thug life

Tweet

Karis has some serious baby dandruff (cradle cap). I've been reading up on how to care for it and the consensus is to rub baby oil all over the baby's head. It sounded simple enough, but now Karis's head is a big greasy mess that is leaving an oilspot on everything she touches. I was trying to figure out a way to cover her head, and I remembered we still had some do-rags left from Jafta's foray with dreadlocks. Worked like a charm.

(And for all you white folk from Orange County, click here to find out what a do-rag is).

I think she looks pretty fly.

(You can tell how much street cred I have by my use of the word "fly". And the fact that I still know all the lyrics to Young MC's Bust a Move. Fo shizzle.)

Tweet

crossing dressing, dirty t-shirts, and the animal kingdom

Tweet

Karis is a generally easy and mellow baby. She is pleasant and predictable. She smiles and coos and is happy when her needs are met. There is one exception, though.

Karis doesn't like Mark.

I don't know how they got off on the wrong foot, but she is NOT a fan. Which is kind of a bummer for me. (I supposed it's a bigger bummer for him. But I also prefer to think about how things are affecting me. Me me me.) Whenever I pass her to him, she immediately starts screaming. Lately, she has taken to screaming, arching her back away from him, and holding her arms out at her side. It's as if she were making every effort to have as little contact with him as possible.

She's giving him the newborn equivalent of a "talk to the hand".

The crazy thing is, when all this is happening, it's not like she is looking up at our faces to distinguish who is holding her. It's all by smell, I suppose. But somehow she recognizes immediately when she is passed from one to the other. It's like the animal kingdom, as Mark says.

I know some moms might be secretly flattered for their babies to show such preference. Not me. I get totally annoyed. I somehow feel like they are conspiring against me, because the result is that I end up holding Karis all the live-long day while Mark gets to walk around the house unencumbered and eat meals with both hands. Although I don't think this dynamic feels really great for Mark. Especially having her scream bloody murder every time I try to leave the house. Or pee.

Anyways, we decided it was time to take some action. We are on Operation Attachment with Karis and Mark. We resorted to a bonding tactic we used when we adopted Jafta. We grabbed some dirty t-shirts out of Mark's laundry basket. We lined the crib with one of them. We put one on the seat of her swing. We also rotate her swaddling blanket, and Mark sleeps on one each night. So now the blanket smells of Daddy. She is gonna get used to daddy's smell, whether she likes it or not. Like the rest of us have.

I even started putting one of Mark's t-shirts on when I feed Karis. It was crazy how much that bothered her. She seemed SOOO confused that the food source had a different scent. She even refused for a while.

I suggested Mark start wearing one of my dirty t-shirts to really mix things up, but he drew the line at cross-dressing for the cause. He compromised by laying one of my t-shirts across his shoulder.

So far, we've made a little progress. She will tolerate him if she is in the sling and facing out. She will smile at him from the bouncy seat, but immediately starts the waterworks if he picks her up.
And I am left watching the whole thing and willing myself not to rescue them. Because I think that's how we got ourselves into this situation. I need to take a step back, and let Karis work it out, even if it's uncomfortable. Which is hard for me . . . and somehow I have a feeling that this type of letting go is gonna be essential for me to learn over the next 18 years or so.

Tweet

circle of cuz

Tweet

I wasn't close with cousins growing up. My mom was an only child. My dad's sister had children but they lived far away and we only saw them occasionally. So it has been a new experience to be an aunt and know a close relationship with my neices and nephews. I have to say that seeing the love that my kids have for each other, and seeing their love for their cousins, is enough to make this cynical mom's heart burst with joy.

This weekend we got some great time in with the cousins on Mark's side. The Howertons Northwest are down for the week and yesterday we celebrated Grandma's birthday.

It's fun to look at their faces and think about how each cousin has a special bond, for different reasons. Caleb is a little older than Jafta and therefore, in Jafta's mind, the COOLEST KID EVER. Alex loves to play babysitter to Karis. Jafta and Tanner are both rough-and-tumble boys and seem to relate to each other in a way that is uniquely physically and affectionate at the same time. Karis and Peyton were born six weeks apart, and I can't wait to see the friends they will become.


These girls will probably spend their teenagers years hanging out and complaining about how lame their moms are . . .

We are thrilled that Michael and Jodie are in the process of adopting from the fostercare system. They are likely adopting a sibling set, and we are hoping Keanan will be joining us soon. I can't wait to see the "Circle of Cuz" get bigger.

Tweet

a soothing lullaby

Tweet

Is Karis crying because she is tired, or because of how bad their singing is?

Tweet

operation grocery acquisition #2: total disaster

Tweet

I am trying so hard not to be Chaotic Mom. You know her: she's the mom who is sweating at the restaurant as her unruly children run circles around the table, or the mom with screaming and kicking kids on the plane. She's the mom on Supernanny. The mom you don't want to stand next to in line. The one whose kids make a scene at the grocery store.

And today, she is me.

Oh, I had the best of intentions. After my last grocery shopping fiasco, where someone threatened to call the cops on me, I decided I would do most of my shopping online for a while. Last night I placed an order with Vons.com, and I mapped out a peaceful day of picking the kids up from preschool and the four of us relaxing in the backyard while our groceries were delivered. This went awry when Vons called me this morning, telling me my ATM card wouldn't process. The bank had sent me a new card right before Karis was born, and I kept forgetting to activate it and switch over. Apparently, today was my deadline, and the Von's truck left the station without my order.

We really needed groceries. So I called my bank to activate my card (finally) and figured I could swing by Trader Jo's on the way home. How hard can that be?

The trouble started with the fact that Jafta will no longer fit in the cart with the girls, so I had what I refer to as an "uncontained child". He also decided he needed to carry one of the baskets, which I agreed to because I thought it would keep him occupied. Wrong choice. Jafta has absolutely no sense of space around him. I am quite sure he would fail a field sobriety test if ever asked to walk in a straight line because he cannot walk in a straight line. He is a bumper, a mover and a shaker. He knocked that friggin basket into cans, he upset piled boxes, and I believe he bumped the elbow or butt of ever single individual in the store.

Okay, shopping was chaotic, but manageable. The kids were saving up for a dramatic climax, though. As I pulled my cart up to pay, Karis began screaming at the top of her lungs. It was a crazy loud newborn dolphin cry - the kind that leaves your ears ringing. Everyone was staring. It was so loud you couldn't not look. I tried to shush her and willed the checker to hurry up. The other two were begging to go up to the "manager's station" where they can receive a lollipop. It was about ten feet from the checkout line so I told them they could go by themselves. I thought this would make them feel big and also would occupy them while I dealt with the screamer. They made their way over there and suddenly I hear someone else screaming. That would be my other daughter - who has hurled herself onto the floor after learning that Jafta received the last lollipop in their stash. (okay, and seriously Trader Joe's staff - why would you give one kid a lollipop when you see another one standing there?). So I have to leave a wailing newborn to go pick up India off the floor - who is doing the "gone limp" tantrum and refuses to stand up. Everyone in the store continues to stare, and I have to pick India up off the floor, at which point I noticed she has pooped her pants. How do I know she has pooped her pants? Because it gets all over my arm when I pick her up.

Now I have crap on myself, two screaming kids, and I just want to get out of there, fast, when suddenly I hear the checker say, "I'm sorry, ma'am, the card was declined". Awesome. Apparently the new card was not properly activated. By some miracle of God I actually had some cash with me, but it was not enough. So I got the pleasure of having the checker void items one by one until we reached a lower total, which required calling a manager over while the entire store continued to stare at my screaming children, my poopy arm, and my inability to afford my groceries. (Yes, now all three were screaming, because I forced Jafta to share his lollipop with India and he was none too happy about it).

I am staying in the house today. I am staying in the house for a long time. Maybe until Jafta is old enough to get the groceries himself.

Tweet

unmet expectations

Tweet

This morning is India's first day of preschool! The kids are at a new school and there is a summer program, so they start in June. We've been working up to this for months, especially in the potty-training department. We've talked up preschool quite a bit with India, and she always talks about how she is gonna go to a High School Musical preschool. At first I thought it was funny, but last night I got this sinking feeling that she really thought she was going to attend East Side High along with Gabriella and Troy and the rest of the gang. This was further confirmed this morning when she woke up and said "time for school, time to put on my cheerleading costume!" This ended in a tantrum, and then when we got to school, she seemed clearly disappointed that there was no singing, no dancing, and no Troy Bolton. I go to pick her up in a few minutes and I'm VERY curious to know how it went. Here is a video of her talking about it last night Jafta is also joking about he how will attend a Backyardigans preschool. Based on her behavior this morning, India was not joking.

In Jafta's classroom, however, I was thrilled to find that there are two other African American boys in his class. Two!! I can't tell you how rare this is where we live. When we checked him in, Mark and I were looking at each other with goofy grins and raised eyebrows, and as we left, we were both whispering "did you see that? did you see that?" like there had been two celebrities in the room. It's amazing how a little diversity can brighten your day.

Tweet

weekend in review

Tweet

On Saturday we went up to LA for a little "Haiti Reunion". Jafta got to hang out with Jenny and Jeffrey - two kids from Keanan's orphanage who came home in December. Jeffrey and Jafta always had a lot of fun to together on our visits to Haiti, and it was so great to see him home with his adoptive family. I've been feeling really discouraged about our adoption lately and it was so good for me to be reminded that kids do come home. I also got to hang with some other adoptive parents and Jessica, who was a volunteer at the orphanage for several months.

We had a great Father's Day today. Mark took a speaking gig, not realizing it was Father's Day, so we all headed up to the church where he was speaking for the morning Jafta was really excited to hear Mark talk, so we made a deal that if he was quiet, he could stay in "big church", but if he was loud, he had to go to his class. He did a pretty good job, except for the fact that every 30 seconds or so he would loudly whisper to me, "I'm being really quiet! Look how quiet I'm being!" Which sort of defeats the purpose, but oh well.

We had lunch at a tastey Cuban restaurant. (We had Cuban for Mother's Day as well. A theme?) Then after lunch we had ice cream at an old-school dinner. My in-laws joined us for the day, and the kids had a blast.

Here is a picture of Mark being the Superdad he is. He was trying to feed a fussy Karis, and then India wanted him to hold her too, while she pretended to be a baby with a toy bottle. Then Jafta got jealous and decided he needed to be in daddy's lap with his sisters. And so it goes with three.

HAPPY FATHER'S DAY, BABE!

Tweet

baby fat

Tweet

Parenting a newborn is hard. One major plus about adopting is that you aren't simultaneously dealing with the ego blow of having your body morphed beyond recognition after a pregnancy. I truly believe that the weight gain aspect is one of the unmentioned curses of childbearing. Your world is already being rocked with a crying baby, no sleep, breastfeeding woes, and an end to freedom as you know. Let's tack on top of that the fact that all of this will be happening while you struggle to find an outfit that fits over your blown-out midsection. And in order to feed your child, you must pull your shirt up and expose said blown-out midsection every 2-3 hours. You also get to constantly shield questions about when you are due if you dare to venture out of the house without the baby. Oh, and sometimes people inquire about your pregnancy while you are holding the newborn.

People. A public service announcement. If you see a woman with a child who does not yet walk or talk, DO NOT ask her if she is pregnant. No matter how pregnant she looks. Filter that question and tell her she has a nice personality or something.

With both my full-term pregnancies, I gained a lot of weight. With Karis, I gained an ENTIRE JAFTA. And he's obese . . . so that's a lot. I am pretty determined to lose it, but it is hard because every time I try to work out, something like this happens:

And this morning while doing my 30 Day Shred, this happened:

It's also hard because breastfeeding makes me ravenously hungry. The other day, a friend was over and I was whining about the extra weight. And she said, "Oh, but you are breastfeeding, so the weight should just melt off." And then we both started maniacally laughing because WHATEVER. Who does that actually work for?

[No one I would want to be friends with].

Another bonus of this stage is that nothing fits. I refuse to buy clothing in the size I am at right now. I am trying to think positively - and I am hopeful this is a transitional size. Which means that I am left wearing maternity clothes still - which are now too loose. They are always falling down, and I am always hiking them back up or exposing my backside when I sit down. It's pretty.

A few weeks ago someone told me about a blog called Shape of a Mother. It's awful. Hideous. And a totally accurate picture of what happens to a woman's body after giving birth. I love it. Living in Orange County, I sometimes need to remind myself what normal is. Normal is being a wee bit fluffy for a while after giving birth.

And that's okay.

Totally worth it.

Tweet

spillage and backing up

Tweet

*Don't worry. This is not a post about my potty-training efforts with India. Although this blog title could describe that as well*

In a good drama, the protagonist of the story always has a tragic flaw - a character defect that ultimately leads to horrible things happening. For Antigone, it was excessive ambition. For Othello, it was jealousy. For Oedipus, it was pride. (And sleeping with his mother, but that's another story).

My tragic flaw is that I spill things. A lot.

I've been spilling things since I was a child. I blame it on an unfortunate combination of clumsiness and excessive thirst. I am always thirsty, and always carrying around a glass of water. So much so that my dad warned Mark about the water glasses when we got married. It was actually mentioned during the ceremony.

It's kind of a problem.

Now you may be thinking that spilling things doesn't sound like that big of a deal. Sure, the Pergo flooring in my bedroom is all but ruined, and I nearly killed myself by pouring water into a plugged-in sound machine next to the night stand.

But when it comes to technology, this poses an even greater problem. Water damage has led to the demise of several of my cell phones (2001 Nokia: dropped in toilet, 2004 Motorola: dropped in pool, 2009 Treo: dropped in bowl of cupcake batter). But the worst spilling episode of all occurred last year when I dropped an entire glass of water onto the keyboard of my laptop. It fried it - completely. It even made hissing noises. Within seconds, I had lost years of data, photos, videos, and documents. Pictures of India's birth - gone. Records of Jafta's birth family - gone. Photos of our vacations - gone. Several semester-long class lecture notes - gone.

I had never backed any of this stuff up, and it was pretty devastating. In fact, even in writing this, I get a knot in my stomach thinking about all those pictures. Not to mention, I spent the entire fall semester re-writing the course material for the grad psych class I teach.

I bought myself a new laptop, and I've tried to be more careful with the water, and with backing up my data. I bought an external hard drive. I didn't actually back anything up, but I at least purchased the thing with good intentions.

So the other night I sat down to feed Karis, and my laptop was sitting next to me. I turned on the tv, but I had the wrong remote. The finicky one that only turns the tv on. Probably because I spilled water on it or something. So I turn on the tv, but I'm unable to change the channel or turn it off. The tv is on Noggin and Oobi is on.

Oobi. Have you seen this stuff? If ever there was a show worthy of a WTF award, Oobi would be the frontrunner. A bunch of hands talking to each other. And not in some sort of symbolic or ironic way. Just a weird, annoying family of hands talking to each other for a whole show.

I got a little desperate to turn off the tv, thinking I could be stuck watching the entire show if Karis took her time eating. I jumped up, in fact. In doing so, I knocked a glass of water sitting on the sofa's edge right onto the keyboard of the laptop.

I suddenly found myself in the middle of a predicament. Nothing was backed up, but I grabbed the external drive to try to start moving files in case I had another laptop crash. I was like someone running in to a burning building, figuring out what to save first. The two things on my mind: Karis's birth photos, and my Vanguard class lecture notes.

.

I will not say which one I choose first, because my darling daughter may read this someday. All I will say is that there were two thoughts that crossed my mind in that split second: a) I really, really, really don't want to spend another entire semester re-composing those lecture notes, and b) Karis and India look A LOT alike in their birth photos. So alike that you could hardly tell if one picture was swapped for the other . . .

.

Luckily for me (and for Karis), my computer didn't totally die, and I did manage to get everything backed up while Karis screamed because she was interrupted during a feeding and left in a bouncy seat to watch Oobi by herself.

.

When Mark got home, I told him about the debacle. Over the years, my water spillage has tested the bounds of Mark's unconditional love, and he was SO ANNOYED that I had put my laptop at risk again. So per my husband's mandate, I am now allowed to drink water only out of my new designated straw cup:

It is the adult version of a sippy cup. We're hoping it can reduce the spillage around here. From me, anyways.

* Any advice on reducing India's spillage is greatly appreciated, as well.

Tweet

my poor, obese son who can't go to kindergarten

Tweet

Jafta just had his preschool graduation last week. I was a little cynical about the whole thing, because he's not really "graduating" to anything, except for another year of the same. But his preschool has all the kids in the class participate in the ceremony, since it is the last year for some. I was a little annoyed at all of the obligations involved and thought it seemed a little superfluous for our family. Plus I just wanted to stay home that night and go to bed early. So I'm really not sure why I started BAWLING LIKE A BABY when he walked down the aisle with his class, and again when they handed him his non-graduating certificate of particiaption. Yikes. I don't even want to see what I will look like when he graduates from high school. Hopefully my hormones will have evened out by then.

Jafta's birthday falls just after the cut-off for starting school this fall, so he is getting an extra year of preschool while most of the kids in his class move on. He is pretty devastated by this fact. It's not even that he is comparing himself academically, or sad that his friends won't be in his class. He is just devastated that anyone could actually be older than him. He doesn't get it. As the youngest kid in his entire class, Jafta is also the tallest. And in a four-year-old's mind, it's all about who is biggest. Learning that biggest does not necessarily mean oldest has been a difficult blow for him this week.

Which brings me to the obesity.

We took him to his yearly physical yesterday. Jafta is 95th percentile in height and weight for his age. The doctor also informed us that his BMI technicially makes him obese.

Awesome. My first thought is that I am now one of those moms of obese kids on the Maury Povich show. How did this happen? I've judged those mom for years! But the doctor quickly explained it is an anomoly because of his thick muscle mass. He is perfectly healthy, but some people are just naturally bigger. She used Shaq as an example.

So Jafta is less this:

And more so this:

Which is good, since I write for a mommy blog that encourages moms to feed their children nutritious foods. But not so good for my dream of being on the Maury Povich show. Perhaps I can get on one of Maury's "Are You My Baby's Daddy?" paternity episodes. Is it just me, or do Jafta and Mark look nothing alike?

Tweet

grateful

Tweet

I've had a few friends who seemed a little concerned about me after my post on Monday. I'm thinking maybe I left the wrong impression. Life is hard right now, and I have never been one to hold back in talking about the realities of motherhood. But life is also really good. Even though I am juggling a lot right now, what I wanted to communicate is that I am learning to surrender to that fact that I can't always win. I suppose that does sound kind of negative, but for someone like me it is actually freeing to accept that there will not be perfection at this stage of the game. When I give up pursuing that, it allows me to laugh at things that could be completely mortifying. Like Wednesday, when Karis projectile vomited and then India pooped her pants during Jafta's preschool celebration where I was "volunteering". I'm sure his teachers appreciated my contributions to the party.

Am I still sounding cynical? Sheesh.

Life is crazy right now, but I wouldn't have it any other way. So bear with me when I rant about the indiginities - it's my coping mechanism. Sarcasm is easier for me than sentimentalism. But in an excercise to EMBRACE THE GOOD (my new motto), here is a little list of things I am grateful for:

• I love having my kids so close in age. It makes for a crazy few years, but I love what great friends they are, and how well they play together. I am also excited that they will all be in high school at the same time. Three little ones is mayhem, but if I had my way I would have four little ones in the house right now. I hope their brother in Haiti can join the chaos soon.
• I am so grateful that I got to experience having another biological child. It's something I never thought would happen even once, much less twice. I had completely surrendered that desire, and it was such an unexpected blessing. I am so grateful to have experienced childbirth AND adoption. Twice.
• I am so happy that Karis is healthy. There were several red flags for chromosomal issues while I was pregnant. I haven't had the head space to blog about that stuff yet. I'll get there. But there were some test results that had me really, really scared. I am beyond grateful that she has no syndromes and is developing typically.
• I am grateful that my husband has a flexible job that allows him to work only four days a week, and that I have a job that allows me to work only one day a week. It's nice to put on grown-up clothes and have adult conversations on Fridays, but it's also really great to be at home with the kids full-time.
• I'm grateful for my amazing friends, who supported me during a whiney and stressful pregnancy, and brought me meals and gifts over the past month.
• I'm grateful that I'm not pregnant anymore! (Have I mentioned that?)
• I'm grateful that Karis is sleeping through the night (for the most part) and India is peeing in the potty (for the most part)
• I'm grateful that today is Friday, and I'm at the office getting some time to clear my head, and then get to go home to my four favorite people in the world . . .

Tweet

conversational prayer

Tweet

India's little prayers crack me up. She likes to editorialize, and often goes off on a tangent right in the middle of them. It's funny because she closes her eyes when she's talking to God, but then opens them to make comments in the middle of the prayer. This usually involves saying that she loves someone after praying for them. It's pretty cute.

(That's a backwards tiara in the photo. She likes to wear it that way. And I have NO IDEA who taught her to fold her hands like that while she prays. It wasn't me!)

Tweet

someone's gonna lose

Tweet

I've been a mother to three small ones for six weeks now. This week, I seem to have kind of hit a wall. I'm so, so tired, The adrenaline has worn off, and the energy is waning. But the part that is really most frustrating to me is how little I am able to get done right now. For a type-A mama, ending the day with just as many items on the to-do list as I started with is NOT a great feeling. I'd been advised by lots of well-meaning friends to just stop trying to get things done. But truly, my bar is so low right now and some things just need to be completed. Like the preschool application that has been sitting on the kitchen table for a month now. Or the intern evaluation that I was supposed to mail back before my maternity leave, that is still on the counter because I haven't had time to buy a freaking stamp.

And let's not even talk about my toenails and how those look.

It sort of feels like survival mode right now. That's a little hard for me because I am someone who really likes to do things the right way. But with three kids this small, there is no right way. It is just managing chaos. Every man for himself. He (or she) who cries loudest, wins.


I am convinced that every baby book ever written, was written by someone with only one child. Advice like "sleep when the baby sleeps" or "put your child on a sleep-eat-play" schedule do not really apply when you have three running around. I would seriously love to see the advice book for parenting multiple small ones. It could have helpful tips like "how to pee while holding a baby" or "managing a toddler's time-out while breastfeeding in a different room".

I spend a good portion of my day strategizing how to be efficient and stay on top of things. I realize this is a little insane, because no amount of planning can make order of my life right now. But I'm always trying to figure out how I can outsmart these odds. Because dude, I am outnumbered.

I have said several times: I don't get how stupid people do this.


I have come to the conclusion that until some of these kids mature a little bit, someone in this house is always going to lose. There is no possible way for all of us to have our way all of the time. In an ideal world, my day would include a shower and makeup application, three healthy meals, a good walk/run, time to check email/facebook/blogs, time to read, a quality conversation with a friend, a clean house, a couple cycles of laundry completed and a few errands run. Surprisingly, none of these things are on the priority list for my kids. Karis's ideal day involves breastfeeding, sitting in my arms during a milk-coma, sitting in my arms while she sleeps, and sitting in my arms while we make googly faces at each other. Again, not exactly items Jafta or India are really thrilled about. Poor Karis just loves to be held, and her favorite activity is what I call the "afterglow" - that moment just after nursing where she cuddles down and sighs with contentment. But she rarely gets this moment because as soon as she is done eating I am usually ripping her off because we are late to pick up Jafta, or India needs a diaper change, or my assistance is required in breaking up a screaming match over who gets to play with the Lightning McQueen car.




The one time of the day when everyone is happy is our evening cuddle time. It's my favorite part of the day (and not just because it means bedtime is next, but that helps). After the kids have their baths we all crawl into my bed and sing some songs, and say prayers with the kids. Mark and I used to "divide and conquer" and do this alone with each kid but once Karis came along, again, we were outnumbered and had to adjust. We decided to do it all together out of necessity but it turned out to be such a sweet family time. After all the chaos, it's a nice reminder to me that it is all worth it. The kids are really enjoying loving on Karis and singing to her at the end of the day, and Karis seems to be enjoying it, too.

Most of the time.

To elaborate the "you just can't win" theory, here is the ending to my grocery cart dilemma. I did what most of you said you would do: I left the kids strapped and locked in the car while I crossed the street to get a cart. I've tried crossing the street with all three of them and it is a nightmare - India refuses to hold hands and if forced, often takes to laying down in the middle of the street. She is kind of a safety liability, and I am a wee bit sensitive to car stuff since Mark was actually hit by one. On this particular occasion, I was strategizing how to get into the store as safely as possible, so I intentionally parked as close as I could to the bigger cart, and rushed across the street and back to the car to fetch the kids. There was a woman standing nearby and she watched the entire thing. As I walked by her with all three kids in tow, she started screaming at me. She said she couldn't believe I would leave three small kids in the car, started going off about how unsafe it was, called me lazy, and threatened to call the police.

The irony, of course, is that I though my choice was the safer choice. But when you have someone threatening to call the cops on your parenting, it certainly makes you question yourself. I would love to say that I handled this altercation maturely. Alas, I did not. I got extremely defensive, and a wee bit loud. As Mark would say, I "got a little Kissimmee" on her. (This is in reference to the loud, confrontational style of most folks who live in my hometown in Florida. Mark likes to make fun of me for that). I tried to explain myself, and when that didn't work, I made fun of her for smoking and then mockingly suggested she be my parenting mentor since she looked like she had it all together (which she did not).

I am the pinnacle of self-control.

But the story doesn't end there. I shopped for my groceries, and then unloaded them into my car. After the Great Confrontation, I was not about to leave my kids in the car again, so I just parked the cart right next to my car. And as I was getting in my car, an employee walked by, rolled his eyes at me, and huffily took the cart back o the front of the store.

Sometimes, you just can't win.

Tweet

feels like the first time

Tweet

There are so many aspects of parenting that are just unexplainable. One of them is how you can love each child just as much as any other, and how every milestone with each kid feels a major accomplishment. There are so many things that Karis does right now that leave me exclaiming, "Mark, this is amazing! Are you seeing this?? Can you believe she is cooing/smiling/recognizing my voice/kicking her feet/etc? This is the most incredible baby ever!" Even though I said the same thing with both Jafta and India. And even though everything she is doing is similiar to what any other baby at her age would be doing.

So even though Karis is number three, I am still that goofy mom who feels like that first smile is a miracle, and who will sit there for thirty minutes and take 21 pictures until I capture a shot of that flashing grin.

Amazing.

Tweet

Christians Behaving Badly

Tweet

It's been a tough week for Christians in the PR department. Or, as my husband says, "There is a run on crazy right now". A man murdered a doctor because he performs abortions, and cited God as his authority. Miss California, the spokeswoman for traditional family values, does a press tour defending racy topless photos as harmless, while gloating about Prop 8 being upheld. Pious Mel Gibson knocked up his girlfriend while still married. And Spencer Pratt gave everyone a theology lesson when he explained that he became a Christian because God gives him whatever he asks for. His fleece leading to his faith: getting dinner with Miley Cyrus within a month of asking. Good luck luck with that line of thinking.

Oh, and apparently a majority of Christians think torture is alright.

Unfortunately, when we are surrounded by tabloids, blogs, and the twenty-four hour news cycle, sensationalism wins. Unfortunately for Christians, that means that the crazies usually get all the attention. I know so many people in real life who look nothing like the narcissistic, judgemental, and/or hypocritical "Christian" being characterized in the press right now.

So I want to talk about a few. And I want you to talk about a few, too.

Kirk and Heidi are waiting to go to Ethiopia to add to their family. They are a family of six, about to be a family of nine. They had three children and then felt led to adopt from Ethiopia. They welcomed a sibling set of three to their family last year, and while they were there picking them up, met another sibling set of three. They came home and decided that they were called to parent these children, too. They are living a life of radical faith, and are an example to me of what it means to be wrecked for God.

The Livesays moved their family of seven to Haiti a few years ago. I am always amazed by the people I have met who uprooted a comfortable western existence to serving in this devastating and beautiful country. They deal with hardships that are unimaginable on a daily basis, both personally and with those they serve. Right now, Tara is training for a marathon to raise money for Medika Mamba, a program that saves the lives of malnourished children. You should help. Oh, and check out her blog. She is a killer writer and will make you laugh and bawl at the same time.



Francis Chan, a popular author and pastor, was moved by scriptures regarding caring for the poor, loving our neighbors as ourselves, and being Jesus' hands and feet in the world. He made some radical changes in his own life, including downsizing his house and putting his church on a massive budget. Their church nows gives over 50% of its income to charitable causes. Check out his message above.

Jolly Okot grew up in Uganda and has dedicated her life to healing the children who were abducted to be child soldiers. She herself was one of the first children to be abducted by the LRA in 1986. She now runs a program that provides play therapy and dance to address the psychological scars these children hold as witnesses to an atrocious war. She was an advisor to the directors of Invisible Children and one of her programs is featured in the movie War Dance.




Those are a few folks that are representing Christ to me. How about you? Who are some quiet Christians Behaving Well that inspire you and are worthy of some attention?

Tweet

poop in a box

Tweet

Who doesn't love a mystery story?

(People eating their lunch right now, that's who. Blatant crap talk to follow. If you are squeamish, go look at this instead).

Yesterday when I went to retrieve India from her nap I noticed a strong odor eminating from her room. It was poop, to be sure, but the smell was just a bit more permeating than usual. I also noticed immediately that she was wearing a swim diaper under her dress instead of the old-school diaper she was wearing at the beginning of her nap. When I entered the room, she proudly informed me that she had changed her own diaper. "Mommy, look. I have my own fresh diaper". Trouble.



At first glance, there were no signs of the old poopy diaper. There was, however, some evidence of what had happened, namely a large area of wiped-up poop in the middle of her bed. I must say, she had done a stellar job of cleaning it up. But there was not a diaper or a wipe to be found, and her bottom, hands, and the new diaper were curiously clean.

After much searching, I finally found the old diaper in a drawer under her bed. But what had she used to clean everything up? I had this sinking feeling that there was something else in the room. And the smell. Good Lord, the smell. There had to be something else.

I set about cleaning her bed and sternly lecturing India on the importance of having adult supervision in her diaper-changing adventures. I also brazenly suggested that she start doing this business in the toilet, like her favorite puppet suggests to her every morning while she watches "Elmo's Potty Time". She seemed unenthusiastic about this prospect. In fact, I think her exact words were NO WAY. And despite my warnings, she remained pretty proud of her new diaper-changing skill.

I did a thorough search of her room. I opened drawers, looked behind the bed, and still, no sign of any remaining poop. I finally gave up, but just had this feeling there was more to come.

And then.

In the middle of the night, I am feeding Karis, and go to change her diaper in the dark. I reach for a wipe, but there are none sticking out. I fumble with the box, and the contents spill out onto the floor as it opens.

Ah-ha.

About 20 soiled wipes have been placed back into the box.

Mystery solved.

Tweet

what would you do? (a poll)

Tweet

Sometimes motherhood throws me into situations where there is no clear-cut answer, and where I am left choosing between the lesser of two evils. I ran into one of those situations today, and I'm curious to know what other moms would have done. So, WWYD?

Here's the scenario: You need to run into a major grocery store chain for milk, and you have three kids in tow (one of them a newborn in an infant seat). You spot the fancy carts that will hold three children at the front entrance of the store. You park as close as you can to those carts, which are across the street from where you are parked. You must now strategize the safest way to get all three kids into said cart. Do you:

1. Leave the kids in the car for a moment (still in your line of sight) while you walk over and get a cart to bring back to the car so that the kids can cross the street strapped and contained in a seat.

2. Do your best to wrangle two small kids across a parking lot and street while holding an infant carseat carrier that leaves you with one free hand, because leaving children in the car, no matter how brief, is not okay.

.

So. What would you do? Risk crossing the street with two kids who like to dart in traffic and one free hand, or risk leaving them in the car while you cross the street? I'm curious to hear what you would do. Tomorrow I'll post about what I chose to do, and what drama ensued from that decision . . .

Tweet