I Eat Ice

To my husband's chagrin,
I eat ice when I'm pregnant.
Not usually until later in pregnancy,
but by about 7 months or so
I'd pick a glass full of ice over cheesecake.

I KNOW!!
If you know of my affinity for cheesecake,
go ahead and pick yourself up off the floor
because it's the truth.

You may remember you're older brother always keeping an eye on your plate and asking
"Are you going to finish that?" when supper was particularly good.
Well that's how I am with ice--I see people wasting perfectly good ice and want to ask them
"Are you going to finish that?"
(I would never really do that, it was more for blog effect.  Maybe.)

I know it's a sign of iron deficiency,
this desire to crunch ice.

I know it drives my husband batty.

I know that I prefer store-bought bagged ice to what I'm able to make in my freezer here at home.

And I know that if you're headed over my way,
I may just ask you to stop off and bring me a fresh bag of ice.
(I bought a ten pound bag last week and it was gone in four days,
if that's any indication...)

I'm Blessed: I Get to Have Another Baby

Linking up with Gretchen today in her 

I'm Blessed series,

I'd like to share an article I found a few years ago that really spoke to my heart.

I Get to Have a Baby
by Elizabeth Foss

I ran into an old acquaintance at a party last weekend.  It had been about a year since I'd last seen her and I was delighted to meet her again.  She's always been a warm woman, who seemed to love to play with my babies.  So I was--ahem--a bit surprised at our exchange.
"You look tired," she said.
"Ah, I am," I replied with a wink.  "I'm getting kind of old for this."  I rubbed my growing belly.
"How old are you?"
"Forty-two."
"Why don't you take the pill?"
Gulp. Um. My well-rehearsed treatise on the Culture of Life and openness to God's gracious goodness completely evaded me there in the kitchen between the bar and the buffet.
"It's against my religion."  That was lame, I thought, as nothing else sprang from my mouth.
"Well, then why don't you just tell him to stay away?  Tell him you'll come find him when you want him around.  Tell him to leave you alone."
I was backing away now, physically recoiling from the disdain in her voice.  Honestly, I couldn't even speak.  I went and sat as close as I could to "him" on the couch.  And then I let the words come in my head--words I never shared with her, but wish I had.

"Because I get to have another baby."

I get to feel my cheeks flush and my heart race when I see two pink lines on a positive pregnancy test.
I get to plot and plan and dream up the perfect way to tell my husband.
I get to tell my children they are expecting a sibling and watch the ensuing happy dances and hear the shouts of glee.
I get to see a brand new heart beating within my own.  I get to hear the rhythmic swish and thump that tell us the baby is still well.
I get to feel the flutters and have the realization dawn that they are created by my baby who is moving within me.
I get to see my belly swell and not be bothered by "weight gain."  I'm gaining a baby.
I get to hear my children bless this baby every day and pray for her safe arrival.
I get to lie in a darkened room, my husband nearby, and get a glimpse of our baby on a screen.  I get to watch him fall in love with the baby of the grainy image.  I get to see a tenderness reserved especially for moments like these.
I get to become acquainted with the rhythms of her being--her active times, her sleepy times, her hiccups--all before I ever see her.
I get to rub my belly a million times a day, wearing out maternity shirts in an effort to caress the growing dear one.
...
I get to look forward to the day she is born, imagining the slippery, soft cheek against my own, feeling the enormous relief and thanksgiving that come with her safe arrival.
I get to watch the cord be cut and know that I still have years ahead of me of nourishing her from my own body and a lifetime of nurturing her from my soul.
I get to fold well-worn lovely little pink clothes and eagerly anticipate dressing a new doll in them.
I get to fall asleep at night with my husband's hand on my belly, marveling at it all and thanking God for the miracle of two made three.
I get to have a baby.
Again.
...

Elizabeth Foss is a freelance writer and blogs at www.ebeth.typepad.com

My Farmer

My farmer doesn't appear much on my blog.

I should be better about telling you about him.

He loves me even when I'm awful to him.

He leaves me love notes in manure.

He isn't afraid to be ridiculously silly with the children.

Like here, see?

Daddy and Christopher 2010

He tells me he loves me.

He works hard and long.

(When you marry an independent dairy farmer, there are no days off, no holidays, and no guarantee of ever getting anywhere that you planned to go because the cows might get out, one might have trouble calving, the milk truck might get stuck in the yard, everything that could go wrong does and chores end up taking forever, etcetera ad finitum.)

He cares for his animals.

He likes leftovers.

He's sooooo smart!

He likes to take the kids with him when he goes somewhere.

When one of his children says something like this, he just laughs.

(I think would cry!)

Potty Training 107

 I am often asked

How do I potty train my child????????

Maybe it's because I look like I should know the answers?
Maybe because anyone who would do this over and over and over again surely must be able to accomplish such a thing????

The answer:  (And when I say "answer", I'm using the term loosely.)

To start with, I firmly believe there is no magic formula for potty training.
In my experience, every woman who's told me that allll of her kids were out of diapers by the time they were fifteen months old has had, like, one kid--two at most.

What works for one child may not work for another, and what didn't work for one child may just be the thing that makes it click for another.

I'm on my seventh round of trying to get a child out of diapers potty learning.
You'd think I'd have this thing down pat by now.
But I don't.
And neither does Ruby.

I thought about doing the whole go to the store and pick out some pretty underwear thing, but I haven't been able to go to the store, so we haven't done that.
I did find some little undies from when Linnea was little, but there are only four of them.  Some days this is plenty, other days she's back in a diaper by noon because she's out of clean undies. 
(I began this post before her birthday and had it saved in drafts--she got pretty ballerina ones for a gift so now we have plenty!)

It is as much about my ability to focus as it is hers--I have to remember to remind her to go try to use the potty.  Maybe we struggle because I'm distractable, maybe I just haven't used enough chocolate for bribery.

I have used the kitchen timer system; we set the timer for 30 minutes and the child needs to try to use the potty when the timer goes off.
This has been marginally successful over the years.  If nothing else, soiled/wet diapers get changed every 30 minutes.

We have used both the stand-alone potty chair with the cup thing that you pour out and the snap-on kind that goes on the regular toilet seat.
Currently, it is imperative that we have the separate little toilet because it seems every time Ruby has to go, someone else is on the big potty.
One con of this system is when the potty learning individual desires to pour their good work into the big toilet and is only marginally successful. Bleh.
My experience has been that the little potty is good for girlies who are learning and to not even bother with it for a boy--they'll just miss anyway, (remember this post?) even if they're sitting down and have that fancy little shield in place.  I've been better off to have them use a step stool by the big toilet and a snap-on seat for sit-down jobs.
(I feel like I'm speaking in some kind of code while avoiding using all the "bathroom words". Are you following what I'm saying???)


Truth be told, potty training takes vigilance and a lot of time--and I don't have a lot of time to devote to any one thing.  And since we're being honest (or is that just me?) I'll let you know I really don't like this stage of childhood.  This past week I cried out, "All these puddles--it's like we have a new puppy!"  Yuck.  (Yuck about the puddles...I like puppies.)

I would say the hardest part about little ones learning to use the bathroom is for them to take action when they feel the need to go, instead of waiting until desperation sets in. Sometimes the accident is from not honoring that at all, but many times the puddle happens in the bathroom as she is desperately trying to get the step-stool over to the light switch, reach the switch, then move the stool over to the big toilet, put the potty seat on the toilet aaaaaaaaaaaand by now too much time has elapsed and she's crying because she didn't make it and now we have a puddle on the floor and soggy clothes and some linoleum to wash. *sigh*  She tried, but there were just too many steps...

Granted, I don't deliver a treatise such as this to the casual observer in the grocery store.  I do know that each week sees improvement.  She is doing better each day.  I will "only" have two in diapers when the new baby comes.  (If you remember, I've had three in diapers before.)

Maybe when I'm asked about potty training, I should just say this:

My experience has been that when I quit trying so hard to train the child, the child eventually decided to learn.

How is that for an "answer"?

Go With the Flow? Um...No.

For an insightful read

click  Trust us. We're the "Experts"

Please do take the time to follow the links within her post.

If you've ever wondered why I'm not so much "go with the flow"

but more like "swimming against the current"

those posts explain a lot...

32 Weeks--again

I wrote this post when I was as far along with Ivy

as I am with Baby #9:

You May Be 32 Weeks Pregnant If...

It'd be safe to say

nothing's changed...

I'm Blessed

I hope Gretchen doesn't think I'm just copying her...

(does anyone else remember the cardinal rule of childhood that cannot be broken??

"Teacher, s/he's copying me!!!")

But boy--since she started her I'm Blessed series,

it's given me something to blog about each Monday.

So here goes:

 I'm blessed to live in an area of the country that has weather changes--beautiful ones.  I love fall. 

I'm blessed to feel this new baby be so active.

When I sit in church or even just as I'm drifting off to sleep (these never happen at the same time--just to clarify), the baby starts to roll around and I smile to myself. 

It is something that is "my own" about being a woman who is a mother.

I'm blessed to be an at-home-mom.

I'm so thankful that my husband wants it that way, too--I know many women who would love to stay home but their husbands won't let them.

I have always loved children

and I am blessed to be able to catch little glimpses into their hearts and minds.

I  L-O-V-E the things children say,

things may seem insignificant to others.

Today, Elijah told me,

"Hey Mom, when I get a turn to go to town with you I want to buy a box that has cans in it and the cans would have pop in them."

(more commonly referred to as a "12 pack")

These kinds of things make me smile--long after the conversation.

I'm blessed that our children are friends with one another,

they play board games together, build forts and race tracks together,

make elaborate creations out of tinker toys and Lincoln logs,

hunt together, 

eat, work, and live together.

They occasionally argue together, too,

but they learn what it means to work it out

within the crucible of the family.

If you'd like to share about your blessings,

feel free to comment here or over on Gretchen's blog.

(She has that really cool Mr. Linky deal so you can link up your blog, too,

'cause she's super smart about that kind of stuff...)