We went to our favorite park. Fin wore shorts for the first time this year.
It was hot. Parker was sweating. And playing with sticks.
We ate chocolate dipped ice cream cones. For lunch. In the car.
It was a deliciously bad idea.
And then Parker played 'working man.' And Fin played mommy.
Harry? He played baby. In a onesie. Because it was hot. And he was sweating.
Fin took her job very seriously.
So seriously that it resulted in a fight.
I think there was biting. There was definitely pushing.
But Baby didn't mind. He was too busy enjoying being outside for the first, of what is sure to be many, times.
The end (/naptime).
Finley blowing kisses on Harry's naked belly while saying, "I'll eat you up I love you so."
Melt. My. Heart.
I told Harry we were almost done with the Children's Zoo and that I would pick him up in a just a feeeewww more minutes. Then he looked at me like this:
He's been hanging out with his sister too much. I have a sneaky suspicion that I'm going to have another little devil on my hands.
Just like that (or more like 8 hours later) there was grass cloth. I was so very very happy. I have been waiting a loooong time for our kitchen to get to this phase. It makes me feel like Sally Field in Brothers and Sisters (have you seen all that grass cloth?! So fabulous!)
And grouted tile. That I did all by myself. Just sayin'.
We're so close I can taste it...and soon, so soon, I'll be ready to show it off.
Choices choices. Which to pick? I have to admit I'm leaning towards the far right (terrible picture I know). The one on the left feels a bit muddy to me and the second from the right looks pink. Funny because we were between the second in on the left and the one on the far right as chips too.
Posted by
Brooke*
at
Monday, March 22, 2010
I had a huge case of the blahs this weekend. Instead of watching a college bestie walk down a sun filled aisle in Puerta Vallarta I was in forty degree sleeting rain St. Louis where my boobs were needed. Don't get me wrong, I am a strong believer in breastfeeding but sometimes you just feel so stuck because of it. I'm desperately needed every 3-4 hours. Always. For twelve months. This weekend I would have rather been on the beach. Sorry Harry.
So I do what always makes me feel better. I fill things and paint things and sand things and completely tear my house apart on the quest to make it better. I filled all the nail holes and caulked all the woodwork in my kitchen. I primed and painted the two window casings and sills. Then I did the same for the three door casings. At 10:30pm I'm currently waiting for my grout to setup so I can finish my back splash. I caulked it this afternoon.
And because my kitchen just isn't enough, I also decided that I was sick of my bedroom. Sick and tired of it. No more blue. I'm done with blue. I've been sleeping in some shade or another of blue for ten years. We're on to bigger and better things.
Like this.
We have a super similar bed and curtains and dark furniture so all that needs changing is our wall color. Green. Yup. Green. And our bedding, white with green pillows.
Something like this for our floor. I'm hoping to find a couple of (super) cheap remnants and have them bound together. The dark stripe won't be as dark as this one though. And it will be 8x10 not wall to wall.
Then there's our empty walls. With zero dollars as a budget I'm doing this. And loving every second of it. Here's what ours will look like soon...(the middle picture- I couldn't figure out how to cut out the other two)
Wrap up-
I was depressed. I started painting. I painted and grouted and caulked and sanded. I decided to paint my bedroom green. Then I went to Goodwill and found a ton of gold frames and paid $23 for all of them and really cool brass stork and the beginnings of a brass candlestick collection and I was happy.
Isn't it incredible how different and yet how still the same?
I keep telling people that Harry looks identical to Fin. No one believes me. Some tell me he looks like me. Others tell me he looks like Parker. Some say Brian. But no one says Fin. One person even told me he looks like my mom.
Proof I birthed a carbon copy of my daughter....just imagine her without the bow and him a few months older.
Identical I tell you...
One week. One and a half pound. Which I am a-ok with because I've made it to the first goal weight (of three). I have officially lost 36 pounds in the past 11 weeks. Ten more and I'm back to pre-Baby weight. I'm giving myself six weeks to do it and the prize I'm rewarding myself with is fabulous. I love prizes. They keep me motivated. I was thiiis close to making a sticker chart for myself...
Our new eating habits have become less 'new' and more 'normal.' Yes, I'm spending the same and getting half as much. I'm now driving 12 minutes to the store instead of 1.5. And there's not a car cart for miles to fit us all. But the flip side is that we are making grocery shopping an event, an entire morning activity that has become quite enjoyable. The babes help pick out produce, put it in the bag and then into the cart. We talk about shapes and colors and taste. Whole Foods is pretty awesome in that they let you try anything and everything you want without an obligation to buy- ask someone and they'll open it or wash it (produce) for you. Then if you do buy it and you don't like they'll take it back no questions. This is a fabulous policy when you have two year olds- strawberry applesauce and fish sticks have been some of our more recent returns. I'm also really liking how many kid friendly programs they have. Our WF has kids yoga twice a week and every Friday they'll watch your kids (and provide a craft and a snack) while you shop!
While my cabinets have very few non-natural/organic items left there are two things that I'm not willing to part with. Ever. Like ever ever.
My once every afternoon DDP which is a non negotiable staple in this house- aspartame and all.
And my Brummel and Brown yogurt spread- I could eat it by the spoonful I'm that obsessed with it.
Try saying that five times fast.
Leave it to me to get some random incurable disease. It's genetic. I get it from my mother. My mother who also passed down cellulite, stretch marks, and a mild case of OCD. Yes, she passed on some good as well but because I just got back from a FIVE HOUR doctors appointment we're focusing on the negative.
A few weeks ago I was noshing on a huge bag (think Sam's Club here) of True North Pecan Clusters (which are to die for and I highly recommend). After about 584 it felt as if I had a nut stuck in my throat. Kind of a lump. Like I had just swallowed a Jolly Rancher- have you ever done that? When I made this analogy to the MD he looked at me as if I was out of my mind. Like, who does that?! I thought it was a pretty normal occurrence. You've never sucked a cinnamon disk a little too forcefully and found it lodged in your throat? Anyways, a week later and I'm still having this lump in my throat sensation. I called my uncle who's a gastroenterologist and explained the sitch. He seemed a lot more worried about it than I was. After I told him I had been foaming a little and one night my swallowing led to an hour of gagging and heaves he informed me that he needed to scope me asap. As in, you are going to have anesthesia and be laying on an operating table with a big long snake down your throat. Umm, no thanks. I think my lump is feeling better. He wasn't buying it. The next morning I was admitted and found myself in an operating room with more sensors and wires and oxygen and an awesome plastic bite plate that I would have paid money to see a picture of in my mouth...turns out my esophagus has some issues. He biopsied a few places and told me he would talk to me next week when the pathology report came back. Then he took me to Bread Company and I forgave him for knocking me out and sticking things down my throat. A bowl of chicken and wild rice has that effect on me. Have I ever told you the story of when, in college, me and a bunch of friends drove over an hour just to get some St. Louis Bread Company? Yes, it's that delicious.
A few days later and my eosinophils (don't ask. I have no idea.) came back through the roof. Apparently if you have 20 of them in the 'field' (don't know about this one either) you are positive for the disease. Well, I have over 80 in some of my slides. EIGHTY. Not only do I have Eosinophilic Esophagitis (EoE) but I really have it.
Fast forward to my absurd five hour appointment with an allergist and it turns out no one even knows what this disease is. Or how to treat it. Or what causes it. I have a permanent lump in my throat due to my esophagus swelling shut and they can't even tell me why. About ten thousand back pricks and itchiness and some lady smelling like cigarette writing all over my body with a ball point pen and it turns out that I'm one super allergic human being. Oak. So allergic they had to take it off because I started to have difficulty breathing- crazy right? Grass. Same thing. Molds. You betcha. Then there's the weird stuff, like broccoli. Who in the world is allergic to broccoli?! Or bananas. Or apples. And oats. I have a serious allergy to oats (again, serious swelling and itching. I had to go get the nurse to get that crazy shit off of me). Did you know that oats are in everything? EVERYTHING. Then there's cats. Super allergic. And dust mites. The kicker? Dogs. I am severely allergic to dogs. The first thing Brian said when I walked through the door was "don't even think of using this as an excuse to get rid of Indy." He knows me too well.
So, my daily routine now includes a nasal inhaler, oral steroids, some kind of antacid, and an inhaler. Have I ever mentioned that I don't take medicine. Hate it. It's hard for me to remember my prenatal let alone all this crazy. It takes three months of strict adherence for my esophagus to heal and then I have to be super diligent about avoiding all of my allergens. Doc told me I needed to avoid the outdoors from May through September. This was during hour four at which point I laughed in his face. The thing is that it keeps getting worse. If I'm not super careful I'll start to develop rings of scarring around my esophagus that have to be surgically cut. Sounds pretty awesome. That Kashi diet I thought was going so well for me? No longer. Oatmeal for breakfast? Not a chance. Girl can't even eat a sandwich. I can deal with me but the scary part is that it's genetic and I fear that my little Parker man is already showing some signs of having it...
In three months I return for more testing and biopsies. We shall see how well I've done in the avoidance department. We. Shall. See.
What? You thought we were done playing this game?
It's been three weeks. Three weeks and nine pounds. Zero trips to the gym.
Eleven more to go before returning to pre-Baby size. Maybe another ten after that. Then perhaps ten more.
I'm hoping the first goal is accomplished by the end of April...I have a wedding to attend.
From now (well, maybe starting in a few days) until said wedding I plan to rise with Brian at the ass crack of dawn and workout. Starting on March 19 (daylight savings) I plan to run in the evenings. That's my plan anyways. We'll see how it works out for me.
Yes, this little food experiment of ours began because of the baby weight but I must tell you that it has evolved into something so much more than that. I'm learning so much about what goes into what we eat. When I first started my Whole Foods/Farmers Market routine I thought it was absurd to buy organic flour (and all other baking products). Then I learned that bromate (aka 'enriched') is applied to the majority of the non-organic varieties. Bromate is a carcinogen. It is outlawed in a majority of other countries. Or olive oil? Why buy the expensive kind? Well, I discovered that chemical solvents are applied to olives to extract the oil more efficiently unless you purchase 'expeller pressed.' The list goes on and on...my extended family is quickly tiring of my fun food facts. But it's just amazing what we, as consumers, don't know about our food. I think if we knew (or had a desire to know) we would be eating a whole lot differently.
We've been eating organically for three months now and I have to admit that I feel better. Like, head to toe feel better. My body seems to be working better too. Does that make sense? And taste? Holy moly. You are a liar if you can't taste a difference. Now, whenever I eat processed foods it's as if I'm eating something on steroids, which in reality they are. Even the babes can tell the difference- every time we eat a not so good for us meal (think chicken fingers and fries) Parker complains of a tummy ache and gets the runs. This can't be a coincidence, right?
Our bodies have spoken in more ways than one. I hope that we can (and do!) continue our new found diet.
Our bodies have spoken in more ways than one. I hope that we can (and do!) continue our new found diet.
Harrison. At two and one half months you have seamlessly entered into our little family. You complete us- in the cheesiest way possible. You are perfect in every sense of the word. You are happy and content. You smile so much I wonder if your face aches. You can talk for an hour straight, all while kicking your legs nonstop. At two and one half months old you wake every morning a little after six o'clock. You take two short naps in the morning and one looong nap in the afternoon. You have a self imposed schedule. You sleep 11 hours every night, waking only once to nurse. I can go days without hearing you cry. I have taken to calling you 'Biggie' and at nearly 15lbs you are already wearing nine month clothing. I worried for months while you grew inside of me that I wouldn't have room in my heart to love another. You came along and it seems I have grown a whole new heart just for you.
Parker. Your maturity and even tempered manner cease to amaze me. At two and one half years old you are kind, sensitive and tough all rolled into one. You greet your friends (adult and child) with a smile and a running hug. You share willingly. You are so gentle with your brother and love to 'talk' to him when no one is around. Your memory is unbelievable- right down to the last detail. You recognize all of your letters, can count into your teens, mastered your colors months ago, and can sing a million different songs from memory. You understand emotions and often ask people why they are happy/sad/frustrated/mad/etc. At two and a half you continue to have difficulty with pronunciation. Sometimes Mom is the only one that understands you but even when I can't I have a feeling you're saying something pretty brilliant. Lately, you've added a nice little whine to your language making it all the better. You love to take things apart and put them back together. Your imagination blows my mind. I no longer remind you to use the potty. You go all by yourself when you need to. Except for the week after Harry was born (oh, and last week with a babysitter- of all times) we have been accident free for months. You dress and undress yourself every morning and afternoon, making sure to put your dirty clothes in the basket. You are rough and tumble and fear nothing. Nothing. You come alive in a group setting and have tons of friends. You are outgoing and kind to everyone you meet. You are my weak spot.
Finley. You are my velcro child. You are always by my side- helping with dinner, laundry, cleaning, Harry, etc. You always want to be a part of the action. You hate to sleep for fear you may miss something. This has resulted in many an early morning and missed nap. You are constantly busy. At two and one half year old you are the littlest mother I know. When your friends get hurt you bring them a boo boo bunny, when someone needs milk you go and get it, when Harry spits up you find a burp cloth. You are so intuitive. If there is no 'live' person to fawn over you do so over your baby dolls, with whom you are never without. You continue to have difficulty in new situations. It takes you quite some time to warm up to new environments and new people, however, once you do you really turn it on. You love to dress up and are rarely without your heels. Your sense of humor is fabulous. You make us laugh and laugh and laugh. You are a goof ball and you know it. You LOVE attention and the arrival of Harry coupled with being two and a half has hit you like a ton of bricks. You are a challenge. You are fiercely independent and have a (loud) opinion about everything. You pick out what you wear every morning and pjs at night. At two and a half you have started talking back and shouting at us. You can throw the most atomic fit I have ever witnessed. It can last over an hour. Even the most calm and nonchalant redirection or reminder (i.e. 'Fin lets not dump milk,' or 'Fin, please be kind to our friends') can result in inconsolable tears. You are sassy- in both a positive and negative way. You can be downright mean to your brother, sometimes biting and slapping for no apparent reason. Two and a half has you frustrated and my heart aches because of it. You are funny and confident and shy and outgoing and talkative (you never stop) and defiant and attention seeking all at the same time. Your highs are high and your lows are oh so low. You are my best friend, my 'peanut.'
When, after an hour and a half of playing instead of napping, I journeyed upstairs to remind my children that it was 'quiet time' not play time only to find that my darling daughter had removed all of her clothes from the waist down so that she could proceed to take a huge poop on the floor (read that again, this was no 'accident') and then continue on with her playing- ensuring that feces spread all over herself, her bedding, and pretty much everything else she touched. I promptly put her into the shower and moved her into the...where else? The bathroom of course.
You poop on the floor, you sleep in the toilet.
*****************
Post script: This was by no means a 'punishment' for the non-accident. When the babes play after repeatedly making the trip upstairs to remind them that it's quiet time I separate them. I was on my way up to do just that but Harry now sleeps in his crib instead of with us and he was napping in his room- the room in which one of the twins sleeps when there's too much crazy going on. The bathroom just seemed the logical (and fitting) place to put the mattress. It was either in there or the hallway and I didn't want her to wake up when I went upstairs to get Harry from his nap...
We went to the St. Louis Science Center with some friends today.
As we were waiting for them to arrive Harry started to fuss. He was hungry.
I found a discreet corner in the nearly empty lobby, put on my nursing cape, and fed him.
An employee approached me and told me that I could nurse in family lounge/bathroom downstairs.
I smiled and stayed where I was.
After we finished we walked around the lobby.
Another employee approached me and asked if I "was the nursing mom."
"Yes," I replied incredulously.
She informed me that if I needed to nurse again I could do so in the basement bathroom.
I wonder how many mothers and fathers they approach who are feeding their babies bottles to please do so in a bathroom.
Why don't you, your infant, and your two 2.5 year olds lock yourself into the handicap stall down in our basement and feed your child in private?
I am appalled.
We won't be returning to the Science Center in the forseeable future.
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