Looking Back/Looking Forward

Last Friday I invited my unsuspecting friend Suzy & her son Colin to join us to pick strawberries.

She readily agreed, not knowing what this would entail. I obviously wasn't thinking clearly when I put Matthew in the backpack and marched with the big boys into the fields to pick 4 gallons of berries.

After about 10 minutes of my pregnant body doing squats with at least 25 pounds on my back, I said, "Enough." Matthew was parked in the pack for a while then finally released to roam the fields with the big boys. With Ms. Suzy's invaluable help, though, I managed 3 gallons (and probably ate another quart) and she got 2.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Still Doin' Time....

Next Friday marks "Ten Years of a Life Sentence" (as my dad would say)....

No possibility of parole, even from your beloved shirt. I'll love you anyway. Happy Anniversary!

Back to the Beginning

It seems that this is where it all began nearly 15 months ago.

They've gotten taller and look more mature, but their love of nature, especially water, is still the same (I didn't realize it until now, but their clothing is the same color in both pictures. Guess we have a lot of red & blue).


And this time, the little brother who was stuck in the Baby Bjorn, was free to roam the ditch, too.

After attempting to hold onto the fellow while squatting on a slippery bank, I thought it would be easier to let him in the water. He loved it.

Especially the little "fountain" over a tree root that he could use to fill his cup.

Just call me "Redneck Mom" for sending my son out in a onesie and shoes.

As an added bonus, we discovered this little critter (before I let the kids go wading).

He was actually a beast of a crawdad, measuring at least 5 inches long.

We planned on keeping him until Doug came home, but he had other plans. He escaped and was booking it through the grass when I scooped him up with a shovel. He was tossed into our other ditch where he quickly crawled away. Maybe I should have kept him for dinner.

Brothers

Sewing Craze

Back in March, I decided it was high time to start in on the plethora of baby gifts, and in the spirit of "making do," I thought I would dig through my bin of fabric to see what I could create for some friends.

My favorite of all (I think) is this quilt for my friend Sarah who is finally having a boy after 4 beautiful girls. She definitely needed something a little more masculine than her stock of flowers and butterflies, and I just happened to have a train print on plissee.

The front is done up in an assortment of remnants (pieced in an orderly fashion, of course) and tied up with some Chubbies.

My friend Clara decided to hold out for a surprise with her #4, and I had just enough of the summery blocks I used for Stephen's quilt to make another. I think it's quite cheery.

Then came my sister Sara who, after patiently waiting to find out the sex of her first 3 children, caved with #4. Knowing there will be another niece, however, gave me the wonderful opportunity to snatch feminine fabrics and get to work (I actually went out in a terrible thunderstorm because I was so excited).

It seems I went a bit overboard.

I started off with a quilt which I managed to complete in about a week (while watching the complete Hornblower series and countless episodes of Magnum P.I.).

Again it was a simple block pattern of pinks and greens.

The back was the beautiful butterfly print I had used in an earlier endeavor. I had some scraps and made a few burp cloths as well.

After Matthew was born a friend made me a nursing cover which I have loved so I decided to make one of these as well.

*** NOTE: Don't buy a Hooter Hider if you can sew a straight stitch.

With 1.5 yards of fabric, you can easily make your own (and choose your own print!!!) ***

I used the scraps from this project to make a "unique bag designed for fashionable Moms -- Moms that won’t trade fashion for function." (another baby gift I received and copied).

My husband has been extremely patient as my sewing machine, bags of fabric and assorted quilting notions have taken up residence in one of our kitchen chairs, but I know he is ready for me to put it away.

Temporarily.

I've just got to find some fabric to make our own baby a quilt 'cause I'm quickly running out of time. Maybe something will strike me soon.

First Photos

Apparently you can grow a healthy baby on Skittles and salami (at least at this point) as #4 is weighing in at a whopping 12 ounces and measuring perfectly. Feeling guilty, however, at my failure to regularly take my prenatals, I took one this morning only to be left with the lingering taste of fish in my mouth and smell on my hands, apparently from the DHA. Thus, I threw the rest in the trash.

Anyway, Andrew and Stephen are in agreement that the little one looks like a boy.

The Foot that Kicks the Tummy. Or should. Apparently the placenta has attached so as to muffle the baby's movement. This has been a little disconcerting though I suspect in a couple of months, I'll be wishing for a little peace at nighttime.

The little one's profile. How sweet!

We are thankful for his/her healthy progress and even more thankful that all 3 children were civilized and cooperative during the ultrasound. Unfortunately, I can't say the same for our lunch afterwards, but I guess you can't have everything.

To Know or Not to Know

Following immediately upon the heels of the EDD, is the question of gender. Seems these days, true to the instant-gratification mindset of Generation X, almost everyone wants to know the sex of the child. This is so widespread that one company claims their urine test can make the determination as early as 10 weeks (if you’re willing to chalk up 30 bucks).

And contrary to popular belief, the 20 week ultrasound is not preformed to determine the child’s gender. This test is done to gauge the health and progress of the growing babe, and if the other information presents itself, so be it.

We have never been told the sex of any of our babies. It's really not a question of “Right” or “Wrong;” it’s just my preference and here are some of my reasons:

1. It’s a nice surprise. There are so few pleasant surprises in life that I don’t want this one to be ruined. Boy? Great! Girl? Great! (But I am not one of those annoying people who always open their gifts before December 25).

2. What if the doctor is wrong? During our childbirth class with Andrew, our teacher had recently delivered two babies who were “wrong.” It would have to be a little disappointing. Yes, I’m sure the parents soon recovered and the baby was loved. But what about the stuff? I’m exhausted just thinking of returning stuff, especially with 3 kids in tow (John would just wear pink, I suppose).

3. It’s something to look forward to during labor. Obviously any mother is looking forward to delivery during those hours of agony, but believe me, there is no room for disappointment when you survive labor and have a healthy baby to show for it. I couldn’t have cared less whether it was a boy or girl; it was out of me and crying lustily.

4. It provides 9 months of entertainment. What else will you do during those 40 (or 40+) weeks of waiting? Just google “Gender prediction test” and you’ll have plenty to keep you busy.

5. Millions of other mothers have waited. Sure, Sarah and Elizabeth and Mary and a handful of others were forewarned about the sex of their child (and they were even told the names, thus saving a lot of mental energy); and it could have served Anne Boleyn and some others wives well, allowing them to make secretive escapes before losing their pretty little heads; but I’ll hold out to the end.

Still, there’s always the moment of panic during the ultrasound when the tech asks if we want to know should the information be available. I’ve always declined but had a terrible sick feeling in my stomach for the next 24 hours.

Based upon the family genes and previous experience, however, there really is no need for us to be told the gender. At this point I think we are only capable of producing one model, but if it proves to be otherwise (which would take a miracle) we will rejoice!

Another Parade

It's almost more fun than we can handle: back-to-back weekends of parades.

(Whenever I think of parades, I recall a memo I received when I worked at NAPA announcing the "grand martial" for a NASCAR race).

This week it was the Strawberry Festival in Dayton, TN. Once famous for being home to the Scopes Trial, today it is known for having one of the longest parades ever (partially due to the huge gaps between floats). They've got it all.

Of course there was the whole fleet of emergency vehicles from any little community and hamlet within 30 miles. Then there were politicians, both local and state. There were the pageant kings and queens, tots to teens.

(Matthew won Little Mister Super Pooper after a bout with some gastrointestinal bug).

There were riders on farm equipment and horses (who thankfully waited until they were 30 yards away before relieving themselves). A cash advance store's float stopped right in front of us and the employees proceeded to empty their stock of koosies at our feet (I assured the boys that we didn't need any but we somehow came home with 4. Maybe I should host a contest....).

Women of a certain age in ostentatious attire strutted their stuff while blasting obnoxious music. Overweight aged men stuffed themselves into small cars to drive wildly in figure 8 patterns while honking their horns. (Is this what automatically happens to you once you hit 50?)

There were boy scouts and ball teams. In a previous year they practiced pitching by throwing out frozen tube popsicles; they have good aim. This year they settled for water guns and squirters.

There were cheerleaders and twirlers. There were floats promoting pro wrestling and a spay/neuter clinic.

There were random unmarked cars which must have paid an entrance fee for the glory of riding down Main Street. And last, but certainly not least, were the motorized coolers. I saw a couple of kids on these at the Red Bank Jubilee last week, but this week there was a whole gang of adults astride these contraptions.

My favorite thing about this parade, though, is that a majority of the floats throw out those wonderful strawberry candies with the oozy filling. I don't know if was the economic downturn or the fact that we were positioned at the end of the route, but we only got one. I called dibs on it but Stephen stole it from me.

I even tried trading a box of Nerds, but no go. He ate it (although he did offer me a lick) and didn't feel a bit of remorse.

Disgruntled

I'm a little upset with this youngun'.

It took a long time to hear him utter something that somewhat resembled my title:

Mama.

Only lately I've discovered he was really saying,

"Lawnmower."

Jesus Loves Me

As I rocked and sang to Matthew tonight, I was touched by the poignancy of these words.

Jesus loves me! This I know,

For the Bible tells me so;

Little ones to Him belong,

They are weak but He is strong.

My friend (and recipient of the neat burp cloths) gave birth to a daughter today.

Jesus loves me! loves me still,

Though I'm very weak and ill;

From His shining throne on high,

Comes to watch me where I lie.

A friend successfully came through surgery for cancer and is recouperating.

Jesus loves me! He will stay,

Close beside me all the way;

If I love Him when I die,

He will take me home on high.

A brother in Christ waits to leave the pain of this world behind and finally be perfected with His Saviour.

Yes, Jesus loves me!

Yes, Jesus loves me!

Yes, Jesus loves me!

The Bible tells me so.

Thank you, Lord, for your many reminders.

Food for Thought

An article in our paper caught my eye today as I made lunch (yes, I've turned into my mother, reading every bit of print within eyesight - multitasking, you know).

Apparently this 74-year-old local guy travels the world, critiquing every restaurant he enters.

"I take notes and make recommendations," he said.

He's also taken note of bad habits diners have developed.

"Servers place menus down on plates," he said, adding that there's no telling how many hands have touched those menus.

Sometimes, he added, there's no clean place to put utensils after they are unwrapped.

"And (servers) wipe off the chairs and table with the same rag when everybody's been sitting everywhere."

Even worse, he's noticed parents placing their baby carriers on top of the tables, too. No telling what's been on those carriers, he said.

Another complaint he has is restaurants that offer bottomless salad bowls to be shared by those at the table. Rarely are there enough tomatoes, cucumbers and other prime ingredients to be shared, he said.

Let's break this down.

Firstly, the reporter got this all wrong when she listed these items under "bad habits diners have developed." Four of the five complaints should be directed to restaurant managers and staff; it is out of the control of fellow diners.

I'm not much of a germaphobe so I tend to just not think about it and hope for the best (really, considering the millions and millions of germs out there, we are a pretty healthy bunch. My kids, for example; I am not ashamed to admit that I used to put handfuls of Cheerios directly on the kitchen floor when Andrew and Stephen were little. I figured they'd end up there anyway).

Secondly, though, how can he think it is "even worse" to put a car seat on a table? Generally speaking, most carseats (and he is speaking of infant carriers) go straight from vehicle to stroller or shopping cart. No parent I know leaves their baby to sit in a cess pool.

This guy is a nut if he thinks I'm going to park my baby at my feet like a pet dog. Often times a parent has few options:

1. put the child in the seat on the floor, out of site, to serve as crumb catcher
2. put the child in a wobbly, upside down highchair at the end of the table where he/she will be touched by every server and/or patron
3. hold said child while attempting to eat, and not wear, your dinner
4. put the child in the seat on the table

Silly me, but I think I will go with option 4.

And if I happen to see Mr. Old Man Restaurant Guru (who, if he had children, never used a car seat), I will be sure to change the baby's diaper in view of all diners, then proceed to clean the table and menu with the baby wipe before stealing his "tomatoes, cucumbers, and prime ingredients" and walking out the door.

Blogger's Block

So it seems I haven't had much to report other than to rant about Doug (FWIW - "for what it's worth," mom - the lure of lunch out sans kiddos convinced him to find a day that would work; it's scheduled for the 20th).

Like most of the southeast, we've been wet all week. In between showers we headed outdoors to see what we could see: one neighbor poured a cement driveway

(which inspired the boys to make their own concrete and caused the ban from the backyard for the remainder of the week), another was trying to decide on a house color, and another gave us a hair stylist's kiddie cape

which we put to use as the boys greatly needed to be shorn (they celebrated with Sprite).

Inspired by Lentil, the boys have been practicing their harmonica skills and were excited to find a neighbor who really could play "Comin' Round the Mountain When She Comes." "(He said that he hadn't played one since he was a boy, but he did very well considering.)"

To amuse myself outdoors, I braided some monkey grass which were then turned into snakes (Verdi). The next morning while a storm raged outside, the boys used dried herbs to make tree houses for their reptiles.

The biggest thrill, however, has been the trickle of water coming from a neighbor's spring.

It's probably 1" wide and 1/4" deep, but it has been a source of amusement for all of the boys this week. They floated leaf boats, made dams, and splashed.

And the man and boys who made me a mother...

For the occasion I requested to purchase some plants for our yard. Doug graciously watched the boys while I roamed through nurseries, eager to buy everything in sight. And while it looks like I purchased a lot (and not all is pictured), the biggest purchase (numerically not monetarily speaking) came from the "dead & dying" racks at Lowe's where I stocked up on some random annuals for $.25 apiece.



When I returned, there were fresh flowers on the table. "They are beautiful. Thank you, boys." Stephen immediately replied, "But we put away the surprise of Skittles until tomorrow."

Routine

Apparently this is what you get the fourth time around:

Julie: As I left the doctor's office this morning, I made an appointment for the ultrasound on June 10 at....

Doug: I have a trial that day.

Julie: Well, I can reschedule it for another day if you want to come.

Doug: Not really.

Julie (in her best smarmy, scarcastic voice): So you're content to participate in conception and then wait 'til they're old enough to play baseball?

Obviously, Doug's never been one of those modern husbands who shows how supportive and involved he is by attending every medical appointment with me. Don't I need him while I sit in a waiting room reading baby magazines, pee in a cup, tell the midwife I have no questions (really, by now what else could there be to ask?), and make an appointment for another 4 weeks?

This most recent conversation, however, does have me a little worried about delivery.

When Andrew was born, we went to the hospital together and stayed 2 nights. Doug was kind enough to bring me take out from local restaurants, and he took a week off of work.

With Stephen, he actually attended my last appointment and convinced me that the midwife was right to send me to L & D right away. We stayed one night, returned home Wednesday, and he went into work on Friday.

And then there was Matthew. He was born late on a Tuesday afternoon. Early Thursday morning Doug appeared, hurrying my tired & sore body to get dressed, and tapping his foot while we waited for the discharge papers so that he could head out of town. He slowed down at the house long enough for me to jump (or crawl) out and grab the baby before taking off to Ohio. It was business as usual.

My only hope this time around is that the baby will be born on a Friday and the lure of college football on cable will force him to stick by my side a little longer.