your Mother or Mother-in-law.
You are not condemned by the stares of those who have no kids when yours erupt into volcanic screams in public places.
Mothers, even though you may feel condemned, if you are in Christ, you are not condemned. This is the real reality.
You are not condemned, because if you are in Christ, your identity...your righteousness is Christ alone. Therefore, enjoy the unending love and affection and acceptance of being a daughter perfectly loved with an unwavering love that flows from your Father in Heaven.
And to all those who are not mothers...
Do nothing as Pastors, Husbands, Sons, Daughters, Mothers, Fathers, Mother-in-Laws, Father-in-Laws, friends, acquaintances and advice givers to diminish this reality. Nothing.
May 7, 2011
Happy Birthmother's Day!
In honor of the dear birthmothers in our life:
Fortunately, this is not a trite Hallmark holiday. It was actually instituted in 1990 by a group of birthmothers in Seattle who wanted to do something to honor women who had placed a child for adoption. Mother's Day is a very painful day for most birthmoms, and some of the activities that occur on Birthmother's Day help a birthmother process her loss.
Some adoption service providers or adoption counselors will organize a gathering of birthmoms, adoptive families, and adoptees where people will read letters or poems, show photos, and just honor the journey of the birthmothers.
It is often asked - Why do women choose adoption for their child? Or who is the average birthmother? Really, every story is unique. Some may be too young or financially unable to parent. Some might be single and desiring a two-parent family for their child. Some already have a child or two who they are struggling to support. Sometimes they have been left by the boyfriend or husband during the pregnancy. Many are educated or in college. Many come from good families themselves. Many have religious beliefs, but not all. Some are imprisoned. Some are without a stable home. Some are older and surprised that they got pregnant.
All of these women love their child. All of them hope they made the right decision. All of them will grieve their loss - and sometimes, that grief wells up year after year on the child's birthday or on Mother's Day...even if they feel they made the right decision and love their child's adoptive family.
So, today we honor these brave women and the courage it took to carry a child to term and then part with him or her.
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