URGENT

There are no words to adequately describe the desperation I feel for this little girl. She is dying, and she needs redemption. Read about Lilliana's Ransom. here. This blog is a friend of a friends, and after reading this story, I felt like the very least I could do was re-post on my blog.

What would happen if we truly let our hearts break? If we just didn't turn a blind eye- because we just couldn't live with ourselves if we did? This is happening. Right now. No more pretending...

Rules of Sleeping In {According to a 2 Year Old}

1. There is no sleeping in.

2. If it's light outside, it's time to get up. {Were you not aware that we live on a farm? Fresh eggs anyone??}.

3. If Mommy and Daddy stayed up late last night, I will wake up at least an hour earlier the next morning.

4. If Mommy and Daddy had that special red drink they never let me try, I will wake up at least TWO hours earlier the next day.

5. When Mommy gets up to feed Milo, I figure she might as well stay up, so I'll stand at the gate to my room and start throwing toys and wooden food down the stairs.

6. I will sing Yo Gabba Gabba songs at the top of my lungs if the toys and wooden food elicit no response.

7. I will stand .25 inches away from Mommy's face, all while poking her in the ear, nose and eye and asking for waffles. Especially on mornings when Daddy lets her sleep in.

8. I'm most curious between the hours of 6 and 8 a.m. and this is when I ask Mommy all of my good questions (I try to get them in before her first cup of coffee) . "Does Brobee have ears? Can I have some strawbehwwies? What's that name? Mommy, you change your shirt? What's in dat ceweal bar? Is dat Curious George's Daddy? Where's P-pop? Are those cars sleeping too?"


Check back soon for the "Rules of Sleeping In {According to a 6 Month Old}" post...

"I Do It By Myself."

My daughter is a lot of things, but timid, she is not. I am continually amazed at her sense of adventure and her "take no prisoner's" attitude, but find myself watching her take on new challenges with baited breath. (For the record, we've only had one trip to the ER and ironically enough, it was because she tripped over her own two feet and became fast friends with the corner of our shoe-mold).

So, to my Ella-"Go-Getter"-Bug: May you always have enough confidence to climb the highest jungle gym on the playground (with kids four times your age), enough humility to know when to ask for help, and enough determination to get back up when you fall off said jungle gym. In turn, I promise I'll always be there to cheer you on, and remember to let you be a kid. (And of course, be on standby with lots of hugs and Dora band-aids, just in case).

Seriously though- there's nothing you can't do. <3

"These Are a Few of My Favorite Things.."

In honor of my little boy's half-birthday, a few things that are simply and utterly "Milo."

1. The grin. It's like he can't get his mouth wide enough and his eyes become little slits. This was the first grin I ever caught on camera- when he was not quite 6 weeks old:

And just last week...

2. The cheeks. (I adore both sets of them, but in the interest of sparing some of his future embarrassment, I'll be nice). Nom nom nom.

3. He's been such a good sport when it comes to tolerating his big sister. {She loves her Mi-yo}.

This will lovingly be dubbed, the "Desitin incident."

4. I've always had a thing for blue eyes (obviously). :) And I adore his. {Please don't change}!

5. I also love that he's 100% a Momma's boy. Sorry ladies, he's in a long-term, committed relationship. Fully attached (I'm sure you can wager a bet on what). But for the past few months, he's become increasingly affectionate. He grabs my cheeks with his hands and pulls me to his face, mouth open, drool abundant, and plants his smackers on my chin/nose/cheeks/eyes- basically whatever is available. It literally gives new meaning to the phrase "suck face." My son has this down pat (perhaps this should be a point of concern in oh, another 15 years?)

Like so:

6. And finally, this.


Happy 6 months to my lovable, squeezable, happy "Mi-yo Bean." <3

Just "Stuff?"

I may be many things, but a hoarder, I am not. I can't STAND clutter. (Smeone should have warned me about having two kids 20 months apart. Wait, that's right- they did). It looks like a Fisher Price bomb went off in my living room at any given time of day. Since we just recently moved, I've been in a very special frame of mind, trying to find homes for things on shelves, packing away storage bins, breaking down boxes, cursing under my breath and generally finding myself quite shocked at the amount of "stuff" we've accrued over the last five years.

I had always thought myself to be a realist when it came to deciding whether or not to save or "chuck" something. It was usually the latter of the two. "Out with the old, in with the new" was my motto. Obviously, pictures and family heirlooms are a different story altogether, but my general rule of thumb was that if I hadn't worn/used/looked at something in over 6 months, it was gone. Someone else could benefit from it. I would even go so far to say that I could stand to be a little more sensitive in this area. When Jake recently asked me if I was going to keep my wedding dress, I nonchalantly replied- "Nah. It's just taking up space." (Shallow alert: if it was a true designer gown, that would not have been my reply). ;)

In truth, I just never grew that attached to stuff.

{Says the woman who sat on the floor of the living room today, sniffling and crying as I went through bin after bin of Ella's baby clothes}. I'm going to preface this by saying that I'm pretty darn sure that mother nature is days away from giving me her first gift in over 15 months (I know you wanted to know this, right?). The point being, my hormones are on overdrive at the moment and I have found myself crying at odd and random times throughout the last week. But in my quest to tackle the post-move clutter from my house, I made a few appointments with several children's consignment stores around town and am scheduled to drop off the first few bins tomorrow morning. Originally, it was just another task on the to-do list. But when I sat down and started sifting through the itty-bitty onesies and outfits, I was flooded with memories of my little baby Bug and oh, the tears started coming. Her hospital hat, the itty bitty bikini she wore our first summer at the beach, some of my favorite outfits that I realized I had completely forgotten about, her first halloween costume, the outfit she wore when we visited Santa, the cute (albeit pointless) shoes that I couldn't resist buying for her- all tucked away so many months ago when I had said "just in case we have another girl." When we found out Milo was Milo, I couldn't have been happier even though a part of me knew I would never have as much fun dressing him as I did her. (And I was right).

Although I'm quite sure that we are done (or, done enough for me to say that I'm selling her clothes to consignment), something in me aches. Much the way it did the first time she said, "Go, Mommy. I do it myself." Much, I'm sure, the way it will on her first day of preschool. And oh GOD, her first day of Kindergarten- and every grade after, as I realize that my baby is getting older, and ironically, my memory is getting weaker. Even now, I try to conjure up images of her when the newborn sleepers were hanging off of her tiny arms and legs. Some memories are as clear as if they happened yesterday. But many have gotten swept up in the chaos of life, packed away like the little rompers and dresses I forgot we even had.

The practical side of me knows we don't have the space. But now, Kristin "the mommy" confronts the Kristin of 10 years ago- the carefree, untethered one who swore she would never be convinced to hang on to just "stuff." She said a lot of things though, before she had kids...

"Do-Over" (and over and over and over)

I've often made mention of Ella's obsession with Yo Gabba Gabba. Because of that, I frequently walk around the house/grocery store/Target singing their very crack-infused but catchy songs. One of Ella's favorite's is "keep trying, keep trying, don't give up, never give up. . ." She'll sing it to herself sometimes, when she's trying to fix a toy or buckle herself into her carseat. I'll hear her saying in her sing-songy lilt, "keep trying Ewwa, keep trying, don't give up. . ." A-freakin-dorable.

I had a doctor's appointment this morning to get some bloodwork done. I've been suspecting that I'm anemic due to the fact that I've made several dietary adjustments as of late. That, and I'm bruising like an over-fondled bag of apples, not to mention I'm seriously fatigued (you know, more than just your average mom of two). So I walked in to my appointment today when a) I'm already exhausted, lightheaded, and slightly nauseated b) I'm incredibly hormonal (that gets it's own letter) and c). I hate the doctor's office. I seriously can't stress that enough. Every time I go, I have to find my Zen place, do deep breathing and sing silly songs in my head (how's that for quirky?). Ever since I developed my anxiety disorder, doctor's offices have unfortunately served as a reminder of the dark place I lived in for the period of 3 years after Jake and I were married. Even now when I'm clearly stronger, better and more confidant, it still requires a ton of mental and emotional energy for me to go to appointments, and multiply that times fifty when I have to get bloodwork done. Before I can stop myself, I've already fast forwarded the horror movie in my head to the last scene when I'm passed out on the floor because I got woozy, or worse, I've thrown up my breakfast/lunch/iced grande half-caf two pump classic Americano from Starbucks.

The demons of emetophobia still beckon from time to time. Most days, I find that I have both the mental and emotional capacity to beat them back. Some days I can even knock them into next week (whatever that means). But today, I let them get the best of me and told myself that I simply didn't have it in me to sit in a lab with a needle stuck in my arm. So I excused myself quietly from the waiting room, gave the receptionist a lame excuse (read: big white lie) and left. Luckily, she penciled me in for a later time today. I came home, flopped down on the couch with some lunch and every intention of taking a nap (for real, this time) and switched on the TV. Of course, it's always tuned to Nick Jr and when it came on, I immediately recognized Plex, Brobee and the others and wouldn't you know, they're singing "keep trying, keep trying, you'll get it right, you'll get it right."

I know it's crazy that I'm about to wax philosophical off of something akin to a 22 minute acid trip, but the show has some merit in the lessons it teaches. (Seriously people, don't bite your friends. It won't end well). Ella and Milo will both inevitably have their share of missed opportunities and set-backs as they grow up. That's just life. But in this household, those situations will only be deemed failures if nothing is learned from them. Lucky for them, they have a momma who is well-acquainted with having to try, try again- for things that many people wouldn't even give a second thought to. A couple of things I intend to pass on to them:

-It's okay to get beat down, but staying down is simply not an option.
-Showing up is half the battle.
-Victories are victories, no matter how seemingly small and insignificant they might be to someone else.
-When you're offered a second (third, fourth, one hundred fifty-fifth) chance, you take it and say "thank you."


Now- lucky for me- I get to put all of these into practice again today at 4 pm. (I'll be that annoying person sitting in the lab singing the Yo Gabba Gabba songs under my breath). :)

Inappropriate Lyrics

I truly thought I was pretty well versed in nursery rhymes and kiddie songs by this point. I mean, I literally fall asleep and wake up to lyrics of songs like, "Don't Bite Your Friends" and "The Poop Goes in the Potty". Somehow, I think they lack staying power (except in the darkest recesses of my brain, where I desperately want to tune them out). Catchy? Yes (unfortunately). True classics? Hell, no. Thankfully, when I was little, it was "You Are My Sunshine" and "Baa Baa Black Sheep." My mom and dad used to sing "You Are My Sunshine" to me just about every night while I was in the bathtub or right before bed. That was our song so it's always held a special place in my heart. Consequently, the first piece of artwork I bought for Milo's nursery in our new house was this:

I plan to buy the second part to that song and hang it at another spot in his room...

Such a simple, sweet little song. Melodically stable. Non-abrasive, calming and soothing. The perfect lullabye, really. So I thought that maybe I'd take it one step further and find prints for the rest of the lyrics, interspersing them throughout the room as a mini-theme for his nursery. But unbeknownst to me, there's a second (and third) verse to this old standby and after reading it, I realized perhaps there's a reason I never knew about it:

"The other nite, dear,
As I lay sleeping
I dreamed I held you in my arms.
When I awoke, dear,
I was mistaken
So I hung my head and cried."

{Debbie Downer trombone sound effect here}

Yeah, that would make a great print to hang over his crib. On second thought, maybe a wall hanging of lyrics to "Poop Goes in the Potty" isn't so bad after all.