Stuff'N Things

My sister-in-law sent me an article about why newborns are only satisfied in your arms and how much money will go into doing the exact opposite of that need -- swings, playpens, bouncers, playmats, bassinets, rockers.  Did you notice how much space goes into denying that desire of the baby's as well?  Now I can't say I spent any money really on Mommy-arm substitutes, because both of my brothers had little girls last year, but I did notice what the demand for space from having almost double of everything meant to my small house.  I am not a closet stuffer.  I will turn into one of those moms that beligerently (and with much speed I might add) will throw a whole closet outside of the closet if I notice any type of stuffing.  I just don't, I can't, allow for stuffing things.  Now my daughter has taken up quite a bit of room, her stuff is found in 3 rooms.  I understand I had to give up some space for the child, but I am more convinced now having read the article that it is perfectly okay if her stuff isn't found in every room and its closet.

Despite the money that goes into putting the baby down, contrary to what we are fed by consumerism, and the marketers of $20 onsies, babies don't even need all that many clothes.  They grow so fast, I've heard of many who didn't have their child wearing the same thing twice the first couple of months.  Let me tell you when it came to stuffing things in the 2 closets that she has practically taken over, I was not about to give up my no stuffing rule.  My husband was content to throw the box of diapers in the closet and I, on the other hand, will mostly gladly get rid of my own clothes to make room lest I find myself stuffing things.  The house just has to be tidy and orderly.  I am a big promoter of order and demander of it as well -- it is one of the reasons why I love the Law of the Lord.

I understand that kids are kids and they need to be kids.  However, maybe it was just the way I grew up because I just can't have a playhouse of a house, if you know what I'm saying.  The house still needs to look like it's my job to take care of it and manage it, and it still needs to look like I am good at my job.  It also needs to look like I am active in my job of raising little girls to be ladies, wives, and mothers, and little boys to clean up after themselves for their wife's sake.

The children are taught that their world revolves around the authoritarian in their lives, and that that authoritarian loves them.  As of right now, that person is mainly me.  Sure, this benefits me greatly -- my house will pretty much stay clean and I am always being thought of and I am known.  What I mean is this -- my mind's ability to focus on more than one thing has become a bit rusty.  "Whatchamacallits" have not made it into my vocabulary, but "stuff" and "things" have.  "Amira can you get me my stuff, it's next to the thing."  "Have you seen my thing?"  "Where did I put that stuff?" "I need that thing."  I have the stuff-and-thing complex, and it happens when my mind is on the thing while the conversation or physical reality is on some other stuff.  The amazing part is...my family knows what stuff and thing I am talking about.  This is what I mean by I am known.  This is what happens when their world has revolved around me.

Now hear me out -- of course no one would argue that my newborn's world revolves around me, but I may be called selfish for allowing such (and even practically promoting it) with the others.  The truth is...their lives should always revolve around an authoritarian -- they learn this relationship with me, and one day it should, for their own good, transfer to the ultimate authority:  the Lord.  I want these children's world to revolve around Him.  I want them to serve Him, truly.  I want them to keep themselves clean for His sake, thinking it is His house not theirs.  Most importantly, I want them to know Him -- like how they know me so well that they know what stuff and thing I am referring to.

I am so encouraged by the way of this relationship with my children.  Just this afternoon the girls and I (Elisha strapped to me) were practicing our dances for Saturday, while I was trying to teach Bam how to worship with us by percussion, making him hit a bowl when he sees us step on the right foot and a box when we step on the left.  It was so beautiful I almost cried.  My children and I just worshipping the Lord -- I want them to know Him and serve Him.  Then Amira topped it off with voluntarily going outside afterwards and trimming the bushes without being asked, but because she knows I don't like them to be overgrown.

So, this past week Brant decided that he would wake up and deal with Bam in the middle of the night because it was just too hard on me to wake up to Little's grunts to go potty myself, then wake up Bam to go, spending time to get him out of the sleep walking stage, to change Elisha and then feed her.  By the time I got Bam coherently able to sit on the potty, Elisha was already past the 'hey, beloved Mother, wake up' grunts and well into the 'woman, feed me now!' screams.  On top of this I captured him in a classic moment yesterday, coming off of work, push-reel mowing the yard with the baby in the carrier.  What a guy.  Even last night after he got up Bam to go potty in the wee hours, I heard him laboring over splitting wood outside -- yes in the middle of the night!  What a good example of a head -- serving his family in keeping us warm.  He also knows his wife is very cranky in the cold, so what a good example of Messiah who labors for His Bride.  Now my man has walked into the door after his day's labor, so I will be saying toodles for family time.  The laborer is worthy of his reward.

Lullaby

A baby's deep sleep breath -- it's like a lullaby to the parent.  Not much outside of my children's absolute peace and contentment, like they have in sleep, can be such a good lullaby to me.  Little is sleeping and her tiny sounds are a lulling white noise in the form of an eraser, removing the list of to-do's on mind.  That is my lullaby right now, putting me into an afternoon nap.  It is amazing how many things are no longer important when a nap is offered.

If it's not for your own nap's sake, there's the baby's nap to consider.  Even things of importance are deeply challenged when it means a high chance of waking the baby.  Just earlier the kids were knocking on the door to be let in, but the tiny one had just fallen asleep on my arm.  Even though I heard a thunder clap, I mean there was a split second where the decision to get up and wake the child was a real struggle as I knew it would be a struggle to get her back to sleep.

That reminds me of this past Sunday when we went fishing with my brother Donavan.  The baby was in a sleep struggle and Donavan busted out his cell phone's playlist with a lullaby.  Wow, I don't even have lullabies at my fingertips.  He is going through some changes and without formally making it a plan, it was just natural for Brant and me to take him on family outings with us.  It was quite genius that the family outing ended up being fishing, because I had yet to get an anniversary gift for Brant and since he needed a fishing license and since the first anniversary gift is paper, his license ended up being the perfect gift.  The trip didn't last long because there was a game Donavan needed to watch and because I ran out of wipes.  During the one diaper-changing session while we were out, I happened to go through 3 diapers and all of my traveler baby wipes...and still get pooped on.  Nevertheless, she was so happy wriggling in the mess of poop that was on my lap, and screaming to be cleaned of it.  It's like the way I clean spilled milk from her neck rolls.  She throws an infant hissy fit as if she was saving that for later.

I didn't get a fishing license for myself.  It would have defeated its purpose as a gift for Brant, and it was more enjoyable to watch the males interact.  It was good for Bam to have his day golfing on Thursday, bowling Saturday night, and then fishing on Sunday.

It started worrying me that my son was getting a bit of middle-child syndrome from me.  I realize that we are often occupied with Amira's fast growth into teenage-hood and all that comes with it.  Just this past Saturday Brant was telling me how a teenage boy's dad was making nice conversation with him.  When I asked what about, he replied, "The betrothal."  He was totally joking, but I don't know which one people would think is worse -- that I believed him or that I am open to such a discussion.  That's one of the things that occupies us:  the thought of her getting older and preparing for the path God has for her.  It is serious business.  Everything I do now, the way I raise the kids, care for my husband, get out of bed and manage the house, the way I teach Bible study, the way I react, my attitude...is all with this constantly in my thoughts:  she's learning from this.  Amira often occupies me mentally and Elisha occupies me physically.  My poor boy sort of gets lost in the middle, as he gets responses from me that are not much above "uh huh," "that's cool," "shhh the baby is sleeping," "not right now," "later."  I feel so badly.  This morning he happened to arise and fancy into my room at an opportune moment of Little being fast asleep, but not opportune because I was deeply into Bible reading.  I put it down and spent a few minutes alone with the boy -- no big sister who often out-bosses him, and no little sister who can out voice him.  I mean, you have to live the Scriptures too.  The time with my little boy, who I once thought was going to be my last child, was very soothing to me.

However, more soothing than my time with him is observing Brant's time put into him.  I am happy to sit back and watch that relationship grow.  He teaches him badminton and golf; talks to him past his fears of the water, spiders, and the dark; will hold conversations with him about Minecraft and Legos; watches movies with him; gives him tasks...  Even the other night I was trying to put the baby to bed and Brant was in the other room spending time with Bam.  The last of it I heard was Brant reprimanding Bam for his disobedience, but even then it put me to sleep just listening to them.  It wasn't that it was boring, but everything about that boy's relationship with his "Dad" is so soothing.  In play, talk, or discipline, there's a peace about him when he is with Brant, a peace that that night was my lullaby.

Baby Blues

When Brant told me yesterday that his alarm would be going off at 5am, I thought that was quite early. However, to my darling newborn child, that was sleeping in this morning.  The Elisha-alarm went off at 4am, after a night of fussiness.  This alarm wasn't the cute grunts in the middle of the night to let me know she's hungry.  This was the flat out screaming that didn't end until 5:30.  When Brant quit his roofing job, I thought my days of waking up at the 4am hour were gone.  I am not eager about it reprising for heartburn and gas, and certainly not going to sit around and wait for it to turn her colicky.

Last night was the first I started feeling a bit like I had some postpartum blues.  Hey, I know it's normal, especially when hormones that drive your body are whiplashing as they come back to a balance.  I was so whacked out that last month of pregnancy that I wholly expected my postpartum to actual slap me back into normalcy...and it did for the most part.  I made it to 5 weeks postpartum without my hair falling out, my eyes puffy from crying, nor feeling like an inadequate mother, and I thought I was in the gold.  Yet, a screaming baby that refuses to be consoled will change all of that.

Elisha is having some gastrointestinal issues.  It started out last Monday with bloody stools that quickly were seen in every diaper change (every 2-3 hours).  I went on the Top 8 elimination diet, eliminating all 8 at once to add one at a time back in at weekly intervals after 2 weeks.  That greatly upped my fiber intake with the fruits, vegetables, and beans.  I can understand why she has had bouts of screaming from gas and/or heartburn since Friday.  During those moments she'll nurse only a few minutes and then start screaming, pull away, milk squirts everywhere...  Yesterday I literally was crying over the spilled milk -- not because I was frustrated with the baby, but because of the child's pain as it related to my milk.  Babies are meant to have their mother's milk.  It is supposed to be the best thing for them, not the source of ailments and discomfort.  Nevertheless, she seems to still be thriving greatly on the milk, at least that's what her weight gain tells us.

Now, I think it is wholly unfair for Brant to deal with the children's nighttime needs when he deals with the very real, physical needs of the whole family by working.  This means he must get enough sleep to provide for the family.  However, last night I was so exhausted with her fussiness I had to ask him to take Bam potty.  Yes friends, when I wake up in the middle of any given night, I have to answer to three bladders:  mine, my son's, and my newborn's...more than once a night.  Nights are quite demanding.

Brant is still ever-helpful and considerate.  He rolled over at that 4am scream and, while I was boo-hooing, started reading me Scripture out loud.  Then he prayed over us before he left at 5:30 when she was calm enough for me to go back to bed.  I drifted off saying how absolutely tired I am, getting to go back to sleep while his day has just started.  It's a tough job being a Mom, and many say that it is the job that goes unnoticed, but I often wonder if a Dad's job is more unnoticed within his own family.  I once watched a husband, who works, clean and prepare meals for his whole family, including his homemaking wife who lay in bed watching TV for days on end.

My thoughts land greatly on the job of my dear husband to keep me comfortable enough to do my job and provide for me that I can.  Brant massaged my shoulders one of the three times I awoke last night, while I was sitting up trying to massage baby's tummy.  He keeps my bedside water filled.  In fact, when we walk in the door, the first thing he does is poor me water.  He brushes my hair when he sees I clearly haven't had the time to do anything with it that day.  He washes my makeup brushes if they are still sitting on the dresser by the time he gets home.  And no, it isn't because the man is obsessed with cleanliness; it is because I am obsessed with cleanliness and he wants to fix whatever prevents me from the comfort of cleanliness, even if that is redeeming the lack of time by offering himself before and after he goes out and works for a living.  Even after all these, I, whose job is the house, refuse to do 2 jobs of this house:  the yard and the garbage.  Of course this leaves Brant to pick up those house jobs automatically, if not Amira.  Wow, my man has a tough job.

Since the scream fest, I've been working my way through natural approaches.  I am taking in raw apple cider vinegar at least once a day.  I know it cures heartburn almost immediately when directly ingested, and I am hoping it will work the same through breast milk.  I also started taking inulin pills (prebiotic) just this morning.  In addition, I've applied lavender and peppermint (one drop each with coconut oil) onto the Little's tummy, back, and soles of her feet.  I've noticed an improvement with the essential oils when they are blended together.  The peppermint alone (though good as a digestive aid often in tea form) just wasn't cutting it.  Maybe they need that lavender to calm their little stressed out system.  I know doTerra and Young Living both have their own digestive aid blends that are quite excellent, but their prices are not so.  I will try others first.

Regardless, I am encouraged that though this postnatal term has proven more challenging than my others, I have not entirely caved to postpartum blues because it ain't about me.  My milk to Little's touchy system may hurt my feelings, but the baby is the one going through the real pain; and though my job may be hard and hormone fluctuation play a huge part on postpartum mentality, I am scarcely down when I think of all that my husband does as my support system and he never complains about it.  I have a past I can compare that with; and if anything I am thankful for that past because, with it, I can see how good I have it now...which helps so much in relieving any blues that may sneak in.  It is hard to make my postpartum all about me when "me" is already properly taken care of.  It reminds me of how we are free in Messiah to love (charity) because we are loved freely.  I am free from the care of me, free to do my job because he does his job in taking such good care of me.  That really makes all the difference.

Ninjama

If I were living Groundhog Day, the repetitive thing I'd wake up to daily would be the day's theme, and Ninja would be that theme.  Whether its the way I move swiftly during grocery shopping and other errands during the 2 hour break before Elisha decides she hates the car seat, the grace of my movements while vacuuming and carrying a sleeping infant, the steadiness my hand to eat while the baby is feeding, the power in my spankings, busting out the switch like a Ninja and their sword, the fierce look I give to my children in public if they are disobedient, the quickness of my quick diaper changes in the still of the nights, the silence of my slipping away once baby is napping, and the strength to tackle the day's tasks while having such broken sleep.  If that's not enough, today I had my breakfast, courtesy of the Ninja; got into a wardrobe war with Bam so he could wear his Ninjaqo shirt; and because Elisha was freshly back asleep, I slipped away like a Ninja myself and took a stealth-like shower.

It was during that shower, as I was battling today's tasks in my head -- well, this week's tasks, in all honesty -- that I thought of adding a snip to my bangs in the schedule.  It would only be for Brant, who greatly desires I would.  I battled this in my head, telling him (as if he could hear me) how much I just like my simple hair that goes along with my simple choices in my wardrobe, which is full of simple colors like black (true to my Ninja theme) and the simple shoes I almost bought on Sunday that would secure the banner on my forehead that says, "Yep, I'm a Mom."

I didn't realize what coming to that third child would do to me.  I was still getting my hair dyed and my nails done being pregnant with Amira, and rocking 4 inch stilettos throughout my pregnancy with Bam.  When I was pregnant with Elisha I traded my fancy shoes for Vibram Five Fingers; and, well, my hair never did get a single trim.  I went from no-way on the mini-van with Amira, to submitting to one in time with Bam, to downright not even considering another option but the mini-van with Elisha.

I did try on some other shoes on Sunday.  They were Mary Jane brown Earth Sole shoes from Walmart, with a walking-shoe/day-hiking sole.  They were totally 'Mom' shoes, and I loved them.  My husband came walking by, saying, "Please don't."  I can't believe he had to ask me to not wear something.  Normally I am more particular about the way I look than he is about the way I look.  So now you see why I debate chopping the bangs, because a man needs his wife.

I was thinking of a feminine (hence, Mary Jane) walking shoe because of my method of travel these days.  Yes friends, I have traded my minivan for another set of wheels:  my stroller.  I know this child has changed me when I would eyeball people walking along the sidewalks to get a glimpse of their stroller.  I scope the angles, the pivot, the bulk, the gadgets, the recline, the suspension, the alignment, the size -- just to name a few.  You should have seen me Sunday morning refreshing Craigslist ads on strollers, like a cyber stalker.  The truth is, having just bought that stroller right before the Walmart trip, I wanted some shoes to go with them.  I wanted shoes to ensure I would have just as much comfort walking the child in that stroller as she would have being in that cushioned goodness.  Now the way I described my window - ahem, sidewalk - shopping of strollers, you'd think I got one of those top of the line strollers.  Well friends, I got one that was designed to hold my car seat on Craigslist, because not only do I scope out the stroller, but I scope out the price.  It is a great stroller none the less, but I did pass up the Bob for one with what I could easily transfer my baby without taking her out of the car seat.  You know you are a sleep-deprived Mom when you'd almost choose death than to wake up the baby unnecessarily.  

I was so into this stroller that even Brant could see it.  You should have seen him in the store, practically the stroller's bodyguard for my sake, sternly and repetitively telling Bam, "Back off the stroller.  That's Mommy's new toy."  As a matter of fact, after I tested it out in Walmart we went to the zoo.  Now I can say we did it for the kids, which we did; but I also did have it in my heart to push that stroller.  The next morning as we woke up, one of the first things Brant said to me was, "You get to test out your new stroller today."  I had an appointment about a mile away from home and he knew I was eager to put that stroller to the asphalt.  He was right -- when I awoke I did so with excitement over using the stroller.  He knows me well.

Now I had quite a few things I wanted to accomplish when I took the new set of wheels out.  Before the appointment, the library run, and the grocery store, I had to first play the Ninja and, in a thief-in-the-night move, get rid of some trash overflow in the sidewalk trashcan.  It wasn't that I thought I was illegally dumping.  We live in a nice small city and they happen to have trashcans every few blocks along one of the main roads, which happens to be at the end of our street.  I figure that the public trashcan for our city is open the city residents.  Nevertheless, it is a bit embarrassing to be spotted walking with some trash overflow.  (Hey, I have a newborn -- an outrageous amount of diapers and boxes came our way the past 2 weeks.)  So it was during this pre-outing mission that one of the neighbors came out of her bushes like a Ninja herself and eagerly made mention of the babe I was stroller-ing with one hand, while the other was holding my garbage.  She had yet to meet the baby and was very excited to take this opportunity.  As she approached, she said, "Is that your trash?"  Fail!  Of course I couldn't lie, so I answered that it was and she happily offered her trashcan for my convenience.  Brant says that's what neighbors do.  I don't know what neighborhood he grew up in, but in the one I grew up in, people did not offer us their trashcan.  However, most ashamedly I admit that that did not stop us from using our neighbors' trashcans.  

Going back to my to-do list I was thinking up in the shower, today's outings included a doctor's appointment for Little and shopping for Amira's birthday.  Tomorrow she will be 13 and I am a bit overwhelmed with that fact.  She said she didn't even want a cake, certainly not a party.  She wants a Vans gift certificate, new headphones, and to eat pho.  Easy child, huh?  Though she is quickly coming out of her childhood.  Tomorrow she is a teenager.

I cannot believe it has been 13 years since I had her.  She changed my life, and though I strongly dislike people saying their children saved them (to be a savior is a strong demand to put on a child), I can say I don't know where I would be if she hadn't entered my life so soon.  I have seen my brothers become by-products of our generations' past, and I know that I myself am not above all I have seen.  At the time, I was so young, selfish, and even ignorant.  I watched the Lord cover my ignorance, make my selfish heart of stone a heart of flesh to care for a child and desire more, and grow me to be a real parent.  We are a family of five today but Amira knew me when we were a family of just her and me.  Much contributed to her growth and much she forgave.  She's ever had a heart of meekness and consideration -- the other day she used her last dollar to buy her brother a cookie.  The Lord has blessed.

It is actually a grand day of celebration for us.  It will start with Amira's birthday and then at sunset we will ring in the birthday of our Lord on Sukkot, and in turn I celebrate the anniversary of Brant's proposal which came on Sukkot (though this was Sept last year, we had 2 months of Adar this past Biblical calendar year).  This Ninjama has much to celebrate.

  

Keeping Up With the Krakens

I am not sure Bam will be sufficed until I start playing Minecraft.  He will spend hours enthusiastically talking to anyone with an ear about his current passion, and I mean anyone.  One time, being the master builder than he is, he built an airplane-submarine-car-in-one with is legos and talked to every passing person while in Trader Joe's.  I think the most hilarious was how he was trying to sell his own enthusiasm to an elderly couple there.  Or there was the time I was trying on shoes at Nordstrom -- he talked Minecraft to the salesman, and even followed him around to other customers to upkeep the [practically one person] conversation.  Now you know those guys work on a commission and I felt so terrible; but, confession:  I also felt relieved.

The trend lately has stuck to Minecraft.  He must really like it because the passions otherwise switch quite often.  Since it has stayed on Minecraft, sometimes my days feel like the movie Groundhog Day.  It's the same ole cooking and cleaning and changing diapers, and now let's add the same amount of hours of the same ole discussion topic.  Sometimes the only thing that changes in one day is Elisha's clothes and my clothes, because Amira (being the skater she is) and Bam (being a 6 year old boy) will even remain in the same clothes day to day if I let them.  Now I talk about many standards for myself as a woman that seem to no longer be as I gain more children and my children gain more age, but let it never be that my standards about my daily changing of clothes be diminished!  Oh someone come babysit these kids if ever.

Back to Minecraft.  He will follow me around and talk about krakens and wither skulls, and I'm thinking, "What is a kraken?"  Here comes little-boy-busy, in all excitement, replying, "I can show you!"  Huh.  Well, after watching a 16 minute You Tube Minecraft video just for him to show me what a wither skull was, I wasn't eager to dive in for another sixteen for the kraken.  Just 2 seconds on Google and this Mommy can move right along with lending the ear for the kraken obsession, which in turn saves me 16 more minutes from my busy schedule.

Apparently there is a legend of a giant sea monster, looking like an octopus, dwelling in the Greenland/Norway coasts.  This is the kraken, although from what I gathered in Bam's sales pitch it sounds like Minecraft's version is more like a squid.  Someone please tell me I heard the boy correctly.

I was just thinking, which I spend much time doing during these hours-long chat, that I would be a better listener if I applied the speech to my reality.  It is even better if I can apply it to my reality at that moment.  I mean, we already do this with sermons right?  Give it a try with me.  For example, I can share the enthusiasm and give real excited replies when, in the midst of his talking and my cleaning, I think about what I could do with a kraken.  How cool it must be to have so many arms to do so much.  I would train my kraken.  Hey, if you can train a dragon, why not a kraken?  With 4 times the arms as me, could folding laundry get 4 times faster?  How about extending the vacuum hose up to get cobwebs -- how awesome are the long arms of a kraken and the tentacles on those long arms for easy suctioning?  I could say goodbye to my vacuum if I only had a kraken.  I especially think of my time spent this morning scrubbing mini blinds.  Oh awesome kraken, where were you then?  I needed a plumbing snake recently -- could have called the kraken.    

I'm 'kraken' myself up over here, having fell for a 6-year old's sales pitch on a legendary animal.  I've spent enough time talking about imaginary help, I should get to the real help.  Amira is such a help.  I was showered and halfway through my Shabbat prepping by the 10 o'clock hour because she cuddled the babe, who will sleep hours if she is swaddled and cuddled.  She helped with the other half of prepping as I was limited to what I could do while nursing the baby in the pack carrier.  She even ran the late movie back up to the library this morning.  I feel better utilizing her help when I tell myself it is training in responsibility, courtesy, and raising a family.

As far as the boy, well I need a kraken just to keep with all his messy doings and undoings, let alone get some sort of physical help from him.  I ask him to go do something and on the way to do it he gets distracted.  There could be nothing but a white padded cell between him and the task I put before him and he would be the one to find something entertaining about a white padded cell.  He did wipe off the tops of the heaters this morning, but other than that it is an accomplishment alone if he cleans up his messes.  Since he is a walking tornado (and I mean that -- he even often gives the motions of one, twirling and spinning in circles everywhere he goes), cleaning up after himself is an all-day event.  You know that B.O.R.E.D. list of options you give your kids when they say they are bored?  With Bam it doesn't have to be so.  I have often found myself saying, whenever I see him idle, "Go clean up your mess," and it seems to be a safe thing to say to him.  Not having seen a mess, I know there is one; and he confirms me by saying, "Okay."  There is always a Bam mess to clean, and a Bam to keep up with.

Obviously having spent almost a whole blog article on his current obsession, I have proof that I kept up with the krakens; but alas, some new sounds coming from Bam have made it to my ears:  thumping and chopping in the living room.  Oh no, please don't tell me it's "keeping up with the karate kid" time.  

Terribly Good Twos

I am not sure what is happening here but I hope it stays this way.  I was showered and dressed before noon, 2 mile walk with the kids this afternoon to an appointment (where I showed up 10 mins early -- wow), schoolwork for both of the kids is done, dinner crock-potted, my husband's lunches are made for the rest of the week, Bible studies, my house is clean, and I even wrote an article on my other blog site this morning.  This makes 2 blog articles today.  I feel...like myself.

I even spent some time with Brant this morning before he went to work.  He gave his job a two-week notice after the birth of our daughter, which ended up in an early quit because of weather.  Since he is in the middle of going back to an old career, I was so upset he up and quit before anything was sure.  I wholly expected him to return back to the job until he had a sure thing set up or was certified to go back to his old career, though I realized I too would often make mention of the hours due to weather, the long commute, and getting up earlier as the time went by.  I was upset...that is until he said, "I didn't mind the commute.  It was my devotion time, but I hated the job for you.  I hated what it did to you, that you had to get up so early."  He has a good heart, I don't deserve him.  He started a new job 2 days ago, much closer to home.  It was so nice to get up before the alarm went off and chit chat over warm beverages, rather than waking up in the 4am hour just to rush out of the door.  It is these past 2 days with this new job that I feel like I got my groove back.  I especially feel like I have my groove back when I get his compliments and when he calls to say he's coming home with dinner.  I sound so trendy.  I'll continue by saying this is my swag:  being his wife, their mother, a Bible and school teacher, and a housekeeper all at once.  I mean, to be all those things in one day without compromising any one of those positions for the other is good swag to me.

I can't seem to be able to add socializer to my swag list just yet.  My phone rang off the hook this morning and it did nothing but frustrate me at the time.  I don't have time to comment much on anything on Facebook anymore, and sometimes something beckons me before I have the chance to even hit the like button.  I tried to type "Happy Birthday" to my cousin today and the app (which just updated yesterday) seems to have another bug that needs fixing.  It kept asking me if I wanted to delete the post every 2 letters I typed out.  More frustration.  I am trying though; I did attempt to return some of those phone calls along our walk; and with a bluetooth and my girl Siri to do some of my typing (that faithful sidekick) for those buggin' out apps, I may be able to add socializer in no time.

Two days of 2-mile walks with the kids and you know it was coming -- they were going to ask me for a snack at our turning point (Trader Joe's).  I am happy to report that although the kids first grabbed candy bars, they didn't walk out with them.  I walked out of the store with my kids eating nutrition bars and apples.  Their choice.  Amira's choice was also to walk alongside me and talk rather than skateboard, offering to hold my diaper and shopping bag.  This means so much since she's hitting that age where many children find their parents are wardens.  Good job Mom.  Getting kids to make good decisions, talk to you, and help you -- now that is some good swag.