Seaweed

Thursday was beautiful. Low 70s, sunny, nice breeze. I had a meal planned for dinner, but a picnic on the beach just sounded so much better. By "picnic" I mean we picked up something at Arby's and took a blanket to sit on. We had such a great time. But I believe Owen had the most fun. He stayed busy building shelters for the seaweed. By "shelters" I mean holes that he could throw seaweed into and then cover them up with more sand. My first inclination was to tell him to put down the gross slimy seaweed, but then I stopped myself. Even though I wouldn't want to touch it, why should I prevent him from enjoying it? Sometimes I feel like I'm programmed to say "no," without even really thinking about why I am saying it. Who cares if he gets seaweed slime on his shirt...that's what a washing machine is for. And after seeing his smiling face, how could I suggest otherwise?

Neglect

My camera was poorly abused last month. It sat forlornly in its bag during a wonderful outdoor dinner with friends. I took it on a weekend trip to see some of my favorite ladies, and then left it in my suitcase the entire time. I'm trying to make up for it. I've used it three times during the past seven days.

This picture is actually from the month of camera neglect. I just couldn't go without getting a picture of me covered in watered-down chocolate pudding. No this is not a scandalous moment, just a night in the life of a high school youth group volunteer. Have you ever done a chocolate slip-n-slide? You should try it. Maybe you won't do a painful belly-flop in front of forty high schoolers. That's right. I'm so cool.

Yay for the State Fair! It's exhausting, smelly, and oh so fun.

Just a fun moment. I came home from the grocery store and found my three favorite people, chilling on the couch (though I only photographed two of them, I'll let you guess who the third was).

I'm Still Here

It's way too late. I really meant to go to bed an hour ago. But I had to check my email. And Facebook. And check up on some blogs (sorry I missed the giveaway Christianne). And then I realized what a crazy blog-slacker I've been lately. Just life. School started. Bible study. Youth group. Two crazy kids. Life just starts to run away with you, you know? But I'm still here. Though I must admit that yesterday almost did me in. Owen was in rare form. Everything was a struggle. Not to mention the lunchtime art project...

I had to breastfeed Charlotte. Best done in her room where her hyper brother won't distract her. So I left Owen in the dining room with two small bowls of food and a cup of orange juice. At some point he decided that he needed more juice. Instead of asking or waiting, he decided that a stool and an adventurous spirit would get the job done. He poured himself another glass, and two bowl fulls, and enough to cover half of the table, the front of his shirt, the seat of his chair, and part of the floor. He also thought it was a good idea to go ahead and ruin the orange juice lingering behind in the carton by shoving in some peas and black beans.

Yay.

A Moving Target

Feeding Charlotte solid food makes me want to run screaming from the house. When Owen was six months old, sitting in his high chair, he looked like a starving baby bird. Every time you got near him with food his mouth would pop open, he would greedily devour whatever you stuck in it, and immediately open his mouth again, ready for the next bite. Charlotte, on the other hand, never opens her mouth at all. I wait, spoon poised in mid-air, praying that she will ever so slightly part her lips so that I can shove baby food in at lightening speed. She is not defenseless. She has mastered the "spray the baby food back at mom" technique and the "stick out my tongue, close my lips, and let all the food dribble down my chin" method. The latter is very well executed because Charlotte has the craziest tongue ever. She can lick her bib. Not that she's trying to get any food off of it. Oh no. Just trying to mock me. I've tried singing little songs, eating the food myself to show her how easy and tasty it is, and trying to distract her with cool toys. I would just say, "Forget it, I'll try again later," but when you have a smallish little girl, the doctor isn't so cool with mom giving up on solids. So if you have any awesome secrets that will make feeding time more pleasant, please share.

Being Friendly

During eighth grade "Shannon" moved to town. It was clear from the beginning that Shannon would be part of the popular crowd. It was also fairly clear that Shannon was not a fan of mine, as evidenced by her declaration, "I don't like that girl." I pretended that this did not bother me in the least, but deep down, I was wounded. Not only because this girl that I did not know had hurt my self-esteem, but because I knew that this was the nail in my popularity coffin. I'm not sure what the popular equation involved, but I'm fairly certain that your neighborhood, attractiveness, and involvement in certain activites played key roles. I had a few strikes against me already, and now I had been black-balled by one of the queen bees. Our dislike for one another culminated in an unseemly exchange during ninth grade (which I am not proud of). She made a snide remark, I flipped her off, and three of her worker bees called me aside in an attempt to intimidate me into submission. I'm fairly certain that was our only interaction until some minor conversation occurred during our senior year. At yet, as an adult, I still recall that interaction with clarity. Mostly, I think, because I deeply yearned acceptance. I wanted all the girls to like me and every boy to have a crush on me. As an adult, I realize the foolishness of this desire. But somehow I still feel a residual sting from the whole high school experience.

These memories are floating at the surface of my mind because I have recently joined the world of Facebook. It has been great to reconnect with friends from the past and keep abreast of the goings-on of my local friends. However, I never considered who would ask to be my "friend." Some of the girls from high school, girls who I perceived to be in a crowd that I didn't feel welcome to join, have sent me "friend requests." And quite honestly, my gut reaction is to ignore them. I tell myself that they are probably just friend-hoarders and this is not a genuine effort at being my friend. Or that this is not real human interaction anyways, it's just computer networking after all. But truly, I'm ignoring them because I want to return the favor. I'm keeping record of their wrongs. And I thought I was more grown up than that.

In actuality, fourteen-year-olds are not the only ones who yearn for acceptance. My mind knows that I should not strive for the approval of man, that God is the only one I should seek to please, but it's a struggle to put that into action. For now, I suppose my next step will be to quite clicking the "ignore" button.

You Like'a the Juice?

I'm now relearning all of the baby-feeding facts I learned four years ago. We have tried rice cereal, oatmeal, carrots, sweet potatoes, peas, and bananas (surprisingly, peas have been the big winner so far). In my efforts to reeducate myself, I've done a little reading, and not just for Charlotte. Years ago I learned that toddlers should have no more than four ounces of juice a day. But Owen is almost four, so I thought I should probably check to see if there are new guidelines. In fact, there are not. From 6 months to 6 years, they should not exceed four ounces of juice a day! What was even more interesting was to learn that many toddlers/preschoolers consume their entire day's worth of calories in liquids. The pediatrician writing the article said that parents were showing up, concerned about their child not eating, not realizing that two sippy cups of juice and four or more of milk contained more than the recommended 1200 calories their child needed for the day. It's hard to think of liquids as having quite so many calories. Since I've been breastfeeding, I've been drinking lots of caloric beverages, without much consequence. But it's going to be tough to break the habit once I have to go back to feeding just myself. So if you see me six months from now, staring lustily at a Dr. Pepper, please hide it from me.

Fecal Matters

There were so many comments about toilet usage on the last post that I just can't resist. Are all of you aware of toilet spray? Years ago a friend shared this with me, but I looked it up for myself the other day. I found a summary of a scientific study about what happens after you flush your toilet. Spray from inside the toilet is expelled six to eight feet in all directions. That means that poo is on your ceiling, in your sink, on your toothbrush, and hanging out in your fuzzy little bathmat. The article stated that your toilet seat is infinitely cleaner than your sink because of the lack of moisture on the seat. Have you touched your sink lately? Maybe you should stop. Maybe you should get a pair of gloves to wear whenever you come near it. Maybe you should start peeing in your sink and brushing your teeth over your toilet. Poo is everywhere, people. Embrace it (not literally, that would be gross). Stop hovering. Give yourself a minute to relax.

On a related note, we were in Bethesda for a research study the last several days. Part of the study involved a blood draw. They had poked our little girl twice, gotten no blood, and left us all a little traumatized. While I'm holding, bouncing, and soothing, one of the technicians hands me a urine cup. He declares that they also need a urine sample from Charlotte. I stare at him in bewilderment. How the heck am I supposed to get a six month old to put urine in a tiny little cup? I suddenly have visions of me trying to wring pee out of a cloth diaper or holding her over a cup for hours, hoping to catch the pee as it comes spouting out. I laugh at him and ask, "How?" He vaguely says something about a diaper. We go to the peds clinic, and I get a VERY detailed explanation of urine bags from one of the nurses. These are plastic bags that get taped to babies in the hopes that the urine will collect inside. The best part was that every time she should have used an anatomical name she instead whispered, "girl parts." Needless to say, these bags are NOT foolproof. Catching urine is quite the tricky business. Thankfully, the little teaspoon that didn't dribble out into her diaper was sufficient. At least I didn't have to wring out anything.