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Monday, May 26, 2008Real, Honest-to-Goodness Friends
 Aren't they beautiful? Maggie invited her "ballet buddies" for a day-after-my-fourteenth-birthday pizza party. Not just any "pizza party," mind you. Eric made individual-sized gourmet pizzas, and we had extra toppings on the table so that each girl could add what she wanted. It was a hit. Girls are funny, though. You'd think I'd given them food ration tickets or something, considering the amount of toppings they put on their personal pizzas. Four pepperoni slices? Three sauteed mushrooms? I could have made a five-quart casserole out of the leftovers. "They didn't put much on, did they?" Eric seemed dismayed. "Oh, well they're girls," I said. "You know, it's a girl thing." He didn't know. "Well, I mean, women are the same way. When we go to a party, we take a teeny bit of this and a teeny bit of that, even if we really like it. We want to be...dainty." I don't know why I try to explain these things to Eric. All I know is, if this had been a boy party, my kitchen table would have looked like the remnants of a recent explosion, with little or no leftovers. I'll take a girl party any day. Anyway, I love these girls. I love that Maggie loves these girls. I tell her often what wonderful friends she has. When I was fourteen I didn't have friends like this. These girls are bonded -- bonded through dancing together, bonded through their shared faith. In whatever direction the Lord leads each of them, I believe that they will set out with lifelong deposits from each other. It's just that cool. So there you are -- a little tribute to my beautiful daughter and her sweet friends. Life is good! Friday, May 23, 2008Blowing Off The BlogThere's no other way to put it, really. In an effort to make excuses, it's not the only thing I've been blowing off lately. There are emails waiting for responses (I think I've got almost 500 messages to weed through in my inbox -- all of them read, many of them delete-able or file-able, a bunch still waiting for answers.). Then there's that little thing called -- ur -- writing that I'm supposed to be working on daily. Daily. Hah! So maybe I'm learning -- possibly for the first time -- that the seven-to-nine-month stretch of a baby's development is a bit on the challenging side. Not from a behavioral standpoint, mind you. Molly is sweet as can be, and is responding well to the word "no." It's just that -- well, she's awfully busy. Awfully, awfully busy. Throw in last week's nursing strike and you can see why I'm dropping the ball on a few things around here. To be fair to myself, I was not pursuing a career when any of my other children were this age. The only "writing" I did was the occasional thank-you note or a humorous poem for an unwitting family member. So. Here I am, floundering. But loving every minute of it. Well, maybe not every minute. This isn't some sort of Donna Reed utopia. But I do have a husband with enough sensitivity to buy me a scoop of Bananas on the Rum in a waffle cone at Ben and Jerry's during Molly's nursing strike. And I've actually cleared off enough of the mess on my desk to have room for my left arm while typing. And...and...and...I think I'm starting to get just the tiniest bit organized. Organized, as in, all I really need is thirty minutes a day to keep myself on track in the writing arena. Thirty minutes! I've been known to write four solid pages in thirty minutes. Yes, it can be done. Despite diapers and eighth grade Grammar tests and gargantuan loads of laundry and no fresh fruit in the house, it can be done. And that's where I've been. Blowing off the blog for a bit, with every intention of not blowing anything off again. It'll happen one day. In the meantime, thanks for checking in. Thursday, May 15, 2008More Spinach, PleaseI'm a firm believer in sign language for babies. I mean, who needs to listen to a very short person screaming every time she wants something -- or doesn't want something? So as soon as Molly was introduced to the high chair, she was introduced to the signs for "more" and "all done." Her older sisters are particularly good about working with her as they feed her. Mind you, we usually get blank stares coupled with eager "uhhhhh" sounds that signal Molly's desire for another spoonful. But we've plugged on, trusting that she'd "get" it sooner or later. So today was another Big Day in the life of baby. Today was Let's Have Spinach For The First Time day. My family members were quite pessimistic about the spinach, which I didn't find particularly encouraging after having cooked, pureed, spooned, and frozen my four-dollar bag of organic spinach. The general consensus was, in fact, "She's going to hate it." I, however, was determined to maintain a positive attitude despite the very, very, VERY dark green slop sitting in my ice cube tray. Oh. Such green food. I mean, it's just so...green. Dark green, like toad poop. So the menu for today's Baby Lunch consisted of apples and spinach. Cameras were rolling. Big Brother Jonathan took spoon in hand. Molly's unsuspecting mouth opened wide at the sight of the first spoonful. Mouth closed. Brow furrowed. Eyes upturned. And then. She chewed, swallowed, smacked. Opened her mouth for a second spoonful. Wow! Molly liked the toad poop. Spoonful after spoonful, Molly sucked down the spinach as though it were the sweetest thing to cross her lips since breastmilk. And the best was yet to come. Because about two-thirds of the way through lunch, Molly asked for more. She did. She brought those little hands together in her own, sweet version of the sign language, and asked for "more." More spinach! Then she did it again. It must have been the uproarious applause that spurred her on. Or maybe she simply loved the spinach. I'd like to think it was a combination of both. The best part? Rachel got it all on film. I have double proof: Proof that my child actually ate her spinach, and proof that she asked for more -- twice. So my writing career may be on hold, my office may be a study in acute disorganization, my life may be in baby-induced disarray. But Molly ate her spinach and asked for more. And I'm as happy about this as I would be with a stellar book deal. Ur. Almost. Labels: baby Tuesday, May 06, 2008I Need A Refresher Course
  Okay, somebody help me out here. Somebody with lots of experience with breathtakingly cute babies. I've done this baby thing before. So far, it's been dandy. Beyond dandy, actually. Because every waking moment that I spend with Molly is a blessing beyond my wildest imaginings. And I really do mean that. Except there are more "waking moments" now. And I'm running out of ideas. Let me explain. Molly's always been on a wonderful schedule (thank you, Babywise!). Morning nap at 9, afternoon nap at 1. And for the longest time, she hung onto her third nap. It used to be a 5 to 7 nap. What perfect timing! Plenty of time to make and eat dinner before having to get her up for her 7:00 nursing. Gradually, she was able to stay awake longer after her afternoon nap, so I began to put her down around 6:00 for this final "mini-nap," which could range anywhere from fifteen minutes to one full, blissful hour. Well, it's history. I knew the time would come. Molly is, after all, eight months old now, and most eight month old babies do perfectly fine on two naps a day. And truly, she does do "perfectly fine." It's her mama that isn't doing "perfectly fine." Because, simply, I don't know what to do with her. Do I sound like a clueless mama or what? Yet this 3:00-to-bedtime stretch has me catatonic by the time my own bedtime rolls around. Take today. We wake up a little before three. We come with Mommy when she drives the girls to ballet. We stop at the grocery market on the way home while Mommy buys a couple loaves of bread (we like that; grocery stores are endlessly interesting). We come home. We eat peas and applesauce, and we nurse with gusto. We go into our pack-and-play and do just fine until, halfway through our time, we fall over and get upset. Mommy rescues us and we go upstairs to play together in the nursery. And it's only 4:30. So Mommy brings laundry into the nursery to fold it while she watches you play. She brings you with her while she runs upstairs to check her email. She practically yells with glee when Spencer offers to play with you for a while so that she can finish making the salmon salad. She grabs your blankie and snuggles with you for a while. She thwaps you into your highchair with a few toys while she finishes getting dinner on the table. She realizes that allowing you to yell during a meal isn't too cool, so she puts you into your crib with your blankie for a little bit of down time while she tries to finish eating. You are not happy. And this is the way it goes, and something must change! And since Molly is already practically perfect (a la Mary Poppins), that "something" must be me. "Something" as in, throwing dinner into the crockpot in the morning so that I don't have to worry about cooking when Molly needs me. "Something" as in pulling out the safety gates and creating some "safe spaces" for Molly to explore. "Something" as in going to bed at 9:00 so I don't poop out during the long stretch. "Something" as in giving myself grace as I readjust to this extremely active baby phase. Because Molly is not a "lap baby"! She's a climbing, crawling, wiggling, reaching, standing, rolling, moving at lightning speed baby. And. Her. Mama. Is. Over. 40. And I just need a little help here. What can I "do" with my baby when her older sisters aren't home to entertain her? How can I create a "safe space" in a downstairs with doorways that are way too wide to accommodate a safety gate? How many walks-with-a-stroller can one woman take in a day? I'll tell you what, though. I am thoroughly, completely, irrevocably delighted that I get to go through this one more time. It's by far the best thing that could've happened to me; it's by far the best thing I could be asking for help with. (Is it me, or did I sound like Sydney Carton just then?) So I'm all ears. Tell me, sweet mamas -- what should I do with my baby? Though for tonight, at least, I've solved it. I handed her to Daddy and came upstairs to write this. Funny, though. I can hear them playing downstairs, and I'm aching to be with her. So I think I'll just sneak down there and hang out with them for a little bit. Crazy? Yep. I am crazy in love with this little girl. Absolutely crazy. She's worth every "waking minute" it takes. Labels: baby Thursday, May 01, 2008Scenes of Wine and FamilyA little glimpse of the Boehme Couple at Arrington Vineyards (if only to prove that we actually made it there)... And another little glimpse of my beloved parents with my offspring. What joy it is to keep passing babies into their eager hands. Not that I need to do it again. It's my sister's turn. Enjoy.    
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About Me
I am: Mother to five stunningly individualistic children... Writer of young adult fantasy... Passionate advocate for Women At Home... Madly in love with my husband... In need of Organic Gourmet Chocolate on a regular basis. I've got a Paypal account if you'd like to contribute to the cause....
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