Paper Soccer

Littleman has not read the books that tell you what your baby is supposed to be doing, month by month.

Instead he has been working on crawling off his lambskin rug, around my recliner, and over to my computer desk.  While pushing a crumpled up ball of paper that his sister gave him, batting it with his hands like he's playing kick the can.  Correct me if I'm wrong, but that's a little weird for a 5-month-old, isn't it?  Making up games?

He very much did it on purpose.  Thought it was the funniest thing in the world, and chased the paper all the way from the rug to the book-hutch-thing in the corner, before getting stuck against a wall and getting mad.  (He still hasn't figured out that the walls don't move for anyone, it's not just him.)

You can see it in his eyes.  Paper Soccer is the best thing going at the moment.

That piece of paper, alas, is dead now, but I can foresee having to get him another one.  Particularly since he decided to wake up at quarter to four this morning and crawl around the bed, looking for for paper.

"What?  I just want to hone my skills.  You think Beckham was good?  I'm going to be good."

Sigh.  He'll probably sign with Manchester United (in the intervals of his neurological research studies and his symphony composing, of course) and go live in England and I will be a crotchety old lady yelling at the Brits with this maddeningly slow Texas accent I'm acquiring, trying to figure out how to get to his house from the London airport.  You remember I told you this, when it happens and I'm blogging about it on the hive mind.

At least he keeps my floor dusted for me.

And this isn't exactly the T-tapp picture I said I'd post--I still need to have the Husband (whose eyes were all googly and dilated last night because of getting ready for his Lasik surgery tomorrow) take one.  But I took this shot, which I will probably play with some to make it more arty, and am thinking of using it for my Author's Photograph when my book comes out in August.

(Yes, I have a book coming out in August.  Don't get too excited.  It's just a collection of short stories, and it's self-published on the Kindle.  I'll post links when everything is final.)

Anyway, tell me what you think of the picture.  If you think I should do one where I straighten my hair and/or take off my glasses, let me know, please?  You are the only people I trust for this decision.  Also, I just took this picture pretty quick, with children nipping at my heels.  I can take a posed one.

Cheers,

Breanna

Saturday

Thing they don't tell you about motherhood #4958: That it's really true that sleep habits are better and more stable if you wake up at the same time each day.  Ergo, if you want your kids to go to sleep during the week, they have to wake up at the same time on the weekends.

Ergo, Mama has to wake up at the same time on the weekends.  Littleman has an extremely regular internal clock and wakes up, every day, on the button of 6am.  Then he wants me to take him to the potty, because he has to poo.  And, you know, he refuses to go in a diaper--what does he look like, a baby or something?

But it's okay, because Miss Boo wakes up the moment the sun hits the back yard anyway--i.e., 6:10am.  And needs milk.  And company.  Badly.

Littleman has been doing calisthenics lately.  I spent a couple days wondering why I was so hungry all the time when I realized A) he's been pooping a lot, so B) he's been eating a lot! and C) because he's been crawling everywhere.  So there you are--crawling apparently burns a lot of calories, which Mama must make up for by eating lots and turning it into milk.

Buddy, on the other hand?  Buddy would easily sleep until 9 most mornings if I let him.  He is a wonder that way.  But alas, I do not dare let him.  For you see, he needs to nap at 12:30pm in order to be awake by 2:30pm in order to be tired again by bedtime.  Alack.

See her customized shoe?  It took me a while to figure out how she got splotches of marker (very washable) on her seat.  Finally I realized she had been coloring all over her shoes (one is red, one is blue) while sitting at the table drawing with markers, and then, being short, she tucked her feet under her while she finished coloring the paper.  It's been a colorful house here lately and I think I'll go back to the rather out-of-favor crayons.  If I can keep Buddy from eating them.

This is Littleman a coupl eof days ago.  He can do this for almost a minute at a time.  Pretty cool, huh?  I know you've been sitting up under your own power for years, but it thrills me every time one of my kids does it.  And I swear Miss Boo was every bit of six months before she even tried it--Buddy, too.  Littleman is just physically precocious.  (Baba's theory is that I was struck by lightening while pregnant.  I can't remember much other than the sciatica and getting morning sick while trying to buy my new cell phone, so I suppose it could have happened.)

And yes, I did say before he is crawling.  Like, real, hands-and-knees (actually he prefers hands-and-tippy-toes, but that gets tiring and he goes back to knees) crawling.  Like the wind.  And shoving random bits of fuzz, his sister's marker caps, or his brother's maracas in his mouth.

So I'm back in the mode of running around all day frantically picking things up off the floor.  It's harder than you might think, when you've got two small people who want to share with the baby.

And a baby who is pretty sure he's as big as his siblings--if I would only give him the chance.  This one, my friends, is going to be the humdinger who builds his own go-cart in the shed out of old VCRs and an Erector set.  I'm proud and scared stiff at the same time.

Meanwhile, T-tapp continues apace.  I will try to get the Husband, maybe, to take a picture of me later today.  Just a quick rundown of my numbers:

When I started T-tapp, about a month and a half ago, I was a solid size 16.  As in, my size 16 pants were the only ones that were comfortable.

Yesterday I comfortably wore a pair of size 12 shorts, although they should probably be a little looser before I wear them in public.  I'm also easily able to button some short-sleeved blouses that I couldn't even close over my chest when I began.  Pretty good for a month and a half, I should think.

I've gained quite a bit of muscle, especially in my lower legs and feet, and my shoulders look more sculpted than they did when I was lifting weights.  My metabolism seems like it's burning like a furnace.

I am now doing the 15-minute workout every other day.  I assumed, when reading the book, that this was to make the workout easier.  I actually think, now, that it's to keep it challenging--it seems more difficult to me to do the workout when I've skipped a day.  (Sneaky!)  I mean in a good way, like this keeps it from getting too easy.  I'm close to being able to exercise only every third day.

I will probably, when I feel like I'm stabilized in what size I am, go to just exercising every day again.  It increases my energy so much to do so, and I really notice that my feet hurt more on days when I don't exercise, and I'm more likely to get a flare of sciatica.  I catch myself doing a set of Hoe Downs now and again when I can feel my blood sugar getting too high too fast.  (I.e., if we go get donuts and I eat them without any balancing protein.)

And now Miss Boo wants a "campout Dora", but I'm not sure what that pertains to, so I'd better quit.

Cheers,

Breanna

Homemade Electrolyte Replacement Drink

AKA, Pedialyte.

I needed to mix up a batch tonight due to overdosing on vitamin C with the kiddos.

(No, they didn't eat a whole bottle of vitamins.  What happened was we switched brands of vitamins and Mama didn't notice that the new gummies are 500mg while the old ones were only 250mg apiece, so the kids got twice what they normally get.  Which probably would have been fine, if they hadn't also both chugged 4 little cups of OJ with lunch.  In case you didn't know, excess vitamin C gives you the poops.  Nothing dangerous.  But uncomfy.)

Anyway.  Dehydration can literally be a killer, especially when you're talking about little kids, so if you have kids in your life, are around kids, or may someday be around kids, please memorize the formula below.  It might really save a life.  Also, Pedialyte is really expensive, particularly when you figure out that it's really pretty much sugar-water with a bit of soda.  Here's the recipe from Aviva Jill Romm's book, Naturally Healthy Babies and Children:

8 oz water (warm or at room temperature)
1/4 teaspoon baking soda
Pinch of salt
2 tablespoons or more honey, sugar, or maple syrup.


Combine all ingredients.

That's it.  I made a quadruple batch in my juice carafe.  It tastes like slightly sweet water--you don't pick up on the baking soda and salt at all.  If you really wanted to flavor it, you could, I guess, but the idea is to be super-gentle on the stomach.  Don't give honey to kids under a year old, of course.

I'm serious about you memorizing it.  Tape it inside your kitchen cupboard door, maybe, or onto your salt canister.  You never know when you might need it--and you'll be wanting it sometime at 3am when everybody's puking and you can't leave them long enough to run to the store.

Now I should go to bed.

Cheers,

Breanna

Snatching Nap-time

To work in, I mean.  The kidlets are getting really good at staying in their rooms, at least, if not sleeping-- and they're sleeping a surprising amount.  I think it has really taken us this long to get in sync again from the move.

Anyhoo, I've got a collection of short stories coming out for Kindle at the end of August, so I've been working on those like a maniac while they sleep.  It's very hard, if you didn't know, to write fiction while children are awake anywhere in the house.

But I thought I'd share with you Miss Boo's take on getting herself a drink:

Her: I want to do it!  I want to get it myself!
Me (handing her the cup): Okay, you get the water.
Her (walking to the water dispenser in the fridge): Yes, I can do it because I'm big.  I'm just huge.

Considering her size, I don't think anyone will ever look at Miss Boo in her life and think "huge".  But hey.  Go for that independent water-getting!

She also, having adapted the title from a shoe commercial, gave herself the nickname "Sporty Shorty", which seems a bit more appropriate.

Cheers,

Breanna

The Little Grey Cells

Lately the Husband and I have been doing this experiment of getting the kids to fall asleep in their own little beds, while Mom and Dad sit in the next room doing...Mom and Dad things.  It's refreshing.

(No, it wouldn't have worked until now.  Miss Boo had to attain to the ability to reason through "I have to stay in bed now.  Mom will still help me if a sea monster comes in the window or bats sneak into my closet.  And in the morning I can have a story."  We just got there, like last month.)

Anyway, we can only do the sort of Mom and Dad things that the kidlets can overhear while they fall asleep so, you know, watching Alien vs. Predator is pretty well out.  Instead, we've been having fun recording the Agatha Christie Poirot mysteries on Masterpiece Mystery on our local PBS.  I know, I know, we have a DVR and we use it for PBS, but really, the costuming is beautiful.

Anyway again, Poirot's little catch phrase is to talk about his "little gray cells", a.k.a. his brains.  And brains are important.

This is a lady Grammy and I discovered through T-Tapp, who happens to be a Christian and a mother of 12 (!) kids.  Her "getting smaller" story is inspiring, but more so are her thoughts on homekeeping and especially the mental battle that women face.  What struck me today was her note that unhappy people think and talk mostly about what they don't have.

Now we're not preaching some stupid, "think it and get it!" theology or The Secret or anything like that.  What I'm talking about is taking every thought captive for Christ.  Did you know you're the boss of your thoughts, as Miss Boo would put it?  In other words, you don't have to be irritated, upset, saddened, hurt, offended, mad, or any of those other unpleasant feelings.

That's right.  Just because your alarm didn't go off and you had to rush this morning, you don't have to stay irritated and frazzled all day.  You can decide you're not going to think that way, and use your will to set your mind on other things.  (Failing all else and unable to remember any other passages, you can always use "The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, {edit: FAITHFULNESS} goodness, gentleness, and self-control."  Thank you, Steve Green, for your kid Scripture-memory songs, and Grammy, for painting it on your cabinets. :) )

Just because your kids have emptied an entire bag of rice on the floor or painted the dog's toenails or puked in the clean sheets you don't have to feel desperate and overwhelmed and angry.  You will still have the mess to deal with, yes, but you can decide to speak kindly even when you don't feel kind.

Remember Corrie Ten Boom, meeting the guy who was the concentration camp guard?  It was at a conference or something long after the war and he said something along the lines of, "Praise God, Miss Ten Boom, Who offers us such great grace" and held out his hand to shake hers.  Corrie said she was sure he didn't remember her--who had been one of thousands, to him--but she remembered him and for a moment couldn't move.  Certainly couldn't feel forgiveness.  So she prayed, "Lord, I don't want to forgive him.  So I'm just going to act as though I do forgive him, and You will have to supply the feelings" and shook the man's hand.  She said that God then gave her the emotion of forgiveness--after she performed the action.

Remember when Israel was coming into the Promised Land?  The priests had to step their feet into the water of the Jordan River before the river was dried up.  The Lord waited for them to demonstrate faith--then did the miracle.

Now forgiving a concentration camp guard or crossing the Jordan might seem much bigger things than overcoming the temptation to feel resentful toward your husband or children, but the same principle holds.  If you consistently find yourself in a snit, maybe it's time to admit that you can't maintain the right outer attitude while continuing to fondle your selfish, negative thoughts.

Change what needs to be changed--i.e., if it's your laundry that's discouraging you, then get up your gumption and do the dang laundry--but if it's something that can't be changed, i.e., that your husband's job just dictates he doesn't have a reliable home-getting time, then change the way you think about it or you will be miserable and it will be your own fault.

And think about Corrie, if you're not sure how to do that.  How would you act, in our little example, if your husband got home in the manner you want?  Just do what is right, and God will provide the miracle.

Cheers,

Breanna

No Offense, England

...but we were all grateful, here, today, that we are no longer a part of you.

Miss Boo wasn't quite sure what a king was, or why it would be a problem to have one.

Buddy really wanted to help me grill the burgers.  Really.  Really really.  He got worked up enough over his country's independence that he said "hey" to his father a couple of times, and correctly identified S--on my Sealy Posturpedic mattress-- as the letter that goes "ssssssssss".  (Item: it is weird to have a kid who is learning to read before he really likes to talk.  It's not a fluke, either--he did A the other day, too.  Pointing:  "MMMM.  Bama.  AAAAYYYYYYAAAAYYYY!"  I'm Bama, in case you didn't know.)

Littleman is...teething.  And we're pretty sure they're Tory teeth.  The cowards.  Miss Boo sweetly brought him her amber teething necklace, even though it really bothered her that he wouldn't keep it on straight (with the pendant pointing down).

And I am typing this at 9:39pm because, in Texas, everything is bigger--including the neighborhood fireworks.  My goodness.  It's my inner cheapskate coming out, but come ON.  The money people spend on these things.  I've seen fireworks displays for entire towns that pale in comparison.  It's difficult to be sympathetic with people who are feeling the recession but can still buy fireworks.  (And did I mention that nurses hate fireworks?  We do.  We try not to spoil everyone's fun.  But come on.  Keep your thumbs and eyeballs away from the gunpowder, please.)

On that cheery note, and thanking the Lord that everyone fell asleep in their own beds tonight, I will bid you adieu.

Happy Independence Day!

Breanna

That's Generosity

Miss Boo woke up at 4:30 because she needed to go potty.  We're trying to master this "Getting up to go potty but then going back to bed" thing, and it seems to be working.  While she was on her potty chair, I straightened out her bed, and she asked me if it was tomorrow night.

Me: No, it's very early in the morning.  It's still dark.
Her: Where's the sun?
Me: In some other part of the world.
Her (considers, as she climbs back into bed): I'm going to let those China kids have it.

So there you go, China.  Be grateful.

Cheers,

Breanna