tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-82022231220419282362024-02-06T18:07:48.032-08:00The Lee's BlogUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger65125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8202223122041928236.post-40865208698482443222012-08-15T20:03:00.002-07:002012-08-15T20:03:27.474-07:00Framing and Electrical Work, DONE<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbhB2W0WN1631C0JVa6XPCEbpq7ew2_v0TqxEB9kbh5OgXex-6UUE0TC6wYbtzNGoKGNrL8ro3Ar_fwDP5Z2ODzkJUJoveu_LTxvRWi86Gb6se7403CJcS-LQcSXXzrt6kMLxmR_pqaRaV/s1600/P1060065.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbhB2W0WN1631C0JVa6XPCEbpq7ew2_v0TqxEB9kbh5OgXex-6UUE0TC6wYbtzNGoKGNrL8ro3Ar_fwDP5Z2ODzkJUJoveu_LTxvRWi86Gb6se7403CJcS-LQcSXXzrt6kMLxmR_pqaRaV/s320/P1060065.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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New Pantry</div>
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Gutted kitchen with new electrical work</div>
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Recessed lights</div>
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Holes in walls, lots of them</div>
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We closed escrow two weeks ago and it's been a whirlwind of demo and renovation. So far I'm really pleased with the contractors we have doing this project!! It's been a pretty painless experience and everything has gone really smoothly. </div>
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Now we have to roll up our sleeves and actually do some work ourselves. We plan on painting and putting in some flooring soon. Like...in a few days!! </div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8202223122041928236.post-49234208532233294902012-07-30T14:13:00.000-07:002012-07-30T14:13:10.177-07:00Elimination Communication @ 9 monthsWe've been doing EC for about 4 months now.<br />
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Yesterday Natasha started saying, "Pppppp....pppppp" to indicate that she needs to poo, or that she already has. Amazing.<br />
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Her first words were "Mama." Then "DaDa," and "All Duh (all done)." Now "ppppppp."<br />
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It's been a pretty neat ride, though not without some work and perhaps some angst thrown in for good measure. We went through a stage where I was trying to catch every single pee and poo, and that was very tiring for everyone. Her bladder is just too small; she had to go so often.<br />
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When we went into escrow on the house, we started using disposables more and more. Now we're on them full-time to make life a little easier because of our upcoming renovation and move.<br />
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I would say that the one thing that I have learned in the last few months is that EC does not have to be an "all or nothing" endeavor. You can definitely do it part-time and it still works. I used to fear that doing it part-time meant that I would be confusing Natasha - she would not have a consistent direction from me whether I wanted her to pee in the potty or in a diaper. Now I see that it's not like that at all.<br />
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Honestly I do not have time to take her to the potty every single time. So when I have time, I take her; and when I don't have time, well...that's what the diaper is there for. My part-time EC aims at doing the "easy" catches: first thing in the morning, before naps, for all her poos (she's pretty predictable, plus she'll make grunting noises and I take her immediately to the potty), and after coming out of the carrier (she'll hold it, not wanting to pee on me and all). It's a reasonable schedule and I'm happy so far. The most important things to me are that she is aware of her bodily functions, that she is learning to communicate about them consciously, that she is accustomed to pooping and peeing on the potty.<br />
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Once she reaches 1 year old, I think perhaps I will go back to cloth diapers...hopefully we'll have moved in and settled down in the new house by then.<br />
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Thankful for:<br />
-Closing escrow today!!!! God has been so good and faithful.<br />
-Giggling with the girls while kicking a ball around in the apartment parking garage<br />
-30 free boxes, getting ready to box up our stuff<br />
-family, who gave so open-handedly for our needs, money for a fridge, buying a garden hose for us, etc.<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8202223122041928236.post-8760642868238605092012-06-26T20:26:00.002-07:002012-06-26T20:26:51.677-07:00The Kitchen, BEFORE<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
It's very good the kitchen in this house is ugly and broken. There's no place to put a refrigerator here (how did the previous owners live?), most of the base cabinets are free-standing and roll around, there is nowhere to hook up the dishwasher and the kitchen sink does not work. Hmm. </div>
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But, yay for me! It has been a secret life of mine to daydream about a kitchen that I could one day design, specify and install. </div>
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Here's a view of the kitchen side. Somebody had previously knocked down a wall (you can see the ceiling transition from popcorn to smooth). So thanks for doing that. But as for the rest, what were you people THINKING? </div>
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Here's a view of the dining side. Not sure what the chandelier placement is all about. But there's a fireplace in the dining area and I like that the dining is open to the kitchen. </div>
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Kitchen planning here we go!!</div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8202223122041928236.post-62937276603939098972012-06-16T20:15:00.000-07:002012-06-16T20:15:14.487-07:00"It's Old and Cheap"Look at what I found as I was going through city records on the house.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyoUeCKiNKO-wNco4nf6AJZKVOxMPAjV24oam-4uEKZZ9F4RwmL1thZN7sGTn5_7AL5b-f3fUrpqzPfnJ_-YyxHnHGNFuxeS3zboJujtTDkXO9RJxk6rzbnp0b57p7rvDOrhf5cJi4nnw3/s1600/Screen+shot+2012-06-16+at+8.14.08+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="159" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyoUeCKiNKO-wNco4nf6AJZKVOxMPAjV24oam-4uEKZZ9F4RwmL1thZN7sGTn5_7AL5b-f3fUrpqzPfnJ_-YyxHnHGNFuxeS3zboJujtTDkXO9RJxk6rzbnp0b57p7rvDOrhf5cJi4nnw3/s320/Screen+shot+2012-06-16+at+8.14.08+PM.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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Apparently this house took William McKnight $5,250 to build in 1946.<br />
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65 years later, it will take me about that much to replace the flooring ALONE, DIY-style. What will houses cost when the kids are grown up?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8202223122041928236.post-9776702989346374252012-06-09T23:01:00.000-07:002012-06-09T23:01:53.224-07:00An Actual House: We are in EscrowSo after all that talk about being careful not to jeopardize our spiritual house, we are now surprisingly in escrow for an actual house! <div>
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Stubbed toes, we will miss you. Wait a minute, no we won't! At one point, Kevin and I both had bloody pinky toes from stubbing them on things around our small apartment. To get a butter knife while you're in the kitchen, you have to walk over to the dining room cupboard (there's nowhere in the kitchen to store eating utensils), and to walk there you have to step over Noelle's play space right as she's laid out her beautiful pretend picnic. As you tip toe back through her litter of toys, past the pots and pans hanging on the kitchen cart right next to her head, you stub your toe on the kitchen ladder. To cook you move the ladder in front of the refrigerator. To open the refrigerator you have to move the ladder in front of the sink. To wash your hands, you then move the ladder in front of the stove. And so on, and so forth, except repeat scenario a million times in almost every room of the apartment. </div>
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Oh, God heard my prayer alright. He saw my bloody toes. Our need for more space. A backyard to run in. </div>
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The house in not quite ours yet. We are praying escrow closes smoothly. </div>
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God has been faithful to us! </div>
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*Thankful for:</div>
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~parents, on both sides, who love us and provide so generously and sacrificially for us</div>
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~healthy babies growing into toddlers growing into preschoolers</div>
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~baby eating rice, wheat, oatmeal, milk...no allergies so far with her!</div>
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~smiling, crinkling eyes and nose of a giggly, always-happy Tasha</div>
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~sweet kisses of husband, our 5-year anniversary coming up soon!</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8202223122041928236.post-2982488781877012292012-05-02T22:25:00.000-07:002012-05-02T22:25:52.395-07:00Building a House"The wise woman builds her house, but with her own hands the foolish one tears hers down." Proverbs 14:1<br />
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It's May and the days are growing longer. After dinner, we all go upstairs and I pull down the black out blinds in the bedrooms where we will soon put the children to sleep. Because I've been up since 5:30 a.m. and even though the sun is not ready to sleep yet, I am pretty sure that I am. Noelle cries in her little tub because she can't reach her toy. Yes, I'm pretty sure that she is tired, too. Natasha is bawling on the bed while we rinse Noelle's soapy, foaming head.<br />
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Pull down the blinds. Shut the whole thing down.<br />
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The children close their eyes and are very quiet for a long time. As long as it is dark, they are quiet and still in their beds. The house becomes like a quiet library again and I can hear the hum of the refrigerator. Finally, rest.<br />
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I stay up way too late doing stupid things like looking online at images of kitchens that I would one day like to have. Because I want to live in a house. Not in an apartment anymore. I pour my heart out like water onto hot summer cement. The water evaporates in that barren land and I am left dry and wanting - empty.<br />
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My heart is now on the floor.<br />
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The next morning, the day still dark and unwrapped, the baby opens her mouth and cries loud for food. And comfort. And to get out of the wet bottom. And to see the light of day. The sun yawns - awakens - and so it begins!<br />
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I feel hungover. I went to bed too late and the only thing I gorged on was Pinterest and Redfin. And my heart is still on the floor where I left it.
I get up, feed the baby, and there is nothing inside my heart to give. Then my oldest wakes up from all the commotion, bursts into the room crying. I turn into a frizzle - I am fried and the day has only just begun. My heart is already evaporated. I poured it onto the hot cement last night.<br />
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And then this verse comes to mind, "The wise woman builds her house, but with her own hands the foolish one tears her down." The Lord had spoon-fed that one to me awhile back, and I remember it afresh, and it nourishes me. My heart revives with this morning dew, fresh grace from Him.<br />
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What does it matter what house I have or don't have? What the Jones have or don't have? What does it matter if I have a big house with a big yard but I have torn down my children's spiritual heritage with my own hands?<br />
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What does it matter whether or not they have a backyard to run on, whether I have more than this one foot of counter space to cook on, whether I have a coat closet - what does it matter whether I have all these things for my family yet I don't have a heart that resembles the Lord Jesus'?<br />
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My Lord does not care one bit what my house looks like when I die; it will all burn up in the end anyway. And my daughters will not care whether their house was featured on a blog or in a magazine.
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All they will care about was whether I cared about them, loved them, spoke kindly. Whether I hugged them when they needed a hug, prayed for them earnestly, spoke truth and wisdom into their souls. Whether I was present, 100% whole-heartedly there, doing what no other person in the world was created to do: love them, guide them, grow them, in a way only a mother can. A child can live in a hundred houses, from destitute to opulent. But they will only have one mother whose influence will mark their lives forever.<br />
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And what of God's opinion? All the Lord will care about is whether I built up my house with love, patience, joy. With truth, kindness, gratitude. Did I tear it down with anger, frustration? Did I tear it down with discontented grumbling? Did I yell at everyone because I thought I was entitled to so much more than what I was given?<br />
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<i>Oh, Lord, You see me. You see my wicked, darkened heart. I have often poured my heart out wastefully onto the ground, liberally indulging in discontent and covetousness. But You redeem me with the kindness and purity of Christ. You fill my heart anew with Living Water, with purpose, with focus. Make me the wise woman who builds her house - the spiritual legacy she will leave her children, the environment of love and service that envelops her household - and save me from becoming what I would naturally become, the foolish woman who would tear down her household with her discontent, selfishness, irritation. </i>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8202223122041928236.post-83118954170855819052012-04-16T21:34:00.003-07:002012-04-16T21:41:06.558-07:00What happened that I didn't tell anyone aboutSomething happened between the time I got nauseously pregnant and the newborn turned into a 5 month old. <br /><br />That's about one year's time. Maybe a little more than one year. <br /><br />I am certain that I was miserable during my pregnancy. Cleaning poop off a cloth diaper was one of the hardest things during that time. The nausea, which lasted precisely 38 weeks, all day every day, really left no space for any enjoyment in life. The other hard thing, besides the debilitating nausea - this "I-don't-want-to-be-alive" nausea - this "let's-just-sleep-the-whole-day-because-I-can't-bear-to-be-awake" nausea, was carrying around an unbearably heavy child inside the womb, so heavy that I couldn't lay down on the sofa because then I wouldn't be able to get up again. So heavy that I couldn't sit on the floor without feeling like my pelvis was going to break. So heavy that I couldn't lay in any position, or sit in any position, without feeling pain in my back, my belly, my internal organs. Oh, the weight of that bowling ball inside me! <br /><br />And of course there was labor that I went through. False labor. For weeks. And then the real thing. Painful, intense, fast. The pushing. The crowning. The tearing. The birthing of the head. The yanking her out because her hands were stuck around her chest. The melting of my muscles because of how hard I pushed and how long I was on all fours trying to bear my labor pain. <br /><br />And did I mention the unmentionable. What happened AFTER I had the baby. The horrible itchy bleeding hell-set-me-on-fire hives? From neck to soles of my feet bleeding wounds, like having chicken pox and then poison ivy on top of that. And I was swollen - so swollen I couldn't wear my watch or bend at the knees. Walking around was painful on my ankles. Itching my skin would cause liquid to seep out of my open bleeding pores. Literally. It was like something out of Satan's book of tortures for the unredeemed. <br /><br />I cried a lot from sheer desperation. I just wanted to stop that consuming itch for one moment. There was no way to NOT itch. And the more you itched, the bloodier you got. The wet, weeping skin. Oh, the agony. <br /><br />It seems a distant memory now. I still have two dark scars on my wrist where the dermatologist took two skin biopsies. He wanted to confirm what it was and wasn't. Thankfully it wasn't an autoimmune disease. Thankfully it was just postpartum hives. A super awful bad case of it. <br /><br />I'm thankful for Claritin. It took me through the worst, and although the itch didn't go away, it kept it from completely eating my flesh alive. And I could still breastfeed. <br /><br />I remember both of my mothers wanting me to stop nursing. I wanted to cry and scream because of all the misery and suffering I went through from the time I got pregnant until the time I had the baby. And the only pleasure I got that entire year was nursing this little baby. And now they wanted me to give it up and give her formula. I was angry. I was going to endure this itching and not take strong oral steroids (which was going to have side effects on both me and the baby) - that's how much I was willing to pursue nursing the baby. <br /><br />That's when I knew. I knew how stubborn I was. I knew how much physical pain I was wiling to endure if I believed in something enough. I knew I went through natural childbirth so that I could protect my child from unnecessary medical treatments. And now you think I would give up so easily because of some flesh eating hives?<br /><br />Once the hives started dying down, then Natasha's colic starting really blossoming. She would cry for hours. every. single. night. I don't think there was one night that she did not cry unceasingly and inconsolably. She also cried for hours inconsolably during the day just about every single day. And every other day she would cry in the gosh darned middle of the night, maybe from 1 to 3am, or 2 to 4am. And this after a good colicky night's crying from 8-11pm. So I'd literally sleep from midnight to 2am, be up for hours, then sleep another 2 hours. Noelle would wake up (she was dropping her nap so had poor night sleep from sleep deprivation and the new baby arriving, so she'd wake up at 5am or 6am crying). Hmm, that's a good 3 to 4 hours of sleep a night. And there was no naps during the day for me, either. Because Noelle did not take naps anymore and she stopped being able to have "quiet time alone." She suddenly became clingy and unable to do anything by herself. <br /><br />It was bad. <br /><br />It wasn't until Natasha turned about 4 months old that the colic got better. I began to sleep train in increments. No more bouncing her to sleep. Man did my back turn completely numb from the pain of holding her heavy body and bouncing her for hours day and night. I remember at the worst of her colic, I felt like I was literally going to faint at any given moment during the day as I had to bounce her to get her to stop crying. I was at the farthest limits of physical endurance. I was pushed to the the outermost edge of my abilities. I called my mom. She came every day to watch Noelle so I could nap. Just as faithful as she came every day during my pregnancy. Thank the Lord for her. And thank the Lord for my mother-in-law who came to stay with us for a month. If it weren't for them, I would not have been able to carry my baby to term, nor would I be able to nurse my baby. I don't think I would be able to have another baby again. I don't think I will. Period. It's impossible without full-time help with my two children. And I've decided to homeschool and train them. It's impossible to train them if I will be incapacitated for a whole year being nauseously pregnant and completely exhausted afterwards with postpartum hives and a colicky infant. <br /><br />I see now how much Noelle has changed. And I felt like I missed it all. I was busy laying in bed, completely engulfed and drowned in morning sickness and fatigue. Then being on bed rest meant I couldn't go anywhere or do anything with Noelle. <br /><br />All I could muster was to dump her pee and poop after she went in the potty. Wipe her tush. Flush. Try not to get upset. Try to climb back into bed. I had no energy for anything else. I hardly had any energy to do basic things for myself even. <br /><br />Now I see that over the course of a year, Noelle is completely potty trained. She's out of cloth diapers. She doesn't even go in a little potty anymore. She wears normal, thin, cotton underwear when she goes places. She pees in public bathrooms. She is like an adult. She sleeps overnight in a pair of lightweight waterproof undies. How did all this happen over a year?<br /><br />She has gone from speaking in phrases - 2 or 3 word phrases - to complete sentences. Complex sentences! <br /><br />Today, she woke up talking in such complex sentences. "I do this cuz of this, cuz of this, cuz of this." She seems suddenly so capable of answering the "why" of everything, whereas not so long ago (a month or two ago) she could not voice a reason for why she did things. <br /><br />Is this how fast childhood goes? She goes to bed, sleeps in a little later than usual in the morning, and wakes up smarter and more advanced? <br /><br />Noelle's legs are growing so long and thin. Her limbs are becoming lankier. Her face is elongating as well. She no longer looks like a chubby little toddler. The last remnants of her babyhood has just slipped out of my hands. It feels as if she is gone forever. The baby I once nursed and held and cuddled and comforted. <br /><br />I am so sad as I type this. Because today as she came to me crying (as she often does for very trivial things) I told her to stop crying and go sit on the stairs if she wanted to cry. She wanted me to pick her up and comfort her. I wanted her to learn that she cannot act like a baby anymore. I have new expectations of her. She must learn to control her emotions. She must learn not to indulge in them anymore. She must learn that crying doesn't get her attention. She must learn that if she wants to cry she must go over to the sofa or bed, put her blanket over her head and calm down. <br /><br />I have done this out of necessity both for myself and for her. She once woke up from a late afternoon nap and had a horrible tantrum that lasted for upwards of an hour. She would not stop crying. It was ridiculous. Even as I held her she would not stop crying. I realized she needed to learn a skill of self-soothing or else she would have a horrible time of dealing with life. I remember she used to do that as a toddler. I would offer her a juice or snack and that seemed to help things. And before I started doing the juice or snack, I used to offer her the breast and nursing really made her happy. Now she has times where she gets cranky or emotional and just doesn't know what to do with herself. She will run to me and want me to drop everything I am doing - even if I had chicken hands (while cutting meat in the kitchen) or if I was nursing Natasha. It is unreasonable because at this point, she is old enough to understand that she must wait. She just does not have any practice waiting or considering others because there has always been a caretaker to look after her needs one-on-one. Now she must wait, or she must obey more consistently (since we now demand it of her more consistently whereas before we had no energy). She is used to venting all her emotions. But now I must teach her how to reign them in. <br /><br />Part of me is sad that she is no longer my baby. But I cannot keep her a baby forever. Time goes on, she will continue to grow and mature, and either I give her the skills to let her thrive as a growing child, or I treat her like an infant forever and never give her any skills with which to go forth into life. It feels like when I decided to stop nursing her. I cried. It wasn't as difficult of a decision because I was pregnant at the same time and it was getting to be a big burden. But still, I was sad that she was done with it - or rather, that I was done providing for her in that way. <br /><br />So it is with teaching her that she cannot cry at the slightest things (or what I perceive to be the slightest things). One part of me thinks, "In her world, it is a big deal." But the other part of me knows, she cannot live in her world forever. She will need to live in the real world sooner than I can imagine. <br /><br />These are the things we are working on: <br />-Patience - practice waiting for things that she requests<br />-Consideration for others - waiting her turn to speak, not interrupting conversation<br />-Respect for Authority - not bossing others around<br />-Couresty - saying "please" and "thank you"<br />-Obedience - instead of saying "No, I can't," say "Yes" or "i'll try"<br />-Self-control - instead of indulging in self-pity and crying, control the emotions and think of what we are thankful for<br />-Attention - pay attention when spoken to or being read toUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8202223122041928236.post-83443791629998270272012-04-02T21:33:00.002-07:002012-04-02T22:01:56.436-07:00Elimination Communication, Day 8Some funny things have happened over here since I last posted. <br /><br />Natasha poo'd on the floor just as I was lifting her onto the potty. Guess she just couldn't wait. I've also been peed on. Don't know what that was about. <br /><br />When the weekend came, I was a bit nervous about going to church, to Target, to Wholefoods. Up until this point I stayed mostly at home. I resolved to stay relaxed about the whole thing and just listen to her signals, give her a chance to potty at departure and a chance to potty at arrival. (Basically, same rules that apply to Noelle, as well). <br /><br />I have a little portable potty that I keep in the car for Noelle. I just use this for Natasha and it's working great! It only takes a minute or two to potty her in the car. She goes, I dump the pee on the ground outside the car. <br /><br />At church I just took her out of the carrier to pee after I went to the bathroom myself. And today at Wholefoods she was making a bunch of sounds letting me know, "I NEED to go!" So I said, "Ok, wait just a little bit and I'll try to get to the potty." I have a certain route I take when I'm at the market, grabbing everything on my shopping list in a certain order. I tried to work fast, and when I got to the back of the store, where the bathrooms are, I left my cart and took Noelle and the baby to the bathroom. I let Natasha out and held her over the toilet. She went like a race horse again! Does it completely surprise me that she can hold it this long? YES. It seems like she can hold it longer than my oldest girl. <br /><br />We also went to the park today again. But today I wanted to stay longer and let Noelle play. What was I going to do with the small-bladder-frequent-peeing-baby? After about 45 minutes, she needed to go. I went behind a tree and squatted her there. She went. Nobody saw. Nobody cared. She had privacy because I was shielding her. And besides, don't people change their babies' diapers at the park, on a mat, wiping their little tushies for all to see anyway? So what's the big deal? I figure that she will mature as she grows older, be able to hold her bladder for longer and longer. This is just a temporary inconvenience. <br /><br />Ok, now what about night-time? <br /><br />At first, I was taking her to potty in the middle of the night when she would make sounds telling me she needed to go. Or maybe she already went and wanted to get up and have some social interaction time with mommy. But after 4 days of her not wanting to fall back asleep until an hour or two later, that got old really fast. I think I was waking her up too much by going through a whole pee routine. So right now we are wearing a disposable to sleep at night. I nurse when she wakes up and put her back in bed immediately. She falls right back to sleep. We need our sleep!! So I've decided just to let her soak up her diaper for the 12 hours she's in it! <br /><br />What about naps? <br /><br />As of today, she woke up from two naps dry. First time EVER. Usually she's wet upon waking. She must be maturing. She's almost 5 months old. <br /><br />I'm not sure how much more I plan to post about our EC experience. Maybe when there's a major glitch. For now it seems to have settled into a routine without too much eventfulness.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8202223122041928236.post-41910447144183198802012-03-28T21:47:00.002-07:002012-03-28T22:37:43.609-07:00Elimination Communication, Day 4I think it's so funny that now Noelle suddenly needs to pee every time she sees Natasha doing it. <br /><br />Yesterday when Natasha poo'd in the potty, Noelle declared, "I get a gummy bear!" Umm, doesn't quite work that way, Honey! She's the one who poo'd, not you. <br /><br />Just lots of funny stuff going on in the household right now. I have to admit, EC is fun. I really look forward to the day and seeing how the baby will pee and poo on cue. It's ridiculously easy compared to <a href="http://kleesfamily.blogspot.com/2011/06/diaper-free.html">when I potty trained the toddler</a>. I mean, it's only been FOUR DAYS. I haven't had to clean a poopy diaper yet. There's only been a handful of pee diapers every day - most of them from nap-time and overnight. In short, it has been an amazing and somewhat perspective-altering experience. <br /><br />And is it easy? Umm, YES. Without a doubt, yes. This is what I have been doing. <br /><br />She wakes up, I put her over the trash can (though I am about to switch over to Baby Bjorn potty which we already have) in the classic EC position, then I say "pssss" - sometimes she pees, sometimes she doesn't. Then I nurse. Then she starts arching her back and making small, whiny noises. I put her over the trash can or potty, again in the classic EC position, and say, "mmm, mmm, poo poo" - five seconds later she is having a bowel movement, we clean up really easily with a wipe, and her diaper goes back on. It's ridiculous. <br /><br />I repeat before and after naps/bedtime. What I've done, essentially, is simply changed my routine, replacing "diaper changing/butt wiping" throughout the day with "pottytunities" (potty opportunities). And more often than not, she goes! <br /><br />I see now that it actually takes more effort for me to diaper the baby than just to take her to the potty. I was changing so many cloth diapers everyday (not wanting her to sit in wetness or a soiled mess) that now I calculate that I am actually spending LESS time dealing with her poo/pee. <br /><br />It feels a lot like the way I treat my potty trained older girl. Before we go out of the house, I take her to the potty so I know she has an empty bladder and won't have an accident in the car. If she has juice in the car ride over to wherever we are going, then I know she's got to visit the potty once we arrive at our destination. The same logic works with my baby. Before I put her in the carseat or carrier, I make sure she pees first. That way I've got some time before her little bladder fills up again. She'll be less likely to have an "accident." <br /><br />Like this afternoon, even though she peed before we left for our walk, she started getting antsy in her carrier about 20-30 minutes into our walk. I could just tell. She was squeezing her legs together and breathing sort of ragged, like she was maybe uncomfortably full in the bladder. I told Noelle we had to high tail it back home so I could let Natasha pee. For modesty reasons I didn't feel comfortable exposing her bare little bottom out in the middle of a sidewalk. We got into our outdoor parking garage, and since I still had to put the stroller and other items away into the car, I decided just to let her pee on the landscaping in the garage area since it was pretty private. I took her out, took off her diaper and squatted her in position. Lo and behold, she went like a race horse. <br /><br />These experiences continue to astound me. <br /><br />I am starting to think that we as a society have gone backwards. Or just simply lost our potty wisdom. There's nobody to teach us how to potty our babies. We just stick them in disposable diapers, forget about their elimination and let them sit in their our waste for hours. For YEARS. It feels a terrible shame. I let Noelle wear diapers until she was two years old. I just did not know she could have been trained far earlier. I also just didn't know how. Nobody to teach me how easy it was, either. <br /><br />I heartily recommend the e-book, <a href="http://ecsimplified.com">EC Simplified</a>. The author taught me how to potty my baby.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8202223122041928236.post-22235566134097319182012-03-27T09:21:00.003-07:002012-03-27T09:43:52.922-07:00Elimination Communication, Day 3It's day 3 of our venture into infant potty training. <br /><br />And I am 100% absolutely convinced now. Babies don't want to pee on themselves, on us, or in their own beds. They will communicate to us that they have to go, and we either ignore them and let them go in their pants, or we take them to a place where pee pee and poo poo go! Wow!<br /><br />I feel a little bad that I made Noelle cry-it-out so many times when she was young, not realizing that a lot of times she was crying because she wanted to pee/poop or because she was already soiled and needed me to change her. I just didn't know infants could communicate such things. Or that they even were aware of their elimination. <br /><br />So I got interested in Elimination Communication ("EC") a while back when I read a book about how historically, infants have been potty trained before they were one year old. This was out of necessity, too, because there were no such thing as disposable diapers that could be worn for 12 hours before you could feel wet in them! Babies wore cloth diapers and parents just got plain old sick of washing them, so that was the incentive to getting your baby trained to pee in a pot and not in a piece of cloth. <br /><br />I had a vague idea of EC, and I always heard my mother tell me stories about my brother who was potty trained by my Grandmother. He was out of diapers by the time he was one year old. And he's a boy! They say boys are harder to train than girls. Yet my brother could pee and poo on the potty by the time he was one. It made me think. <br /><br />Despite this hearsay, I still couldn't figure out how to do it. I had no idea when the baby needed to pee or poo. There was nobody I could observe, nobody to teach me how to pee or poo a baby. So Noelle grew older and we continued our reliance on diapers. First on disposables, then we switched to cloth. Once we switched to cloth, I quickly realized how irritated I was at cleaning poops smeared all over her bottom. That's when I got motivated to at least start potty training her. She wasn't potty trained until 2 years old. <br /><br />I determined with baby #2 was that, even if I didn't know quite yet how to EC, I wasn't going to let her get used to sitting in a wet or soiled diaper. I was going to change it right away. I also determined that I was never going to let her get used to pooping standing up. I was going to teach her to recognize when she was going, by making a "mmmm" sound when she went, and I would try to hold her in a position like she were sitting on the potty. That way when it came time for me to train her, she wouldn't resist and be unaccustomed to pooping sitting down. <br /><br />So far, she has absolutely gotten the sound associations! And she gets the EC position. She knows when I say, "mmm, mmm" and put her in the EC potty position, that it means it's ok for her to go. <br /><br />The e-book that I am reading, <a href="http://ecsimplified.com">EC Simplified</a>, has been awesome. Watching the videos, doing the step by steps, has been eye-opening. I am a firm believer now and probably won't be buying anymore disposables "just in case" anymore. We've got our cloth diapers and that's what I'll use between potty trips to catch the ones that I miss or am too busy to be aware of. <br /><br />It's really incredible this one thought. The author, who did EC with her boy from day 1 (who had daytime dryness since he was 11 months old), estimates that 1/3 of infant's cries are cries to communicate about their elimination. Isn't that amazing? Now I understand all the "unexplained fussiness" and the "why is she crying?!?!"Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8202223122041928236.post-76328632703577898472012-02-23T22:24:00.002-08:002012-02-23T22:40:30.588-08:00StabilizingThings are better now! <br /><br />That's all I have time to say. Haha! <br /><br />Just kidding. Okay, here's a glimpse into what life is like these days. <br /><br />Noelle does laps around our coffee table as Natasha takes yet another nap upstairs. <br /><br />I prepare dinner starting at 8 in the morning if I want it on the table by 5 p.m. <br /><br />I change 12-15 cloth diapers a day and wipe pee-pees and poo-poos all day long. <br /><br />Nurse, nurse, nurse some more. Try to prevent Natasha's head from being crushed by Noelle's hyperactive jumping/crawling. Do lots of laundry. <br /><br />My favorite part of the day is walking outdoors with baby in the frontpack and little girl running ahead of me. <br /><br />Oh yeah, and recently they have both started going to bed at the same time. So I am finally getting alone time for myself and to spend with my hubby. It's nice!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8202223122041928236.post-20612704438382131282011-12-30T20:43:00.000-08:002011-12-30T21:14:20.143-08:00Swinging, Rocking, RockedMy world is spinning. I am a ballerina trying to do a triple pirouette on the tiny point of one toe. <br /><br />I spin out of control. The world is a dizzying place. And my muscles are sore; they feel like melting jello. <br /><br />This is my life right now on zero sleep. Do you like my metaphor? <br /><br />Having a colicky infant is hard (she has inconsolable crying for hours every single day AND night). Having a colicky infant plus a highly active, non-napping toddler is very, very hard. I am really tired. Out of my mind exhausted. <br /><br />But there is mercy for tomorrow morning. <br /><br />I remember driving to the park. I probably shouldn't be driving. But I remember the oversized, swinging chair they have for the handicapped and kids with special needs there in the playground. I sat in that giant, cradling, contoured chair. And I swung back and forth, back and forth, my little baby strapped to me in the carrier I was wearing. It was the hand of God, that chair. I almost fell asleep there, quieted and soothed and rocked to sleep. Though nobody can see and many don't care, I am shrieking and crying and quite inconsolable at times inside my heart. <br /><br />I rock my baby, and God rocks me. I will say it again. There is grace for tomorrow morning. <br /><br />I respond to my baby every time she cries in pain; will God not respond to me? Will He not nurse me as I nurse my own child? "Which of you, if your son asks for bread, will give him a stone? Of if he asks for a fish, will give him a snake? If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask Him" (Matthew 7:9)<br /><br />God hears my cries and He will answer and give grace for this moment and for the moment I will need it tomorrow.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8202223122041928236.post-85030243242195803252011-11-13T19:40:00.000-08:002011-11-13T20:34:10.484-08:00Four of usWe all sit on the king-sized mattress, on top of a soft, fluffy mound of blankets and pillows. <br /><br />Tasha won't be left alone to sleep in her crib because she wants to be held. And so I hold her, gladly, knowing these days pass so fast and can it just stay like this forever? <br /><br />She is propped between my legs and Noelle cuddles up against my side. Daddy brings a book and we, the four of us, read our bedtime story together. It's such a party. A sleepover. <br /><br />It's so much fun that I don't want to stop with just one story. And usually it's Noelle who wants more than one book at bedtime. This time it's me. <br /><br />But Kevin knows better - it's late for Noelle and for us, too. We were up until almost dawn with the newborn, but somehow the lack of sleep doesn't feel too bad. <br /><br />The house is a lot noisier, too, with sounds of nonsensical chatter and singsong whimsy and baby's crying. Yesterday the walking and talking girl was climbing the stair rails yelling, "I'm trying to be a monkey! I'm trying to be a monkey!" while her father gritted his teeth and flared his nostrils with anxiety about her falling. <br /><br />I am pretty much head over heels for my new little girl. She's the quiet one who just murmurs and nurses and breathes softly like a bird. <br /><br />There is so much fat and marrow in these days. The Lord gives and the Lord takes away; these days He has given and given and given. Blessed be the name of the Lord.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8202223122041928236.post-77861634377338835742011-11-07T20:55:00.000-08:002011-11-07T21:23:27.760-08:00Child of my WombI sit beside her miniature bed.<br /><br />I am a big, pregnant lady - belly swollen and skin stretched impossibly taut - sitting on a laughably small, white chair. There's a weight limit on that chair, but it's always held me for these nine months of weight gain, so I continue to sit next to her as she drifts off into sleep. <br /><br />She likes her back to be scratched as she drifts. So I scratch it for her. <br /><br />Her skin feels as thin as a balloon and underneath it are delicate bones. Like once when I felt a toy Yorkie and its quick, shallow breaths felt so fragile underneath the bones and soft fur as breakable as a hamster's. <br /><br />Asleep now, her breaths are deeper and restful and slower. Her eyelids are shut together as softly as petals on her cheeks and I wonder where is she now? Somewhere I cannot follow, somewhere God takes her, takes all of us individually when we sleep.<br /><br />She came from inside me - deep down in the dark unseen - her head once wedged between my pelvis, murky waters cushioning ears and eyes from sound and light. Somehow God put her together: she has skin, hair, miraculous eyes, impossible brain so intricate, ten fingers and ten toes. And she can laugh like I've never heard a person laugh before. <br /><br />She started a baby with meconium poop from all the months inside my womb, and now she walks upright in the world and talks to us and when she sees me tired she says, "Mama, you lay down to sleep awhile." O, Child, when did you become so compassionate? <br /><br />It's a brief time He's given to me with this child. I feel it falling out of my cupped hands like sand through the fingers. And I am reluctant to let it go.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8202223122041928236.post-44441236569896346262011-11-07T14:44:00.000-08:002011-11-07T15:03:35.550-08:00These DaysMy heart is quiet these days. <div><br /></div><div>I am thankful that this baby has reached almost 40 weeks. </div><div><br /></div><div>That is God's goodness. </div><div><br /></div><div>I am very curious the cup awaiting me to drink. What will labor be like this time? God knows. Long or short, painful or mild. He has a cup prepared for me to drink, when the time is right. </div><div><br /></div><div>I am looking forward to meeting our new little one, nursing her, changing her diaper and marveling at what a miracle has been wrought in the womb. These nine months of dark mystery will sprout up into a flower. </div><div><br /></div><div>Meanwhile our oldest has blossomed into a flower all her own. She's a little personality so sweet and real as any person walking this earth. Suddenly she's been insisting that she absolutely will not wear pants - she wants to wear skirts and dresses. And she prefers pink or purple to any other color. "I don't like black," she says. </div><div><br /></div><div>She is also very unlike the rotten child that I was when I was her age. Whereas I used to hoard all my food, she shares even her most favorite and prized snacks with me and her dad and anyone else who is close with her. She is marked by a very peculiar generosity and trust in those around her. </div><div><br /></div><div>She has remarked before that she would like to share a bed with her baby sister. I imagine this would be a sweet arrangement once they're both a bit older... </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8202223122041928236.post-39381073291534111042011-08-21T20:57:00.000-07:002011-08-21T21:12:59.955-07:00...for all the Hard ThingsFrom my journal of <a href="http://kleesfamily.blogspot.com/2011/07/learning-to-see-and-name-gifts.html">"Learning to See and Name Gifts"</a> :<div>
<br /></div><div>63. Second, third, and never-ending chances. I lose my way but God gives another chance. Again. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>64. Forgiveness. God's, my husband's, my daughter's. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>68. Sleep. Lack of sleep. All the circumstances that prevent my napping. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>69. A child's sudden onset of stomach virus at the end of a long and tiring day. God has a reason.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>70. The rice cooker whose button was never pressed. We ate a bountiful meal regardless. How blessed to have a fridge so full we could never starve if we tried. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>71. Imperfect days where all my plans are frustrated.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>72. God's grace when I've failed His testing AGAIN; failed to see He was the One disrupting "my" plans in order to show me that I need to slow down and take every moment from His hand. I cannot craft the story or outcome of my life. Life is not a big personal TO-DO list nor a cosmic stage to dramatize all my petty achievements. Every single day of my life is His story to tell, not mine. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>74. His patience in spite of my incredible ignorance of His ways.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>
<br /></div><div><i>Thank you, Lord, for every frustrated plan of mine, for every wrinkle in my day. Your story is greater than mine and I will let You write it on my life. </i></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8202223122041928236.post-68347071807242831932011-08-19T21:09:00.000-07:002011-08-19T21:11:27.710-07:00The Shortest and Surest Way to Happiness<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; border-collapse: collapse; color: rgb(23, 18, 18); font-size: 14px; line-height: 24px; "><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 20px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-size: 13.5px; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; vertical-align: baseline; color: rgb(23, 18, 18); text-transform: none; line-height: 1.75em; ">If anyone would tell you <span style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; font-weight: bold; font-style: inherit; font-size: 14px; font-family: inherit; vertical-align: baseline; ">the shortest, surest way to all happiness
<br /></span>and all perfection, he must tell you to <span style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; font-weight: bold; font-style: inherit; font-size: 14px; font-family: inherit; vertical-align: baseline; ">
<br />make a rule to yourself to thank and praise God for everything</span>
<br />that happens to you.</p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 20px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-size: 13.5px; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; vertical-align: baseline; color: rgb(23, 18, 18); text-transform: none; line-height: 1.75em; ">It is certain that whatever seeming calamity happens to you,
<br /><span style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; font-weight: bold; font-style: inherit; font-size: 14px; font-family: inherit; vertical-align: baseline; ">if you thank and praise God for it</span>,
<br /><span style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; font-weight: inherit; font-style: italic; font-size: 14px; font-family: inherit; vertical-align: baseline; ">you turn it into a blessing.</span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 20px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-size: 13.5px; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; vertical-align: baseline; color: rgb(23, 18, 18); text-transform: none; line-height: 1.75em; ">If you could work <span style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; font-weight: bold; font-style: inherit; font-size: 14px; font-family: inherit; vertical-align: baseline; ">miracles</span>,
<br />therefore, <span style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; font-weight: bold; font-style: inherit; font-size: 14px; font-family: inherit; vertical-align: baseline; ">you could not do more for yourself</span>
<br /><span style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; font-weight: bold; font-style: inherit; font-size: 14px; font-family: inherit; vertical-align: baseline; ">than by this thankful spirit.</span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 20px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-size: 13.5px; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; vertical-align: baseline; color: rgb(23, 18, 18); text-transform: none; line-height: 1.75em; "><span style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; font-weight: inherit; font-style: italic; font-size: 14px; font-family: inherit; vertical-align: baseline; ">It heals and turns all that it touches into happiness</span>.”</p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 20px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-size: 13.5px; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; vertical-align: baseline; color: rgb(23, 18, 18); text-transform: none; line-height: 1.75em; "><em style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; font-weight: inherit; font-style: italic; font-size: 14px; font-family: inherit; vertical-align: baseline; "><span style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; font-weight: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-size: 11px; font-family: inherit; vertical-align: baseline; ">~ <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0375725636?ie=UTF8&tag=holyexper-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=0375725636" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; font-weight: inherit; font-style: normal; font-size: 11px; font-family: inherit; vertical-align: baseline; color: rgb(54, 117, 125); text-transform: none; text-decoration: none; ">William Law, A Serious Call to a Devout and Holy Life</a><img src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=holyexper-20&l=as2&o=1&a=0375725636" alt="" border="0" width="1" height="1" style="margin-top: 0px !important; margin-right: 0px !important; margin-bottom: 0px !important; margin-left: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: medium !important; border-right-width: medium !important; border-bottom-width: medium !important; border-left-width: medium !important; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; font-weight: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-size: 11px; font-family: inherit; vertical-align: baseline; border-top-style: none !important; border-right-style: none !important; border-bottom-style: none !important; border-left-style: none !important; border-top-color: rgb(255, 255, 255) !important; border-right-color: rgb(255, 255, 255) !important; border-bottom-color: rgb(255, 255, 255) !important; border-left-color: rgb(255, 255, 255) !important; border-color: initial !important; " /></span></em></p></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8202223122041928236.post-67950008282238564242011-08-08T22:56:00.000-07:002011-08-12T23:47:50.135-07:00MercyShe scampers up the step-ladder, finally at Mama's height. I put the small stainless steel pot in front of her on the kitchen counter, then hesitate before I set the box of oatmeal down, too. <div>
<br /></div><div>Her little hands reach out, grabbing the container, eagerly, ambitiously pouring <i>the entire contents</i> into the small pot. Flecks of oatmeal decorate the counter and floor. </div><div>
<br /></div><div><i>Thank God most of it made it into the pot. </i>I laugh. <i>Thank God there wasn't much in the box left to make an even bigger mess. </i></div><div><i>
<br /></i></div><div>We strike fire and put the pot to boil for our morning breakfast. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>Then, as I clean out the fridge, I scrape leftovers - a mound of uneaten quinoa - into a trash bag. The whole thing avalanches onto the floor. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>But I stop and think, <i>that's okay. There's mercy for that. </i></div><div><i>
<br /></i></div><div>And then I really stop. </div><div>
<br /></div><div><i>So there's mercy for that? But there is no mercy for the child who spills a little oatmeal onto the counter? Who was only trying to help? Who was only trying to imitate her mom?</i></div><div><i>
<br /></i></div><div>Later the same morning, I collide into our kitchen cart. The pumpkin seeds in the bowl I hold go flying everywhere. And then my eyes are opened. </div><div>
<br /></div><div><i>God is showing me something. </i></div><div><i>
<br /></i></div><div><i>What is mercy, Jean?</i></div><div><i>
<br /></i></div><div><i>Can I really expect my two year old to keep standards that even I can't achieve? "Don't spill that! Watch out! Wipe your hands!" </i></div><div><i>
<br /></i></div><div><i>Does God make me apologize - make me say "I'm sorry" - every time I am imperfect? </i></div><div>
<br /></div><div>I am crushed beneath the weight of my own stone-hearted hypocrisy. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>I judge, I criticize, I find fault. And while I don't knit-pick, I am exacting. And all this on a little person who is forced to spend all day in my care, who just learned to walk a year ago, is barely able yet to pull down her own pants to sit on the potty, and can't even yet hold a pencil the right way. She can't even make a line on a paper, only stabs or scribbles; her fingers aren't developed enough for her to spread jam on toast, she only gouges at the bread with her knife. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>And I am holding a standard up to her that even I can't achieve. When she spills her water, when she accidently pees on the carpet, if she drops a ton of crumbs on the dining room floor - just for making my heavy, pregnant body get on hands and knees a hundred times a day, wiping and cleaning - I sigh, I begrudge, I grit my teeth. </div><div>
<br /></div><div><i>God have mercy on a person such as me. Show me how I cannot even live up to my own standards. Let me see how I would balk under my own oppressive oversight if I had to live with a person such as myself. Teach me how to see the mercy and lovingkindness you extend towards me everyday, and give me the grace to extend this same mercy and lovingkindness to those whom I've been entrusted, especially the defenseless young!</i></div><div><i>
<br /></i></div><div><i>"Do not let mercy and truth forsake you. Bind them around your neck; write them on the tablet of your heart. Then you shall find favor and high esteem in the sight of God and man." Proverbs 3:3 </i></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8202223122041928236.post-3917714387364665642011-07-27T22:42:00.000-07:002011-07-27T22:57:49.174-07:00As we sit down to share a mealNoelle is trowelling tiny, cut-up spaghetti into her small mouth. <div><br /></div><div>"Mmm...so good," she says. Pure, heart untainted, pleasure expressed. </div><div><br /></div><div>She's enjoying her meal and so am I. </div><div><br /></div><div>Then suddenly, "I love you, Mommy. Thank you." </div><div><br /></div><div>Then she wants to thank God for all sorts of things. For the spaghetti. For the chair. The water. The playdough. So as we shovel spaghetti into our mouths, we punctuate our eating with "Thank you, God, for the delicious food...for Hello Kitty...for Gummy Bears..."</div><div><br /></div><div>When the spaghetti runs out, I get up to pull strawberries out of the fridge, and Noelle says, "Pray [for] Mommy." She folds her little hands and says, "Dear God. Thank you [for] Mommy."</div><div><br /></div><div>My heart explodes into a million dots of fiery lights. </div><div><br /></div><div>I am thankful, too, dear Child. And dear God, I am thankful to You for all that you've given me and continue to give me. </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8202223122041928236.post-37220095746811149782011-07-16T20:51:00.000-07:002011-07-16T22:32:26.973-07:00Won't Be Just Me Anymore<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfv8n6EXDOBx4sklh0WnckeIS7KNcikkMplc5znhT5awgXOxzJh5c9kard2WNK3-Co8mIHiCLohXHUrc_hZb2w5hgbGcks-HeI-QkOl06Dsl48Zu1DPqD50NI6UnytLqwKINokwMCc4sqP/s1600/P1050369.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfv8n6EXDOBx4sklh0WnckeIS7KNcikkMplc5znhT5awgXOxzJh5c9kard2WNK3-Co8mIHiCLohXHUrc_hZb2w5hgbGcks-HeI-QkOl06Dsl48Zu1DPqD50NI6UnytLqwKINokwMCc4sqP/s400/P1050369.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5630185046532899298" /></a>I love looking at her little face every single day. She's like a doll, but with a soul and spirit - an inquisitive look in her eyes, always. She sometimes is so <i>knowing</i>. I'll chat monologue style, and then say to her, "You know what I mean?" And she gives me the most knowing look in her eyes, like, "Yeah, Mommy, I know..."<div><br /></div><div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz3ryio1q7kEDe6RCuipNHheTlueK0ciYOuLNuCLZb9orc_4zg-E7Hx8eHA4mx6-ErWEljGl7xsNXLW-d9T07wV7jRC94CBxqn242zheZyH4_EXAOo9JSB3ZX8kcDly4jph9A8p05gK8L7/s1600/P1050366.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz3ryio1q7kEDe6RCuipNHheTlueK0ciYOuLNuCLZb9orc_4zg-E7Hx8eHA4mx6-ErWEljGl7xsNXLW-d9T07wV7jRC94CBxqn242zheZyH4_EXAOo9JSB3ZX8kcDly4jph9A8p05gK8L7/s400/P1050366.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5630185043953605618" /></a>My heart is so full these days with just my family of three - husband, daughter, me. We travel light. Really light, especially because Lemon Drop (baby #2) is nice and portable in my womb. Just get up and go! But then I look at Noelle sitting there, all by her lonesome self, filled with so much laughter and enjoying her what-have-you. To multiply this "ha ha ha" sound would surely be so good! </div><div><br /></div><div>Soon. </div><div><br /></div><div>And it won't just be her anymore. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFUpYTuP8K2d-pKbHIdh2szIMpnk62Zj4zd8Ejz08x0EzNYo4cF8FXNkC1i0OVGmrw7AOczprZrjr2M9ZOBgE_nqKjpGZuZG2kjjHg0xhmioawFAh85X2ESBXOfjFsqsDuQlBxXlhyphenhyphenPR7Q/s1600/P1050358.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFUpYTuP8K2d-pKbHIdh2szIMpnk62Zj4zd8Ejz08x0EzNYo4cF8FXNkC1i0OVGmrw7AOczprZrjr2M9ZOBgE_nqKjpGZuZG2kjjHg0xhmioawFAh85X2ESBXOfjFsqsDuQlBxXlhyphenhyphenPR7Q/s400/P1050358.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5630185033226750306" /></a><br /></div></div><div>She'll have a little companion - not a big person companion, but a little one. A littler one than her! Snow cones always taste better when you're enjoying them with a sibling. </div><div><br /></div><div>Two sisters together. What a sweet life. </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8202223122041928236.post-87320446546394918952011-07-15T20:55:00.000-07:002011-07-15T21:13:07.651-07:00Spicy Peaches<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm-fMsj6MDnEeI_SFC3Ecq2lTdoMKurOmaU6qxNeTCpNlsiaM9Oi9DfQHAopj-cZY1-H2r5R0XpiWlnFZ-sWcm_PPYnuNgnDEwz7GNF9BzH7xZ_I-X1Wr_UErJ69KoUV6O_AleNtkDoNq3/s1600/P1050343.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm-fMsj6MDnEeI_SFC3Ecq2lTdoMKurOmaU6qxNeTCpNlsiaM9Oi9DfQHAopj-cZY1-H2r5R0XpiWlnFZ-sWcm_PPYnuNgnDEwz7GNF9BzH7xZ_I-X1Wr_UErJ69KoUV6O_AleNtkDoNq3/s400/P1050343.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5629796058487112882" /></a><br /><div>She insists that these plums are <i>peaches</i> and that they are "spicy." You mean, sour? "Spicy!"</div><div><br /></div><div>And on the way to the library today, she exclaimed, "So excited!" She's also developed this high-pitched falsetto laugh that she uses to fluff up her delight at things. "So excited: ha HA ha!" </div><div><br /></div><div>My days are filled with laughter - mostly Noelle and her little voice, "ha ha ha!" everywhere we go. </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8202223122041928236.post-84424850454464845222011-07-01T21:04:00.000-07:002011-07-01T21:46:12.417-07:00Learning to See and Name GiftsI've been inspired to open my eyes and see not <b>what I want</b> but <b>what I have. </b><div><b><br /></b></div><div>I didn't realize that so much of what I think about and journal about (in my private journal) relate to the future. I am always dreaming about future projects and goals. It's not necessarily a bad thing, since the ability to have vision for the future can be a great motivator in life. And, plus, creative people must, by definition, have a visionary mindset. They must be able to see or envision what does not yet exist. </div><div><br /></div><div>But I also want to be a joyful person filled to the brim with gratitude for the things that surround me every day. I really want to see every blessing from God and not miss it. </div><div><br /></div><div>So I must learn to take the time and see the blessings, to name them, to count them, and to record them.</div><div><br /></div><div>I plan on reading the book <b>One Thousand Gifts: Learning to See and Name Them</b> by Ann Voskamp, once it becomes available at the library. That's the book whose quotes are inspiring me. I'm sixth in line, so it won't be until a few months from now...but I'm so happy to be able to read free books at the library! </div><div><br /></div><div>Until then, I'm starting my record of one thousand gifts right away, because gratitude and joy start the moment I think of a gift He's given. I think I will kick it off here, and post occasionally some highlights from my journal. Without further ado...These are the gifts I have been given:</div><div><br /></div><div>1. The privilege of borrowing virtually any book I wish to read from the library</div><div><br /></div><div>2. Having a view of trees, flowers, animals and people from our dining table every mealtime</div><div><br /></div><div>3. Successful potty training with Noelle</div><div><br /></div><div>4. The cool, night breezes of summertime in Los Angeles</div><div><br /></div><div>5. Hearing Noelle say, "I love you" and "Goodnight" every night before bed</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I encourage you to read <a href="http://www.passionatehomemaking.com/2010/11/one-thousand-gifts-learning-to-see-and-name-every-one.html">the blog post</a> that inspired me to thankfulness. It's truly uplifting, especially if you struggle with getting discouraged in the daily grind of life, like me. Some days I can't see past the dirty dishes and runny noses, the diapers, the laundry, the fatigue. But my spirit has been so refreshed today by the simple practice of gratitude! I am excited to become a more grateful woman. </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8202223122041928236.post-46462689610746335642011-06-29T20:52:00.000-07:002011-06-29T21:42:01.820-07:00Diaper-freeOh, the sweet life of being diaper-free! No more stink; everything gets flushed straight down the potty. Oh, the goodness of God in letting me live during the era of modern plumbing and sanitation! Kevin and I have actually stayed up way past our bedtime on numerous occasions talking about the history of chamber pots. How GRATEFUL we are for modern toilets and sewage! How grateful for hot running water, for showers and drainage. If you stop to think about it, every time we take a shower, it is a luxury that pre-modern mankind has never known before!<div><br /></div><div>Anyway, Noelle has been doing GREAT with potty training. We started "introducing" her to her little potty at around 18 months, putting her on it right before her bath. After about a month of doing this, she began to make "deposits" randomly into it, for which we gave her stickers. But she was still in diapers all day and night and was definitely not trained to use the potty for every single void. </div><div><br /></div><div>When she hit two years old, I got a little nervous and decided to get serious about potty training before the birth of our next baby. I didn't want to change two kids' diapers, certainly not a toddler's diapers. My opinion is that if the majority of the world potty trains their kids by the time they are one, or at latest, two-years-old, then why can't I? (Do a search and you'll find it's true! Only because of disposable diapers and our modern busy lives have we as a society started to potty train our kids later and later, at three or even four-years-old) (Another interesting fact: my brother was diaper-free by one year old! Yes! And can you believe this was the norm in China and Taiwan just a few decades ago? He was potty trained by my grandmother, who also had bound feet, another relic of ancient culture, but that is besides the point...) </div><div><br /></div><div>So, in a nutshell, when she turned two years old, we cracked down on potty training by taking away her diapers. No more poo poo and pee pee in the diaper. Now it will go in the potty. </div><div><br /></div><div>[Cue circus music.] </div><div><br /></div><div><i>Screen shows toddler frantically walking about pooping and peeing all over the carpet, underwear, and VERY occasionally, the potty. </i></div><div><br /></div><div><i>Camera does a close-up of mother's contorted face, the anguish and frustration pouring out onto her face in the form of sweat beads. </i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div>The above scenario went on for about two weeks, during which time I became a depressed and sour-faced wife. Kevin would come home from work and I just couldn't do much but stare at my food during dinner, mope about my life, and continue to make Noelle sit on the potty like the tyrannical potty training Nazi I had become. (Seriously, putting a child on the potty every 30 minutes of her waking life is truly a form of torture for the mother, not to mention the child).</div><div><br /></div><div>But, then came small successes. Gummy bears were gobbled up in increasing measure as she experienced the reward of voiding in the potty instead of in her underwear. And there was also the joy of becoming independent, of becoming responsible for her own bodily fluids. Now she screams, "I did it!" every time she goes. I can't imagine depriving her of that pride for another year, had I decided to wait until she was three-years-old. </div><div><br /></div><div>With a few days more practice, and having to help me clean up her own accidents, she really "got it." We're in the third week of potty training and now she tells me when she needs to go. I can take her out in public and she will use the public restrooms. She sometimes wakes up dry after sleeping. It feels like a miracle and I look at her a whole new way. No longer a baby, I guess. But a small, little adult on her way to independence. It may not be the most delicate of topics for conversation, but I am truly proud of my little girl for learning how to be responsible for her own pees and poops!</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8202223122041928236.post-24226552297723409772011-06-16T16:10:00.000-07:002011-06-16T16:28:54.123-07:00Potty Training and Other Fun AdventuresNobody ever told me that potty training a two-year-old meant that I would have pee spots all over my carpet! Sometimes I can't tell if it's water that spilled or if she ran around and dribbled everywhere. Now I hope you don't avoid coming over because of what I just shared! <div><br /></div><div>Motherhood has been full of surprises. I really had no idea how much a baby can nurse when they first come into the world. Like...up to 18 times a day? </div><div><br /></div><div>I had no idea that my toddler has the capacity to pee a full load every 15 to 30 minutes at times. Who knew since there was a diaper there to keep everyone blissfully ignorant? I was not warned that I would have to strap the toddler to the potty the entire day in order to prevent wet spots all over my carpet. And did anyone else know that people keep portable potties in their cars to give their kids a place to pee? I certainly didn't. </div><div><br /></div><div>Also, the child just turned two but is fast approaching the day when she will no longer need a nap at all anymore. I just didn't know that I would still need a nap even after she outgrew hers. Now I find myself saying, "It's mommy's nap time. You keep quiet and try not to wake me up." My how the tables have turned! </div><div><br /></div><div>I have a feeling that this is just the beginning. When I look at parents who have teenagers to care for, I can only scratch my head...</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8202223122041928236.post-5013446061358575502011-05-11T17:54:00.000-07:002011-05-13T13:27:53.247-07:00Home BirthFor baby #2, we are planning a home birth!<div><br /></div><div>I just finished reading Maria Von Trapp's book, The Story of the Trapp Family Singers, and was struck by what she said about having one of her babies in America. It so closely mirrors the way I feel about it:</div><div><br /></div><div>"Oh, and time and again, Mrs. Dinker told me that one <i>had</i> to <i>have</i> a doctor and one <i>had to go</i> to a hospital to have a baby. I was finally persuaded to make one concession: the doctor. But go to a hospital -- that was ridiculous. Why? What for? I wasn't sick. In Europe you went to a hospital when you were dangerously sick, and many people died there, but babies were born at home. Would they in the hospital allow my husband to sit at my bedside? Could I hold his hand, look into his eyes? Could my family be in the next room, singing and praying? The answer to all these questions was "no."</div><div><br /></div><div>All right, that settled it. I tried to explain that a baby had to be born <i>into</i> a home, received by loving hands, not into a hospital, surrounded by ghostly-looking doctors and masked nurses, into the atmosphere of sterilizers and antiseptics. That's why I would ask the doctor to come to our house."</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0