Because I like to share my 'parenting genius' with you all....here is the latest.  I was pushing the kids through the neighborhood on a walk and Garrett, out of the clear blue, turns around and asks:  "how did that baby in your belly get there?".

 I would like to preface my response by saying--it was a beautiful day, everyone was 'out and about' in the neighborhood, and I live in one of those places where everyone knows everyone--which kind of made me feel like I was answering this question on the 5 o'clock news.

So you know what I said????  "I DON'T KNOW."

Like pregnancy was just this strange occurrence that could happen to any unsuspecting person walking down the street and I was totally clueless how I found myself in this situation.  Awesome.  I'm sure this will be one of the many things Garrett and his therapist can talk about when he's older.

I did recover quickly and blubbered something dumb about "when two people love each other" blah blah blah "and they are married" blah "God puts a baby in the mommy's tummy" blah blah--but by this point Garrett was talking about Spiderman again and not listening to me at all.  Who can blame him, right?  As I type this, I'm thinking I better get my 'safe-for-4yr-old-boy-ears' answer ready for the question I will surely be blindsided with next:  "how does that baby get out?".

Spring Break

It was last week and I'm still recovering.  My house looks like a bomb went off, and I'm exhausted, and broke:)....but we had a great time.  Here's what we did during our "staycation" (I know, we are so trendy)...2 birthday parties, the zoo, the Aquarium, Pump It Up, shopping (Garrett loves to shop for himself), the nature center, walks, bike rides, and play dates.

I would have more pictures but my real camera is on the fritz and Lilah gets very angry when I try to use (my) phone when she's listening to music.

I've given up thinking I can stay current with posts....and the warm weather doesn't help, because I'm just scurrying to get the bare minimum done inside so we can head out.

Anyway, weeks ago it was Ash Wednesday and our church had an evening service.  We decided to take Garrett (and leave Lilah with a sitter) because he does so well in church (surprisingly, I am not being sarcastic here) and we figured he'd enjoy a little mommy/daddy time alone.  For the record, a child who does well in a 9 am service is not to be expected to behave at all similarly in a 6 pm service.  But we made it through a few hymns and a message on the purpose of Lent and then it was time for the "ashing".  I'm sure there is a technical name for the mark of the cross on your forehead, but this is what I've always called it:).

Paul and I were slightly nervous that G would get to the front and freak, shouting something like "don't put that on me!", so P gave him a little warning about what was coming.  Just as is the nature of children (or at least mine), he almost always does the opposite of what I'm expecting.  This time he was so excited, unable to contain himself until our turn.  Saying things (very loudly) like, "when is it our turn?", and "I want that for us".  He was pretty solemn during the actual event, but the entire way back to our seats, he was saying "let me see yours Daddy", "yours isn't a very good one Mommy", and nearly tripping because his eyes were rolled back in his head trying to look at his own.

For the record, I was going to give up sweets (I alternate Diet Cokes and sweets every year), but then our pastor said something about how what you give up is supposed to make more room for God.  So, somehow I ended up giving up Facebook and sweets--and it's terrible!  I tried to make suggestions as to things my family could give up (Garrett:  talking back, Lilah: whining, Paul: red meat), but there were no takers. I hope the Easter bunny brings me a really big basket:).

I'm Behind

Story of my life, right:)? But I've given up Facebook for Lent and have taken care of several pesky chores that should free up all kinds of time for blogging.  Ha.
The very quick rundown is that Garrett has down fabulously with giving up his paci after a couple of 'exorcist-like' fits.  In true mother-guilt form, I am feeling a bit remorseful because he seems much older now....as if I just forced him to grow up about 2 years time in a week.  First he decided that if he couldn't have 'ba', he didn't want monk--because he wasn't as "comterfable" without his paci.  Ouch.  That monk is like a member of our family....now just tossed aside, mocking me and the loss of my baby.  Then, he wet the bed in the middle of the night and, on his own, got up, changed clothes, laid on top of the covers and went back to sleep.  Without ever bellowing out my name!! I know I should be glad for uninteruppted sleep (because my days are numbered), but I am a sick woman and like to be needed.  The last nail in the coffin of his babyhood was today on the way into school...."I really don't want to hold your hand Mom".  Seriously...a dagger to the heart.
If I thought it would turn back the hands of time, I'd give him back the 281 pacifiers I've unearthed in the last week, speech and teeth be damned! But, I'm pretty sure it doesn't work that way.  Luckily for me, I have a fresh baby arriving in about 10 weeks.:)  Here's the proof--

30 weeks:)

Its a Good Monday

You all know we usually just grit our teeth and 'make-it' through Mondays.  This one was off to a rough start, considering Paul had to text me from his office (upstairs) at 7:55 am to ask if Lilah had therapy at 8--which was a nice way of asking don't you think you should get up, get dressed, wake Lilah, change her diaper, and feed her in the next 5 min?.  Obviously the time change hit me a little harder than it seemed when I was watching Big Love at 11pm last night.

Anyway, after sitting up for nearly 2 years, our little warrior has finally learned to moved from sitting to laying down to sitting again.  It is so nice (and also very rare) to mark goals off the list and to have 2 in a day was amazing.  (We knew she could sit up b/c she's been doing it in bed, but we hadn't actually 'seen' it).  We are so proud of her...and I think she was quite proud of herself:).

**Edited to Add:  I hate blogger.  I can't get these stinkin' videos to work and I'm over it.  You'll just have to take my word that she was working so hard and absolutely precious!!!

I'm not sure why, but I must have one of those faces that says, "say something weird to me".  Because people do.  Say weird things.  Maybe I look too friendly or like someone they know.  Maybe they know I write on this sad little blog and think I need material.  Maybe people are just weird.  For the sake of this story, I'm going with that last theory.

The foreword is that I'm meeting a friend for lunch at Panera.  It's super busy and crowded and the bread-line boy calls me out of the lunch line to his line.  He is slightly chubby, young, and I'm pretty sure, not 'into' women. Except, apparently, he is somewhat into women because this is how our conversation goes:

Bread Boy:  Oh (very excited)! How pregnant are you?
Me: " 7 months.  I'll have the soup."
BB:  You say 7 months like, 'I'm so glad to have those 7 months over.'
Me:  "And the Fuji Apple Chicken Salad."
BB:  Is it a boy or a girl?
Me:  "It's a surprise.  We have one of each already.  And a water."
BB:  Oh that's sweet.  (he's really into it at this point...very excited).  Are you going to go natural?
Me:  (starting to get weirded out at this point)  "Uhhh." (Trying to think of an appropriate response because, while I have strong birthing preferences, they are not something I'd like to get into with BB).
BB:  Boy you are brave.  Well, if its your third, it'll probably just slip right out anyway.  (Seriously?!)
Me:  "Well."  (what do you say at this point? Check? Please?)
BB:  Of course, they say the 3rd baby is the 'wild card'.  Your first labor is long, your second is fast,   
         and your 3rd could go either way.  Good luck.

Am I the only one that thinks this is a wildly inappropriate line of conversation for the male bread boy to be engaging in with a complete stranger??  Call me a prude, but I really don't want to be discussing anything 'slipping right out' of anywhere unless they have letters behind their name and/or have held my hand through my last two births.  This is why women of olden days went into seclusion before 'their time'.

It's a Sad Day

I told you all I was on a quest to regain control, right? (haha...this kind of makes me laugh to write because God has shown me over and again, control is not mine) Anyway, with my children, I've made some progress over the last weeks...allowing Lilah to be unhappy more when she doesn't get her way, carrying her less, cracking down on poor attitudes and excessive television.  But, today is a whole different ball game.  Because for weeks years, I've been trying to man-up and take on this task.  And I could write a book on excuses I've used to wuss out....new baby, sick baby, hospital stays, moving, morning sickness, etc.  I've been dreading it, is the truth.  Too lazy to take on the challenge.  But, Garrett had his 4 year check up yesterday (6 months late) and he was the picture of health, meeting or exceeding every milestone except......."does not suck hands or anything else to soothe".  Ugh.  Darn.  It.  It's time.  I cannot hide from my responsibilities as a mother any longer.  "The Ba"(paci) must go.

It all started before he was born.  I was not going to give my child a pacifier, said the speech therapist! And then the little suck monster was born and somewhere between day 1 and day 2, I was calling my mother to bring that stupid little paci someone had given me as a shower gift to the hospital.  Quick! Because all Garrett wanted to do was suck and, since we weren't doing bottles, that directly involved me.  And that, my friends, is when Gina got her first couple of the coming millions of lessons of motherhood.  1) never say never  2) I am incredibly selfish.

His paci and his monk have been his best friends ever since that day and I've had great intentions of taking them away before now--but, even better excuses.  And, we have tried, half-heartedly, in the last 6 months to help Garrett come to the conclusion to give it up on his own.  Yeah Right, is all I have to say.  Because you know all those tips they give you in the parenting books about stuff like this (I'm totally assuming because I've never read such books), like 'give them to a baby', 'slowly cut more off the end', 'lose them'???.....that stuff could only possibly work with a baby.  Not with a 4 year old who has more mental energy for reasoning and persuasion, not to mention tenacity, than his parents.

You know we never hesitate to bribe, although I prefer to call it "motivate", so of course, P and I decided that would be the best option.  Offer Garrett the moon to give up his paci on his own, so that we didn't have to be the bad guys.  We take the child to ToysRUs yesterday and spend 1 hour going up and down every aisle, telling him "you can pick any thing you want and after 5 days without the paci, we'll come back and get it".  I swear the little mule picked up every toy in that store, with great enthusiasm, and at 'go time', declared "I don't want anything and I'm never giving up my ba."


Knowing we are screwed and thinking we should have 1 last night of peace, we declared that last night would be the last night with the paci.  And, in a move that both made us feel like our parents and foreshadowed what the next 14 years of our parenting with this child would look like, the United Front of Parental Units (aka, Paul and Gina, who try to pretend like they know what they are doing, when, clearly, they don't) said: "we can do with the hard way or the easy way, it is your choice".  


You can probably guess what he chose right? That's right.  The hard way.  He's vacillating between sullen and 'jump from a cliff' hysteria right now, and we are only 15 minutes into rest time.  He's up in his room, crying to himself and mumbling things like, 'but I'll never have it again and I'll be so sad.  I can't sleep without it."  Poor buddy.   Tonight promises to be full of fun.  If I don't cave before then.