Welcome to the world, Melora Karine!

Our beautiful daughter, Melora Karine Walz, was born Sunday March 30th at 2:28 p.m. She weights 6 pounds, 11 ounces and is 19 3/4 inches long. We have all fallen desperately in love with her already and want to do nothing more than stare at her and kiss her sweet head all day. Isaiah is already a sweet, attentive big brother and a good helper to us. We are so thankful, so blessed, and so in awe of our two amazing children. I will write more later, including her birth story, but I am now off to take a bath and go to bed! (You know you just wanted to see pictures anyway.)

Bathtub of Horrors

Warning: This post is a gross one, so you had better posses a strong stomach and the humor of a 12-year-old boy if you plan to enjoy it.

We had a really fun, wonderful night tonight. Also, we had a really terrible, disgusting night tonight. The fun part began when our friends from our Music Together class came over. Isaiah's little friend Ava was decked out in her usual pink fluffy glory, and they had lots of fun playing while we talked with Ava's parents. We found out we got married on the same indescribably hot August day back in 2003, and we had lots of fun laughing about our similar experiences. I was having some contractions throughout the entire meal, but I didn't really want to call attention to them because they weren't too painful to talk or move through. So I just enjoyed myself and discovered that Ava's mom and I share a mutual, amateurish love of scrapbooking as well as a mutual lack of time to scrapbook. We also had a yummy Italian chicken dinner, which was a new slow-cooker recipe for me and they brought over some delicious cheesecake from Cafe Latte.

After our friends left, we let Isaiah play for a little while as we loaded the dishwasher and cleaned up the kitchen. I was still having contractions, but a warm bath usually relieves the pain. We decided we should give Isaiah a bath before I took mine, though, to help him calm down for the evening, because he was still pretty pumped up from having a really cute little girl over to play. So we filled his bath and Isaiah and I read stories together. Once it was all ready, Michael got Isaiah into the tub and began playing with him for approximately 20 seconds until Isaiah pooped in the water. This has happened about four times in Isaiah's life, but we thought we had learned how to deal with it as quickly and efficiently as possible. When you're dealing with poop floating in water, the learning curve is steep and sharp. So I ran into the kitchen and pulled out a ziplock bag, into which I cut slits so the water could drain out while still retaining the offensive poo. As I was doing this, Isaiah pooped again in the water, even though he had insisted he was done. So then Michael ran back into the kitchen for another bag while I tried to fish out toys as quickly as possible to avoid the poop raft. Suddenly I realized there were three poop rafts in the water, and I simultaneously realized we were huge idiots for not getting Isaiah out the instant he pooped his first poop. So Michael came back with more baggies as I dried off Isaiah and put a diaper on him. Unfortunately, the fishing baggie Michael had gotten didn't work because the holes were too big, so it let out water and soooo much more back into the tub. Then there was nothing we could do except wait for the tub to drain and clean it out.

I was still having somewhat painful contractions and couldn't lean over the tub very well, so the job fell on Michael, who dutifully grabbed a gigantic fistful of paper towels as I brought in the garbage pail. He began mopping up the disgusting mess when he started to gag. He's not usually a gagger when he changes a diaper or anything, but this was one seriously gross bathtub.
"(Cough, choke...) Wow; I really didn't expect it to smell quite that much. How about you slide that scented candle over my way, sweetie...(gag, cough, gag...)"
He continued trying to clean the mess up despite his ever-strengthening gag reflex until suddenly his body couldn't take it anymore, and he threw up right in the tub, losing the wonderful chicken dinner and cheesecake we had enjoyed.
"Oh wow!" Michael said incredulously, "This is a really disgusting night. I'm sorry it's all happening right in the tub, honey."
Just at that moment a rather powerful contraction hit as I was overcome with uncontrollable laughter. I sat down on the toilet and shrieked with laughter and pain.

So Michael had to clean and bleach the tub, (which he did amazingly; it now sparkles like an alabaster effigy and smells like a fresh spring day,) and I soaked the bath toys in a bucket with 409. We agreed that it would be pretty awesome if our baby girl was born tonight, because this would make for one unforgettable story. Maybe I could even deliver her in the tub!

*I thought the picture was appropriate for the bathroom humor contained within the post. Hopefully you will all be brave enough to read another post one day. I can't imagine having one as disgusting as this for a long, long time.

Duck mittens

Nope, no baby yet. I figured I would start off with that because I know quite a few people have been wondering, and I guess if I go for too long without posting something on my blog or facebook, people start assuming I'm in the hospital. So far, though, Baby Girl has remained comfortable where she is, so she's not moving anywhere. My sister-in-law is on spring break, though, and came to stay with us earlier in the week to help me out and take care of Isaiah. So we decided it would be really fun to have the baby while she was here. Laura and I went out on Tuesday morning fully intending to walk around the mall until she fell right out, but Isaiah had a fever and was really tired, so we only walked for an hour. (Plus, I sort of walk like a duck with osteoporosis right now, so it wasn't very pleasant.) Before we left, though, we got some Chipotle with hot salsa in the hope that the spicy food would help spur something. Then after Isaiah was asleep I took a warm bath and spent some time rocking back on the birth ball. Then, my friend/doula came over with a pile of books and suggestions. We tried a few more positions and she tried pushing on a few pressure points, but Baby Girl still didn't feel like moving, so we watched a funny Japanese game show because laughing really hard gives me contractions. I ended up having a few, but nothing to write home about. By the end of the night, the remaining options were few and disgusting. I could opt for getting an enema or drinking castor oil, but I am absolutely not that desperate. Not even close. So Baby Girl stays snugly where she is, and no one goes near me with an enema bag. Everyone wins!

On a related note, my friend Andrea wrote a poem/prayer for me birth that I thought I'd share:

May Ashley's birth not be a long haul
May she be aided by her birthing ball

May Michael relax if a needle is near
And may Ashley not give in to fear

May your contractions be short
And your pains be few
May only good thoughts come to you

May you remember that God loves you very much
Now go birth our that girly and all that good stuff
Amen

Since she apparently isn't in too much of a rush to come out, I've just focused on being comfortable with her new, very low position. It's really not so bad (as long as I have quick access to a bathroom every second of the day) except for the fact that my pelvic bone is separating and sometimes gives me a hard, pinching pain. It's not anything serious or medically troubling, though, so I'm alright with it. My doctor prescribed daily bubble baths (preferably with candles) and chocolate every day. I know - it's a rough life, but I do what I must. Last Saturday, Michael suggested we go to swimming because it would help take some of the pressure off from having a baby living somewhere between my knees. We packed our swim bag and headed out to a hotel nearby that has open swim during the day. Once we got there and paid our $15 for two hours, we realized that we had picked one of the lamest pools in the cities. We decided to make the best of it, though, and all got changed. Michael carried Isaiah into the pool while I stepped into the "hot tub" (the quotes are around the phrase because it was more accurately a tepid tub.) Isaiah was really nervous and really cold in the water, so he mostly clung to Michael and cried. After a minute of that, they both came and joined me in the tepid tub, where Isaiah enjoyed pointing out the green spots on the bottom floor. ("It's green! It's green!") We eventually convinced Isaiah to let us turn on the jets, and he clung to us the whole time, occasionally reaching his hand out to touch some of the bubbles. The up side, though, was that I did feel much lighter for a good hour and a half, and because the hot tub really wasn't hot, I didn't have to worry about my body temperature or the baby's rising too high. By the end, Isaiah had a little more confidence and would walk around the bench inside the tub if we pretended he was a choo choo train. Somehow, we got a picture of him smiling like he was a born swimmer and having a great time. Don't be fooled by the sweet smile, though; that was not his idea of a good time.

Easter was a wonderful day for our family. We let ourselves wake up leisurly because we had planned on going to a later church service. Then we led Isaiah down the hall where he discovered his Easter basket at the top of the stairs and a toy or treat on each stair all the way down to the bottom. He knew what to do with the chocolate bunnies right away, and he loved the toy frogs we found that flash colors when you touch them. (They look like they would give you a pretty good trip if you licked them!) Then I made french toast before we headed to church. He had a great time playing with kids, as always, and then we drove straight up to Buffalo for some time with the Walzes. He built a giant snow bunny with his grandparents and Auntie Laura, and he of course also ate some snow and visited the real bunny, Nibbler. He also put stickers on Easter eggs and ate more chocolate. You really can't ask for a better day.

Isaiah is beginning to get excited about feeding ducks, which we haven't done since Christmas. He must be feeling the call of spring, despite the remaining snow on the ground. Today I was cleaning chocolate off his hands in the car (I had ingeniously let him have a piece of Easter candy for the drive, which he just decided to hold instead of eat,) when he began a nice conversation with me about ducks.
"Feed ducks?"
"Well, when it's warmer out, we'll feed some ducks."
"Ducks eat bread?"
"That's right, ducks eat bread."
"Ducks eat chocolate?"
"Nope, ducks don't eat chocolate. They just eat bread. And fish."
"Oh yeah! Eat fish!"
"Yep, ducks eat fish."
"Feed ducks?"
"Well, sweetie, it's too cold in Minnesota right now, so the ducks don't live here."
"Need some mittens?"
"Well, yeah, I suppose mittens would help them be less cold."
"Hold your hand, ducks...some mittens. Oh yeah!"

The Yuck of the Irish

This Monday I decided to celebrate St. Patrick's Day with a nice, traditional dinner of corned beef with onions and potatoes, cabbage, green jell-o with pears, and green sugar cookies. (Green jell-o is a very traditional Irish food, in case you weren't aware.) I had never really had corned beef growing up, but I love corned beef hash, so I assumed I would be quite the fan. Not so much.

The corned beef was nice and tender after a long day in the crock pot, and the baked cabbage was buttery-smelling and juicy, so I was really excited to dive in. Michael started eating before I did, since I was busy breaking up Isaiah's piece of corned beef and giving him a bite. I asked Michael what he thought of it all, since I had never made it before, and he told me it was good. Then, after a few bites, he politely said that maybe we should just save it for the once-a-year celebration of St. Patrick's Day. After another bite or two, he cautiously asked if there would be enough for leftovers tomorrow or if we would be eating something else (as he gulped down milk to try and drown out the taste of the corned beef.) At that point I let the poor, sweet man off the hook and confessed that I didn't think I could ever eat corned beef again. Michael's face flooded with relief, and he offered the tip that if you pile plenty of onions and cabbage on top of each bite of the beef, it really masked the taste pretty well. I ended up just having a peanut-butter and jelly sandwich anyway. My green jell-o with pears was good, though. Isaiah actually ate all of his corned beef, plus some of mine I couldn't manage to eat, his cabbage, onions, jell-o, pears, and a cookie. It's pretty pitiful when my toddler is a better eater than I am. Isaiah also had left-over corned beef and onions for lunch the next day, because Michael and I certainly weren't going to touch it.

As for baby news, our little girl has dropped. It happened last Monday as I was driving to pick Michael up from work. The drop was actually so sudden (and rather painful) that I swerved into the other lane of traffic; praise God no one was there! I wasn't even sure what had happened until I got out of the car and realized that she had either dropped big-time, or someone had snuck a bowling ball into my pants. At my doctor's visit on Friday, he confirmed that she was very low (I actually needed no confirmation of that, thankyouverymuch) and told me that I'm 50% effaced and 3 cm dilated.

While I'm definitely excited that she is apparently going to come soon, I'm also feeling some major control issues. Mainly, my issue is that I am facing the reality of how little control I have. Normally, I find so much peace in giving up control to God, but I'm having a tremendously difficult time doing it right now. I want to count her kicks to make sure she's doing well in there; I want to reread the book on preparing older siblings; I want to label all the drawers so anyone coming to help will know exactly where Isaiah's jammies are supposed to go...I want to do anything I can do that will fit onto a list so I can check it off at the end of the day and feel good about what I've accomplished. I don't know why I'm feeling this urge to have control, but I know I really need to let go. I need to give myself some rest and some peace. God has been so faithful to our family, and he has repeatedly, tirelessly, endlessly shown Michael and I that his provision is more than enough for us. There is nothing I can give my children that will compare to the wonderful gifts God has in store for them, so I just need to get out of his way.

Oh, and just when we thought spring was coming...Minnesota played a dirty trick on us and dumped more snow. Isaiah was delighted because one of his favorite activities is shoveling snow. All day long he asked to "subble sew" sometimes even adding "please, please, please." He finally did get to go out into the mush with Daddy after work and do some "subbeling."

A colorful week

So this Thursday, I wanted to take a shower really badly, and Isaiah was happily coloring printouts of Thomas and Friends and his little picnic table. He usually gets strapped into his high chair when he's coloring, so I was proud to see him sitting down like such a big boy with his crayons. Since he was so content, I figured it was as good a time as any to pop into the bathroom. He stayed happy the entire time I was in the shower, and I was able to relax in the warm water without worrying about him. When I came out a few minutes later, I heard him playing upstairs, so I went right up to check on him. He was happily kicking balls around his room, still holding the orange crayon from his coloring time downstairs, and he was so happy to see me he gave me a big hug. I scooped him up and plopped him on the bed for some tickles. After a few more minutes of playing, Isaiah started coloring on his hand with the orange crayon. It wasn't actually making any marks, but I told him that we don't color on hands, only paper. He looked a little surprised at this news and repeated it,
"No color hands?"
"That's right, buddy, we don't color on our hands."
Then a few minutes later, he poised the orange crayon over his sheets, ready to color on them.
"Nope, sweetie - we don't color on the bed, only on paper."
"No color bed?"
"That's right. We only color on paper."
A dawning looking appeared on his face, and he quietly asked me,
"No color table?"
"Right, sweetie, we don't color on the table, only on paper."
I was pretty impressed that he had used his deductive reasoning on that one when he asked, a little more quietly,
"No color chair?"
"That's right, no coloring on the chair - only paper."
Then he asked, in an even more quiet voice,
"No color slide?"
"That's right, we don't color on the slide either - just paper."
I was still pretty impressed that he was extrapolating the 'only paper' rule to include all these things when he said in a tiny voice,
"No color house?"
"Um, yeah sweetie - we only color on paper."
"Oh," he said rather sadly and looked down. That's when I finally realized I should go downstairs and check things out. Indeed, he had colored on the table, chairs, plastic slide, and the walls of our house. Oh.

Luckily I had been smart enough to give him washable crayons (even if I was dumb enough to leave him alone with them in the first place) so the marks came off with a few wipes of a wet paper towel. I honestly wasn't even a little mad. I realized that we hadn't talked too much about what not to color on, because I had never left him alone with a set of crayons and a tempting house/palate to color on. I just told Isaiah it was time to clean up the colors and gave him his own paper towel. It doesn't even count as a consequence because Isaiah loves to clean and thinks it's a game. Maybe I should have disciplined him more, but I feel like it was more of a learning experience (for both of us) than a rebellion. So, we wiped up blue, orange, and brown crayon marks and then put the crayons away for the day and kept on playing. I guess next time I take a shower, I will have to think of a different activity.

The next morning we were all heading out of the house bundled up in layers because it was absolutely freezing (far below freezing, to be more precise.) We walked out our back door to head to the garage with Michael carrying Isaiah and me carrying Michael's coffee. I had just shut the door behind me when Michael called, "Hey honey, I don't have the keys." Oh shoot! I looked frantically through my diaper bag hoping against hope that I had the spare set of keys in there, but despite the fact that my diaper bag houses more than Mary Poppins' bag, the keys just weren't there. Michael called his brothers to see if either of them had the spares we thought we had handed out, but no such luck. By this time Isaiah was crying because the cold was so terrible and biting that our faces and ears all hurt. I removed my scarf and we wrapped it around the exposed parts of Isaiah's face. Then we booked it to a coffee shop two blocks down to hang out in the warmth while we tried to figure out what to do.

Eventually, Michael's brother Peter drove out and the two of them headed back to our house to try and pick the lock, (which didn't work,) and call a locksmith. Meanwhile, Isaiah and I stayed at the coffee shop where he could walk around and stay out of the cold. We were there for over two hours, and even though they had several books and toys to keep him entertained, he got restless and antsy after being there so long. A nice older gentleman noticed Isaiah was getting bored with my entertainment tactics, so he reached into his bag, pulled out a folksy wooden recorder and began to play. Isaiah was immediately enthralled and walked over to the man's table to check it out. The man obligingly played for him, and then reached into his bag a pulled out another, smaller recorder. He played on that one too for a moment so Isaiah could see how it worked, and then, he quickly wiped the mouthpiece on his shirt and handed it to Isaiah, who immediately stuck it into his mouth. It happened so quickly, I couldn't have stopped it if I had wanted it to. The guy just encouraged Isaiah to blow into it to make some music, which Isaiah did as I thought desperately of my Clorox wipes in the diaper bag across the room. Then Isaiah handed it back, and the guy stuck it back into his own mouth, while I sat there dumbfounded and unsure of what to do. I mean, this man was entertaining my son and being extremely kind...but ew! Isaiah definitely had a cold, which he probably passed onto the guy, and I had no idea what the guy was harboring that he passed onto Isaiah. It was all water under the bridge at that point in time, though, so I just fixed a smile on my face and went on with the morning. Oh, and we did eventually get into our home and Michael got to work only 2 1/2 hours late. Isaiah was no worse for the wear, and so far hasn't come down with any strange diseases from Mr. Recorder.

The pictures are from a photo shoot at our dining room table. Isaiah will make faces on command to entertain Michael and I, so we called out "happy face," "angry face," and "surprise face," while we snapped pictures. It's a pretty great party trick. (He also does sleepy face, silly face, yucky face, and sad face.)

Fingo-Mingoes

This weekend, we drive down to Vesta, MN to visit Michael's Grandpa for his 82nd birthday. Isaiah slept for much of the long drive, as did Uncle James, who had caught a ride with us. Michael and I chatted for a while, but we were in quiet moods. So I spent a lot of my time looking at farmland and thinking. One thing that crossed my mind is how amazing our families are. Michael and I were so young when we got married - both 20, and still young when we had Isaiah (22 and 23.) We really haven't felt overwhelmed or in over our heads, (well - for the most part) even when there are so many older, wiser, more mature people struggling in marriage and parenting. I know the biggest reason is that God is protecting our marriage and blessing it beyond anything we could have asked for, and I really think another big reason is because of our families. We both had wonderful examples of parenting and marriage to look to - my parents have been married over 25 years as have Michael's. Not only that, but their parents have all stayed married too. Michael and I have each lost a grandfather, but we have never had to deal with a grandparental divorce. We knew that when we got married and said "till death do us part," we really meant it, because we had seen that phrase put into action throughout our entire lives. I'm so thankful for my husband, and I know our marriage is a gift to our children.

Isaiah really loved the birthday celebration at the nursing home in Vesta. He was groggy at the beginning, but warmed up after some cuddle time with Grandma Walz. After a walk around the building, I think Isaiah decided he could happily live there. There was a big, beautiful fish tank the spent lots of time admiring. Then, we had cake and ice cream with family and sang "Happy Birthday" (one of Isaiah's favorite songs) and then some residents sat down or were wheeled into a circle to kick a pile of balloons back and forth to each other. Isaiah got right in the middle of the circle and happily kicked, threw, punched, and crawled around in the balloons. The residents enjoyed watching him so much, they forgot to kick the balloons themselves, and had to be reminded several times by the nurse. I saw how beautiful Isaiah was, and how much the residents appreciated his joy and enthusiasm. Oh Isaiah - you are such a blessing to this world, the fact that you are my son fills me with such wonder and love, I think my heart could burst.

Sunday night is usually my night off from cooking a big meal, so we were all just having quesadillas for dinner. I asked Isaiah if he would like some quesadilla as we sat down to eat, and I realized I really need to learn not to phrase things as questions when they are really statements, because Isaiah answers my questions as if he truly has a choice about the matter.
"Isaiah, do you want to eat your quesadilla?"
"Um...no...how about? Just candy."
"No, sweetie. We're not going to have candy for dinner. How about your cheesy quesadilla?"
"How about just cookies."
It's so funny, sometimes I almost want to give in. But never fear - I stood my ground and Isaiah did indeed have quesadillas, not candy, for dinner.

I decided to take it easy yesterday morning and let myself get off to a lazy start. I knew the day would be really full because I was going to re-organize all of Isaiah's toys, so I wanted to have some time just to relax enjoy my little boy. During breakfast we popped in a Baby Einstein DVD about animals and shared a bowl of pears, grapes, and kiwi. I'm so glad I slowed down enough to have that time with him, because it was ineffably beautiful. Isaiah got so excited about the animals he saw on the DVD he could hardly contain himself. His little body bounced and wiggled on the couch as he shouted out the name of everything he saw.
"Elephants! Kangaroo!!"
At one point, he was so excited, he couldn't even speak straight. A flamingo came onto the screen and he shouted,
"Fingo-mingo!!"
Then a hippo,
"Tip-a-pot-a-pus!!"
We snuggled and talked about animals and ate our fruit together for 30 wonderful minutes, and I felt as though I had gotten a break from the whole world. Oh, and Isaiah told me his fruit was delicious, or "mmmm...doo-wishes" actually.

We have been without a shower in our home for nearly two weeks because the diverter in the tub spout stopped working, so the water wouldn't work it's way up the pipe and out the shower head. We have resorted to taking baths and washing our hair in the sink. We had been misinformed that the job of replacing the tub faucet would be extremely difficult and could take an entire weekend, if not a plumber, so we didn't take care of it right away. In reality, though, it took a 30 minute trip to Home Depot and 20 minutes at home in the bathroom. Isaiah even helped by pounding on the tub with his plastic hammer. As we were heading to the check-out line at Home Depot, Michael casually said to me
"You know, honey, when we have the time and money, I think it would really be fun to tear apart our bathroom and make it really nice looking."
Oh - be still my beating heart. Michael had no idea he had stumbled upon one of the most seductive phrases known to a home-improvement, decorating junkie like me. I would have jumped up into his arms and kissed him right there if wasn't 8 1/2 months pregnant and still possessed the ability to jump. As it is, I'm about as agile as the queen of sea cows right now, so my feet stayed firmly planted on the ground, but I thought lustily of ceramic tile and antique bronze fixtures all the way home.

Cabin Fever

This weekend we went up to a cabin north of St. Cloud with the other families in our church small group. The group consisted of ten adults and six kids, all of whom are five and under. We were pretty excited to spend the weekend away, but we weren't sure how long Isaiah would enjoy our time there. He absolutely loves the other kids and talks about them all the time, but being our one and only right now, he has never had to share toys or attention for an extended period of time. We prepared ourselves for a lovely beginning to the weekend and possible breakdowns by the end. We were totally wrong, though - he couldn't get enough of the weekend with kids. He sledded and ran and jumped and laughed and ate snow to his heart's content. He fell asleep on the way home Sunday after lunch, and when he woke up in his own house, he was so disappointed he cried. I think he thought we were going to live in a cabin with five other kids forever. Sorry buddy.

It really made me feel good to see that he enjoyed being with other kids for such a long time, because I know he will really like having a sibling - eventually, even if it's a tough transition at first. Of course, Isaiah would ideally like me to pop out a five-year-old big brother who can play trains and run around with him, but a seven pound little girl who spits up on herself is pretty close - right?

After Michael got home from work one night, we decided we should play a game together. We were inspired because of the weekend with our small group. The adults played games every night and stayed up way past our bedtimes getting all giddy and tired. It was wonderful. Michael and I love playing games together, but we rarely do it unless we have company because our evening routine is just set. So that evening, while Isaiah finished up his dinner, we played two rounds of Othello, which we probably hadn't played since I was actually in labor with Isaiah. Then, of course, Isaiah wanted to join in the game-play, so we brought down Hungry Hungry Hippos. Let's just say the game was a hit. We played for an hour, and Isaiah loved every bit of it, from putting the marbles onto the board to gobbling them up with the hippos, even putting them back in the bag was fun. Michael and I put the game away and whisked Isaiah up to bed, thinking that surely we must be good parents to have such fun with our little boy on family game night. We didn't realize that we had discovered one of those things that may just be too much fun. Michael had to work for an hour and a half to get Isaiah to stop talking about hippos and go to sleep, and Isaiah woke up four times in the middle of the night, just to chat about hippos. He always settled back down with promises of "more hippos in the morning," but I knew I needed a plan so that we didn't have another hippo-saturated night.

The next day, as soon as Isaiah woke up, I brought him downstairs and began playing Hungry Hungry Hippos with him. After a little while, he told me that he was hungry, but I said that he had to play more hippos before we could eat breakfast, so we played another 5 minutes. Then I fed him and suggested more hippo play. We played again for a while when he said he wanted to get down from his chair. I told him that he could, but only if he played hippos for 5 more minutes. He agreed, but he was eager to get down. Then after he had played with other toys for a half hour or so, I told him it was time for hippos, and we played again. Then when lunchtime came around, I told him he could only have lunch after we played more hippos. By the time he woke up from his nap, he was cured, and he didn't wake up in the night to talk about hippos even once.

Michael had to go to a business dinner one night this week, and in that one night my respect for single moms quadrupled. Isaiah had been having a slightly testy day, but nothing major that I couldn't handle. However, 15 minutes after Michael usually gets home, Isaiah began to take it all to the next level. He began testing boundaries like nobody's business ("Isaiah, that glue stick is a no-touch. Sweetie, Mama said it's a no-touch. Isaiah, put down the glue stick down now. Put it back on the table. Isaiah Samuel...Put. The. Glue. Stick. Down.") He also began running around in circles, throwing his toys around, and erupting into sudden excited screams. It was obvious he knew something was up with his schedule, and he definitely needed fun, energetic Daddy to come and replace tired, cranky Mommy. Unfortunately, Michael wouldn't be back for hours - after Isaiah's bedtime. So, I packed him up in the car and we headed out to eat, just to distract him from the fact that his dad wasn't home.

I chose a KFC buffet because Isaiah loves chicken and corn, and I figured it would be easy. I hadn't really thought of how to handle a wiggly two-year-old while trying to fill two flimsy plates with messy food, balance two drinks over my bulging pregnant tummy, and not drop the diaper bag onto the sticky spot on the floor. I did eventually manage to get some food onto our plates and wrangle Isaiah into a high chair at an empty table. Isaiah, thankfully, ate really well and enjoyed playing with the sporks the buffet provided. I also got to eat a few bites between shoveling food into Isaiah's mouth and trying to keep his little hands off the very dirty, sticky chair next to him. Seriously - this was one sticky KFC. We were well over halfway through our meal when I looked around me and realized that I was the lone female in a restaurant full of college guys and homeless men. I guess I'm not really the target market for all-you-can-eat greasy chicken.

On the drive home, Isaiah asked if we could watch Thomas at least ten times, and I kept answering that I was very sorry, but I just couldn't take Thomas tonight. We got home, and I washed the stickyness off Isaiah and changed him into his p.j.'s. Then we read stories for an hour before I brought him into my bed with me and we both fell asleep, exhausted. Michael got home after ten and came upstairs where we were sleeping. We moved Isaiah into his toddler bed and laid down again. I wrapped my arms around Michael and made him promise that he would never, ever leave me. He said that of course he wouldn't, which I knew perfectly well, but I just wanted to hear it. It took such a short period of extra time being a single parent to wear me out and make me short with Isaiah. I'm so blessed to have a husband who comes home from a long day at work and takes care of me and plays with our son. I just couldn't be the kind of mom I want to be if I had to do it alone.

Fuzzy Footie-Pajamas

Hey kids! If you want to do a really cool science experiment, put a disposable diaper into the washing machine and run it to see the diaper explode...If, however, you just want to get the laundry done as quickly as possible with no complications, don't do this. Somehow this morning when I was loading laundry into the washer, a used (just wet, not poopy) diaper snuck in amongst the pile of clothing. I didn't realize it until I was switching the laundry over to the dryer and realized there was a bunch of soft white, rather nasty smelling foam coating the sides of the washer. I then found the diaper underneath my wet, rather nasty smelling shirt. So then I had to clean out the washer, re-do the laundry, and hope there aren't any lasting effects on the machine or on my clothing. Yuck.

On another note, it's cold. And I'm not very stoic about it. Thus far I have refrained from mentioning on my blog that it's really, really cold here, but to make up for it, I inform my husband (who can feel it just fine for himself) 5 to 10 times a day. In fact, I'm about 95% more whiny about it than Isaiah, which isn't saying great things about me since he's 2 and I'm 24. Not only is it sinisterly cold outside, it's pretty darn cold inside too since we live in a very old home (which I do actually love) that sort of just lets the cold seep in all over. We have compensated by purchasing an electric blanket and a space heater so that for much of the day, I can sit under the former and next to the latter with a cup of hot chocolate warming up my hands. Isaiah doesn't really care for the electric blanket, because he doesn't like being under blankets in general, and he's pretty nervous about the space heater, which is fine by me because I don't want him to touch it. For a while I thought I had given birth to a son who really couldn't feel the cold too much or at least wasn't bothered by it, but apparently even Isaiah has reached his limit of cold. For the past three days when I have woken Isaiah up in the morning, he has refused to get out of his fuzzy footie-pajamas. Really, I can't blame him. If I had fuzzy footie-pajamas, you might see me refusing to get out of them too. So, since I have clothing for Isaiah in all sizes up through 1st grade, I've just picked out some clothes that are usually a little big on him and put them over his fuzzy footie-pajamas. The upside of this is that Isaiah is nice and warm, even when we go outside, but the downside is that he has been wearing the same pair of green fuzzy footie-pajamas for three days now, and I'm starting to feel like a pretty gross mom. I guess tonight during his bath, we'll just substitute them for different fuzzy footie-pajamas and hope it's acceptable. I had never realized until now how much he loves his pajamas. At various points throughout the day, he will look under his shirt and happily exclaim "Green jammies!" Ah, simple pleasures.

I brought the camera to our music class again on Thursday as well as some extra prints from last week to share with Ava's parents and the teacher. I got more pictures of Isaiah, and in this batch he's actually smiling in a few. Last time I brought the camera, he was hungry because I hadn't given him a very good snack and grumpy with me for not bringing him enough food. So this week I was filling him up before we got to class with anything he would eat plus some apple juice for good measure. By the time we pulled our van up, he was getting grumpy with me for stuffing him like Hansel and Gretel. It worked, though. I really want to ask Ava's parents this next week if they would want to get together for a play-date since she and Isaiah have such fun together, but I'm actually nervous about it. I normally meet other parents through church or mutual friends, so going up to someone I have relatively little interaction with to suggest a play-date seems weird. I feel like I'm looking for an actual date instead of a play-date. If they say 'no thanks' is it rejection of Michael and me or of Isaiah. It really shouldn't be this big of a deal, right? I guess I'll just have to try and see.

First Crush

This Valentine's Day happened to land on a Thursday, which happens to be the day of the week for Isaiah's Music Together class. So Michael and I spent our evening in the most romantic way you could imagine - dancing around to "Rockin' Robin" with a bunch of other toddlers and their parents. Still, though, there were definitely some romance vibes in the air...Isaiah's, to be more specific. Over the six weeks of this class, Isaiah has harbored a crush on a cute little girl named Ava, and every week his crush becomes less and less subtle. This week her dad brought her in wearing her Valentine's Day dress, and she was like a fluffy pink ball of cuteness. I've got to give Isaiah points for good taste. Isaiah began to follow her around immediately. At one point, when the other children were singing along with their parents, Isaiah and Ava had walked out of the circle (they are both very independent, I guess) and Isaiah was just standing in front of Ava looking at her. Then he took off his own name tag and stuck it onto her dress. She sort of looked at it like she wasn't really sure what to do, but she seems to be pretty good at rolling with the punches, so she walked around with it on for a while. Almost the entire class of parents had caught the act and were suppressing giggles. Like I said, Isaiah isn't the most subtle guy, so they have all known about his crush for weeks. When the song ended, one of the parents remarked that he was pretty sure they were engaged now. Later, during free instrument time, Ava returned the favor by giving Isaiah a lovely pair of finger symbols she had chosen from the instrument basket. After class had ended, Ava's dad said that he hadn't thought he was going to have to deal with Ava's boyfriend for at least another 12 or 13 years. I guess when you're daughter is that cute, though, you have to be on your guard good and early. (Isaiah has continued talking about Ava all week)

Michael has been doing almost all of the bedtime duties in our house now. We realized that Isaiah really needs to get used to someone other than me putting him to bed, and while Michael has always helped out with bedtime, it is only recently that he took over the role pretty much full time. So, every night after a bath, Michael and I will head up to Isaiah's room and dress him in some warm footie-jammies (why don't those come in adult sizes?) and Michael will begin to read stories to Isaiah while they cuddle in bed. After Michael has begun the story and Isaiah is engrossed, I wordlessly get up and leave the room. Even though I would like to smother Isaiah in kisses and tell him goodnight and that I love him and to have sweet dreams, this is just mean because it makes my leaving quite noticeable. Michael and Isaiah read for a while longer, and then Michael turns the lights off and the lullabies on and lets Isaiah fall asleep (or mostly asleep) before he leaves the room.

Isaiah and Michael have become quite adept at this routine, and we've discovered wonderful consequences that go way beyond what we had expected. The obvious one is that I have time in the evenings to myself to do whatever I want. Sometimes this is just catch-up time for me if I haven't finished my to-do list for the day, but I've also been able to read and to scrapbook. Hooray! Something else I've seen, though, is that Michael and Isaiah are closer. It makes sense that Isaiah would become more cuddly with his dad since he reads stories and snuggles with him every night as he relaxes to sleep. It's nice that the change is that visible and quick, though. Another unintended consequence, though, is that Isaiah really isn't that great at going to bed for me anymore. Michael and I just do it differently, and he's not as used to me anymore. I spent 2 hours trying to get him to sleep the other night, in order to give Michael a night off, and when I thought I finally had him down, he sneaked out of bed, ran to the top of the stairs and yelled "Daddy! Daddy!" So I had to pick up and carry him back to bed while he cried "Want Daddy! Want Thomas!" He allowed me to put him into bed again only because I promised that we would see both Daddy and Thomas in the morning. Michael later told me that although he was sorry it took me so long to get Isaiah to sleep, he was also really happy Isaiah had called for him. What a cute Dad.

Love notes

I have been reading a book called Infant Massage recently (it's about infant massage, if you couldn't guess) because I'm hoping it will be a special way to take time out each day and bond with my daughter. Apart from getting me really excited to hold my little baby girl, one of my favorite chapters is about how bigger kids need to be touched too. The author pointed out that kids actually process praise and affectionate statements only 15% of the time when they aren't being touched as opposed to 85% of the time when they are being touched. So this morning when Isaiah woke up, I decided that as I was getting him dressed, I would try a little massage. It was a double bonus for me because not only did I get to spend a long time touching Isaiah's impossibly soft skin, I got to practice the techniques I read about. I massaged his legs, feet, tummy, chest, face, arms, hands, and back while I told him what a strong, beautiful boy he was and sang some of his favorite songs, and then I ended in a back scratch because I know he loves to have his back scratched. I felt good about it, but I didn't expect any drastic change in our relationship because of a single morning massage. After I had gotten his clothes on, though, I was carrying him downstairs for breakfast and he cupped my face in his little hands.
"I love you," he said, completely unprompted, as looked right at me with his breathtaking eyes, and then he gave me a tight hug and patted my back. Needless to say, I'm hooked on infant (and toddler) massage. Starting off this day with a reminder of how in love I am with my little boy was a frillion times better than any cup of coffee I've ever had.

The pictures this week are of Isaiah getting ready for his baby sister. He is feeding the baby doll from my grandma while they sit together in a laundry basket. He will sometimes rock the doll and sing "husha baby" and he really likes to pat her back until I make a tiny burp sound. The other picture is of Isaiah using some items he confiscated while I was organizing baby things. He loved the bib because it has a train on it, of course, and he was fascinated by the pacifier even though he couldn't remember how it worked at first. For quite a while, he tried sucking on it backwards with the handle in his mouth until I finally flipped it around for him. He walked around for a couple of hours with the pacifier in his mouth until he finally forgot about it and I discovered it later under the piano.

Michael and I took a refresher prenatal course that our hospital offered to second (or third or fourth) time parents. We did the normal overview of the stages of labor and breathing techniques, but our teacher (who was just the right amount of hippie for us) also wanted to show us some hypnobirth and waterbirth videos. The difference in the way Michael and I felt watching birth videos during our first prenatal class two-plus years ago and during this class was so vast it surprised me. When I watched similar videos before I had Isaiah, I was focused on the pain the women went through, and I didn't really view the process as beautiful. In fact, the one thing I came away knowing was that I absolutely did not want to have a mirror positioned so I could see the birth, and I shouldn't expect my baby to be cute immediately after he came out. This time, though, I watched the babies emerge with palpable excitement and anticipation, and when the parents looked at their newborns for the first time, both Michael and I teared up with them. Instead of seeing the blueish, vernix coated newborns as kind of cute, but also a little yucky, I felt a huge surge of oxytocin coursing through my veins and blossoming love for my little girl I haven't met yet. The waterbirth video was my favorite to watch because even though both the featured couples spoke Spanish, I could understand them, and hearing one mother exclaim "Mi amor, mi amor... o, pedazo de mi corazon." (My love, my love...oh, piece of my heart) brought back the overwhelming memory of the moment when I had finally birthed Isaiah and my pain was instantly forgotten as I heard myself say "Oh my baby, my baby." Michael and I both agreed that we would never have felt that way in class if we hadn't experienced it ourselves.

Thinking of how wonderful giving birth to Isaiah was, even though I had not been looking forward to it one single tiny little bit, and even though it was undeniably painful, made me think of how strange the joys of being a parent are. Michael and I discussed it as we were falling asleep last night, and he agreed completely. When Isaiah was only a few months old, I remember a single friend holding him while we chatted in a coffee shop. She told me that she absolutely loved to hold babies, but one of her favorite parts was that she knew that as soon as the baby cried or pooped, she had the freedom to pass him right back to his mom. I understood what she meant, but I remember thinking that I would gladly take back my crying pooping baby to care for him. Although taking care of Isaiah when he is "easy" is fun, there is a kind of ineffable joy in taking care of him when he really needs it. When he is scared and he clings to me, when he is hurt and his tears leak onto my shirt, when he struggles to fall asleep in his own bed for two nights in a row but Michael gets him to do it on the third night, when I wipe the p.b.j. off his face or tickle him back to happiness during a tantrum, I feel a special connection to him because I know I am needed. I feel so proud of him and of myself as I watch him grow up, and I know I am growing up with him.

Pre-natal Wardrobe Malfunction

I have been having so many strange dreams lately. I know it's a rather common thing to happen during pregnancy, but it was never quite this...well, strange with Isaiah. When I was pregnant with him, I mostly just had dreams about having a new baby. Pretty normal overall. This time, though, I have vivid dreams every night of the oddest things. One night I dreamed that I bit off my thumb, but I was still really tired, so I didn't want to go to the hospital and I just put a band-aid on the stump and went back to bed. Then the next morning (in my dream) I decided that my thumb-stump looked stupid, and so I found the rest of my thumb and took it in to be reattached.

Another night, I dreamed that Babies R Us had come out with a clothing line for infants still in the womb, and I really, really wanted to get the baby some cute new outfits to wear while she was still inside me. In my dream, Michael and I had a big argument about whether it was a waste of money, and I angrily told him that we would be awful parents if we let her go through the birth process naked. Then in another dream, our baby was born with a big yellow banana peel wrapped around her, so after the labor process, we had to un-peel her. Of course, some are much less funny and have resulted in me waking up with tears streaming down my face, such as the one where Michael was driving me to the hospital to have the baby, and we got into a car accident and he died just before out daughter was born. I'll stick to dreams about banana peels if I can.

I have been continuing to hear my own phrases come back to me out of Isaiah's mouth throughout the day. While I was uploading photos to Costco's website, Isaiah was sitting on the futon half watching me and half playing with a twist-tie. He wanted me to "fix it," and although I don't really know what you're supposed to fix on a perfectly functional twist-tie, I figured I would give it a shot. So I twisted it into a circle and gave it back to him. Then he excitedly exclaimed - "You fixed it! Great job Mama!" Thanks baby.

Isaiah is becoming a little too obsessed with Thomas the Tank engine, and this is how I know. We usually let Isaiah come into our bed in the mornings if he wakes up early, and so the other morning, I was snuggling next to him very warm and cozy. Isaiah had already drifted back to sleep, but I was still awake because I had a little heartburn (not enough to actually get me out of bed and across the room to the nearest bottle of Tums, but enough to keep me awake for a few extra minutes.) I realized after a few moments that Isaiah was whispering in his sleep, so I put my ear closer to his mouth to hear what he was saying, and I discovered he was reciting the names of the engines from Thomas and Friends. It was like some sort of twisted sheep-counting. "Donald, Douglas, Percy, Daisy..." and again, I would like to point out this was IN HIS SLEEP.

So I decided we needed to take a Thomas break for the next week or so. I haven't put away any of his actual train toys or books, but we've had several discussions about how all his Thomas DVDs are broken. I did break down on Thursday, though, but I feel as though it can be excused on account of incredible cuteness. During lunch, I usually let Isaiah watch Curious George, because it makes it easier for me to shovel whatever into his mouth, and it's just less messy than having him feed himself. So, yesterday I told Isaiah that he could watch George while we ate lunch and he answered. "No...no George. How 'bout....Percy!" It was so cute, I actually let him watch his Percy DVD.

Isaiah is becoming more and more excited about our Music Together classes every week we go. I'm also noticing that he has actually developed rhythm, which I think is pretty good for a 2 year old white guy, and he sings the lyrics to the songs throughout the day. One of his favorite parts of the class is a little girl named Ava, whom I'm pretty certain he has a crush on. I have to give him credit for good taste - she is ridiculously adorable. He also apparently likes younger women, because she's only 15 months old. Since Ava is one of the few people Isaiah encounters who is smaller than himself, I think that's part of the fascination. All class long he will follow her wherever she goes and hover so close I'm sure she feels an invasion of her personal bubble. A few weeks ago, though, he also decided to see what would happen if he pushed her. I honestly don't think he did it because he wanted to be mean, I think he was just curious. Of course, Michael and I were mortified that our sweet little boy pushed someone's sweet little girl, and even though her dad said it wasn't a big deal, we felt terrible. Then, to our horror, he did it again the next week, and Michael had to pick him up and take him away from Ava.

So, this last Thursday on the way to class, we all had a talk about how to be gentle to other kids. We talked about not pushing, and once we got to class, we reminded Isaiah that he couldn't corral Ava to go wherever he wanted; he had to let her walk around on her own. Then we held our breath to see what would happen. Thankfully, Isaiah was a perfect gentleman. A few times he got a little close because he sort of wanted to hug her while she was walking, but he never pushed. In fact, at one point, little Ava dropped her egg shakers (little rhythm instruments the kids use sometimes) on the floor, so Isaiah dropped his right next to hers to show her it was alright, then he picked hers up and handed them back to her. He also picked out all the best instruments from the basket during free instrument time and tried to give her every single one. What a little romantic.

Fuzzy Baby Sister

Isaiah has been extra everything lately. By that I mean he has been extra funny, extra sweet, extra fussy, extra amazing, and extra challenging. The extra fussy and extra challenging parts stem from Isaiah having his first ear infection ever. He made it to almost two years old before he finally had one (he was diagnosed on Sunday and his birthday was on Wednesday.) Michael and I were rather shocked on Sunday when Isaiah became inconsolably fussy, because he is always consolable. He cried for an entire 45 minutes, which he hasn't done since he was a month old. We didn't know if an ear infection was worthy of an urgent care visit to a late night pediatrics clinic, but after he was completely unable to sleep because of the discomfort, we decided that we didn't care if they laughed or rolled their eyes at us - we were going to the doctor. Thankfully, they didn't look at us like we were paranoid idiots for bringing him in; in fact, when the doctor came in and saw the huge circles under his eyes and his sad little face wrapped up in a fuzzy blanket, she exclaimed, "Oh, he looks just miserable." I could have kissed her. Isaiah was immediately given amoxycillin and Motrin, and he slept well that night.

Isaiah was almost himself right away, but he still had a little trouble sleeping and was more easily frustrated. Still, he held himself together pretty well during the day. The tough part came when Michael got home from work. For some reason, when Isaiah has a bad day, he likes to take it out on Michael, which is completely unfair. Even if Isaiah has had a bad day because I have been dragging him around on too many errands or I have been impatient, Michael is the one who bears the brunt of Isaiah's tiny wrath. I was reading in a book called From One Child to Two that toddlers will abuse their parents because they know it's safe. The author said it's something both toddlers and teenagers do to their mothers and fathers because they know that their parents will still love them. It's true that Michael has a gift of near-infinite patience (both with Isaiah and with me) and that when Isaiah meanly refuses Michael's hugs or pushes Michael away as we all snuggle on the couch, Michael sweetly forgives him and tries again. If Isaiah treated me that way, I would probably just cry and pout like a toddler myself.

I've told Isaiah so many times how blessed he is to have such a wonderful daddy, and that so many little boys don't even have daddies to come home and love them. He doesn't really understand that yet, though, and when I talked to my mom about it, she said I would do the same thing. My dad is a meteorologist, and when I was little, he was a forecaster who was rather low of the totem pole, and so he had to work all sorts of crazy evening shifts and weekends. When he came home, all he wanted to do was hold his baby girl, and I would scream every time he touched me. I feel very guilty when I hear about it now, but it does give me perspective that this will end. I have yet to ask Michael's mom if he did the same thing to his own dad, too. I also have a feeling this stage will end rather abruptly when the new baby is born, because Isaiah will need Michael so much. I think one way to help him is to prepare him for Michael’s homecoming each day. I’ve found that Isaiah is much happier if 15-30 minutes before Michael walks in the door, if I start getting Isaiah ready and excited by saying, “Oh boy! Daddy’s coming home soon!” I wonder if he feels that Michael coming home is too much of a surprise otherwise.

Isaiah has finally shown interest in the baby, which came through a funny source. For his birthday, his Grandma and Grandpa Walz gave him a book about having a new little baby in the house, and he refused to read it, look at it, or listen to it for several days. I thought it was maybe too overwhelming for him to think about a new baby at our house, so I let it go, but I was disappointed and worried about Isaiah’s reaction to a real baby if he didn’t even like a book about babies. However, his Uncle Peter had given him a little puppet that looked like a baby seal and came with a blankie and a bottle. He didn't pay much attention to it at the party (because he was surrounded by so many seductive Thomas toys,) but one morning he found it in his toy box and picked it up. He began feeding the bottle to it, and so I put my hand into the puppet's mouth and began to make eating noises and coos. Isaiah promptly became obsessed. I made crying noises, cooing noises, burping noises, and sneezing noises. Isaiah smiled down at the fuzzy little seal like she was actually his precious new baby sister, and we spent almost an hour just feeding the "baby."

Then, when it was Isaiah's lunchtime, he wanted the baby to sit with him, and when it was his naptime, he wanted the baby to sleep with him. When he woke up, I somehow couldn't find the baby seal (it had gotten stuck between two blankets) and so I substituted a baby doll my grandmother had given us. I was worried Isaiah would reject her because she wasn't a fuzzy baby seal, but he just fed her the bottle and burped her and kissed her. He even sang "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" to her, and he gave her one of his Thomas the Tank Engine toys to play with. You could have knocked me over with a feather. At dinner, he fed the doll chocolate milk from his own sippy cup and even stuffed a kernel of corn into her mouth. (We'll have to watch out for that with the real baby, I guess.) Then during bedtime stories, I had Isaiah hold the baby doll while I read the story his grandparents had given him. He actually enjoyed seeing the pictures of big brothers with their baby siblings. Thank you God! I only hope Isaiah isn't too disappointed when he learns his baby sister isn't a silent little doll or a fuzzy seal.

One last thing – Isaiah’s real birthday was yesterday, and so all day we practiced telling people how old he is. I repeatedly asked,
“Isaiah, how old are you?” and then because he didn’t know yet, I answered my own question,
“Two!”
“Isaiah, how old are you?”
“Two!”
Isaiah, how old are you?”
“Two!”
Finally, I asked Isaiah and waited for him to answer. I had to ask three times before he realized I wasn’t going to answer my own question. Then his eyes lit up, he smiled a great big smile and he jumped with joy as he shouted,
“I don’t know!”

Birthday Wishes

I have been planning Isaiah's 2nd birthday party for weeks. Unfortunately, a nasty virus didn't seem to care about all the work I had put in, and Isaiah got sick. It started as just a cough on Monday, but by Tuesday night, he had a high fever and was lethargic and stuffed up. I woke up at 4 a.m. that morning to give him some soothing liquids and medicine and to rock him back to sleep. His cough was the most disturbing part because it was so deep and obviously painful. Whenever he coughed, it just racked his entire body and he often cried at the end. Even after he had fallen back asleep, I couldn't rest again. I sat up the rest of that night looking up symptoms on WebMD trying to figure out what he had, and I went over and over the decision of whether or not to cancel his party on Saturday. On the one hand he could possibly get better by the weekend, but on the other hand, he would probably still be contagious. I finally decided that the party needed to be canceled. I also debated whether or not to take him to the doctor. His cough sounded very bad and painful, and his fever was pretty high, but it was so cold out, I didn't know if a doctor's visit would do anything but make him more sick.

Isaiah and I just ended up staying at home on Wednesday, because Michael and I really didn't want to take Isaiah out in the cold unless it was absolutely necessary. I kept Isaiah upstairs the whole time in Michael's and my room filling him with lots of apple juice and snuggling with him as we watched Thomas movies on the portable DVD player. Despite all of my internet searching the night before, I wasn't quite sure if Isaiah had croup, the flu, a cold, or what. I did know, however, that whatever he had the advice was actually pretty similar: give him Tylenol for his fever and keep him well hydrated. Those were two things I could definitely do. Actually, I think I overdid it a bit on the hydrating part, because Isaiah was so full of fluids that twice he actually peed through his diaper and onto me. His coughs were still painful to watch, but we actually had a good time together. He cuddled all day and we read lots of books. One problem, though, was that he kept insisting that he was hungry, but he didn't want anything that I suggested.
"Hungry," he would tell me.
"Do you want bananas?"
"No banas."
"Do you want toast?"
"No toast."
"Do you want cheesy noodles?"
"No cheesy noses."
Finally after he woke up from his nap and told me that he was hungry, I would have given him anything he asked for - fruit snacks, oreos, you name it. So I just asked him what he wanted to eat. He put his finger to his chin in his thoughtful position and then answered,
"Penguins."
"What? Did you have a dream about penguins...okay, but what do you want to eat?"
"Eat penguins."
I promise you, we have never eaten penguins in this house, nor have we alluded to eating penguins or mentioned that penguins are tasty or anything. I assumed he meant that he wanted to eat animal crackers shaped like penguins, so I went and got the box of animal crackers.
"Isaiah, do you want these animal cracker penguins?"
"No - eat penguins."
After much convincing, Isaiah finally settled for rice. I still have no idea where he got the idea of eating penguins.

The next day, Isaiah and I trekked to the doctor despite the sub-zero temperatures. She said that although she couldn't tell me the exact name of the virus Isaiah had, she could tell me that she had seen three toddlers with the same exact thing that morning. She mainly just eliminated things that it wasn't. He had no fluid in his lungs, no infection in his ears, and nothing else that would indicate a need for antibiotics, so we were just sent home to wait it out.

We decided that although we couldn't have any kids over for Isaiah's party, we could still invite grandparents, aunts and uncles, and adult friends, assuming they had the restraint not to suck on Isaiah's sippy cup or put his toys in their mouths. I was still really disappointed, though, and I realized that it was a rather selfish disappointment, because Isaiah wouldn't know that he had been jipped out of playing with kids. In fact, he loves it so much when our family and friends come over, I knew he would be perfectly happy. I had to come to terms with the fact that my discouragement was really for myself because I had fostered the idea of Isaiah playing with his cute little friends, and I had already pictured in my head the adorable photographs that would be taken of kids racing around in their train costumes or playing the other games I had for them. I finally just made myself suck it up, because Isaiah's ideal party didn't really need to include kids and games the way I had pictured it. So, after Isaiah went to bed the night before the party Michael and I stayed up until midnight decorating so it would all be a surprise, and we kept Isaiah upstairs for the entire morning until it was time for his party. It was actually really fun to have a picnic breakfast and lunch on Isaiah's bedroom floor, and it was exciting to keep the party a surprise. When he came down, he exclaimed over the balloons and the party favors, and he was so happy to see everything. The party was actually really great. I could relax and focus on Isaiah, and Isaiah loved being the absolute center of attention. He had a wonderful time, and I couldn't have asked for a better birthday party for him.

I think I've forgotten this before...

Being pregnant for the second time is like having amnesia and deja vu at the same time. I awake with eerily familiar symptoms, feeling as though I have forgotten this all before. The baby will kick a certain spot on my right side, and I will have a sudden flashback to Isaiah kicking that exact same spot, which I had conveniently forgotten about until now. (What is it with that very tender spot being kicked anyway?) It makes me wonder how much of the last pregnancy I have forgotten. I'm also more forgetful in general. This past week I couldn't find the salt that I really needed to make a batch of chocolate chip cookies. I looked through every cupboard in the kitchen and every shelf of the pantry. I finally made them without the salt (they weren't very good at all) and just refrigerated most of the dough so I could add the salt in later after I had bought some more. The next day after getting groceries, I found the salt in the fridge behind the milk.

Isaiah is still in the fun stage where he repeats everything I say. I know some parents really hate this stage, but I find it quite enjoyable. Everything is just so much cuter when Isaiah says it. I love hearing adult phrases come out of his mouth, such as,
"Ohhhhh man!" and
"Party hard!"
He also does mock-adult facial expressions to go with them, such as putting his finger to his chin while he says,
"Hmmmm....wonder...Gornon is." (That means, "Hmmm, I wonder where my Gordon movie is.")
Or sometimes when Michael is upstairs, and Isaiah wants him to come down, he will mimic me by putting his hands around his mouth and calling,
"Honeeey"
It also helps when he adds in his fun mispronunciations, such as asking for more "mock-a-moley" on his taco.

I frequently make Isaiah repeat things on camera so that I have a record of him being very cute, in case, when he's a teenager, he tries to deny that he was ever this sweet.

We have also been watching home videos together of Isaiah when he was a newborn. I read in a book called "From One Child to Two" that it's a good way to introduce your toddler to the idea of what a baby is like, since little kids are usually interested in themselves. Michael and I have been pointing out "little baby Isaiah" in the videos and talking about how much we love him. We've also been dropping phrases around about how his baby sister will come live with us soon. So far, Isaiah ignores most of these hints and shows no interest in talking about his baby sister, but that makes sense because I imagine it's a pretty confusing concept to him.

Michael and I have been working on getting Isaiah to sleep the entire night in his own room in a twin bed, and it's been going very well. He'll sometimes wake up around 5 in the morning and want to crawl in bed with us, but we don't really mind at all, and I think he sleeps better for most of the night because he's by himself and actually has room to roll over. (The extra room in our bed is also very nice.) I've been expecting Isaiah to become attached to some cute little stuffed animal now that he doesn't cuddle with us at night, and I've tried to give him several very adorable and very soft things for snuggling. He has rejected them all, though, sometimes even getting angry and throwing them out of bed. On Saturday for his nap, though, Michael found something that Isaiah wanted to snuggle with in bed - a wooden spoon. Isaiah refused to part with it at naptime, and he slept with it clutched to his tummy the entire time. Then he woke up with it still in his hands hours later and brought it downstairs. Go figure.

Dance Dance Disorganization

There is so much I didn't know before I became a parent. Not just little things, like how to change a really dirty diaper with only two wipes (because that's all you have left in the diaper bag,) but major things too. I won't claim that I understand God's unconditional love or immense forgiveness and grace, but I can definitely say I'm a lot closer. I don't want to belittle the knowledge that childless people posses, because I'm sure they know a lot of things I don't. I may never do things that they will do - I can say with certainty that I won't climb Mount Everest or travel around the world, but rocking my child to sleep in my arms is a life-changing experience I wouldn't trade.

Being a parent also stretches you - reaaally stretches you sometimes. I thought that because I was a teacher and worked with young kids before I had Isaiah that I was a pretty patient person. Nope. One or two times of trying to get my child to take a nap unsuccessfully for two full hours showed me exactly where the limits of my patience were, and then they were stretched. I was a little worried that our new baby would really get the short straw because I wouldn't be able to give her my undivided attention for hours and hours the way I did with Isaiah, but then I realized that I will probably be better at my job for her. I won't make her first bath freezing cold (which I did with Isaiah because I was terrified I would burn him,) and when she cries I will have the patience to listen and figure out what is wrong instead of crying myself. Hopefully I will make fewer mistakes, or at least different ones, with her that will even out the fact that I am a shared mom. Plus, she'll have Isaiah, who is absolutely more interesting than I am.

We just had our first family music class together this last Thursday, and it was so great. Basically it was 45 minutes of forced fun with other parents and kids Isaiah's age. The teacher led us in songs and dances, which Isaiah didn't do at all. Michael and I were pretty good at them, though, and the teacher stated that it was normal and fine for kids to spend just as much time looking in the mirror wall as they did doing actual class-related things. We did learn that Isaiah really loves to play with scarves, though. There were a couple of songs where every person was given a sheer scarf to wave around and hide under while we sang a danced, and Isaiah thought he had gone to heaven. I think I'll have to make a trip to the fabric store pretty soon for a couple yards of sheer fabric. Who knew hiding under a see-through scarf pretending to be a jack-in-the-box was the greatest game ever invented?

I have also begun planning Isaiah's 2nd birthday party, which should be a lot of fun. For his last birthday, he was the only kid there and the rest of us were adults. Not that he cared one little bit. I think, though, that this time (as long as schedules are permissive) there should actually be some kids coming. I'm so excited to plan little games, I'm going to have to spend a lot of time reminding myself they probably won't get played anyway. Oh, and his party is a choo-choo-train theme. If anyone has decoration or other party ideas, send them over.

T.V. Tirade

Before Isaiah was born, I had definite ideas about the kind of parent I would be. We would do lots of crafts that encourage cognitive development, we would have a plethora of fun physical and educational activities laid out before us for each day, and we would watch minimal TV. Oh, and my house would be pretty clean and organized too. So, like most people with no kids, I was a great parent. Now, however, I have slipped upstairs to write while Isaiah watches Sesame Street and chores are left undone. We don't do many crafts at all (Isaiah isn't really into them when we try anyway) and since it's freezing outside, we haven't taken a trip to the park in quite a while. Although Isaiah is watching TV at the moment, I really do keep it at a minimum, but not because I am a supermom. We barely watch any TV because the kid's programs on are exorbitantly annoying. Seriously - the annoyance factor in kid's programming is just excessive. I can't even stand to have most of them on even when I'm in a different part of the house. And, instead of growing more tolerant over the months, I've grown progressively less tolerant. For the time being, there are two shows I can stand on PBS - Curious George and Sesame Street (and I have a feeling my magnanimity with the latter stems greatly from my love of Sesame Street as a child.) I'm also okay with several DVDs, such as Baby Einstein or Peter Pan, but we watch those sparingly so I don't begin to hate them as well.

While the fact that other shows are so excruciating probably makes me a better parent, I don't understand why they have to be so bad. I'm also happy to know I am not the only parents with these rather strong feelings to this supposedly benign programming. I recently found a poll on a parenting website asking which PBS kids/Nick Jr. show was the most annoying, and over 7,400 parents had cast their votes and voiced their opinion in the comment section (often with sentiments that would not have been appropriate for PBS kids to air.) For those of you who think I'm a terrible human being, let me give you a brief synopsis of a few shows.

Teletubbies are four extremely odd creatures who speak in an inane form of 'baby talk' and sing things like "Hat, hat, hat haaaaat" or "Quickly, quickly, quickly, quiiiiiiickly." They also have rather annoying names that I can't remember completely but are something like "Tinkle Winkle" and "Tipsy Dipsy." Then there is Caillou. This is a show about a four year old boy who learns a discovers things in the world every day. Unfortunately Caillou is one of the whiniest little boys I've ever seen, and his cutesy voice has literally made me cover my ears at times. The narrator's voice is also rather grating, and the theme song gets stuck in my head and sinks its teeth in for days. Also, he's bald - not a huge deal, but it seems like they could have drawn a few hairs on a four year old boy. There is also Barney, who I don't even feel the need to describe because his annoying tendencies are pretty well known to most people. Honestly, I feel as though I would be alright with these programs (except Teletubbies) if they aired a half-hour episode every month or two, but every day is too much. Once a week is too much. Never is often enough for me. They make me happy not to have cable and access to even more of these shows.

Isaiah has become quite a parrot of Michael and I, and he's getting extremely good at it. Now, before he answers a question such as "What do you want for breakfast?" He will put his fingers to his chin in his little thoughtful pose and sound off a big, long, pensive, "Hmmmmmm...." before invariably answering "fruit snacks." It may be the same answer every time, but he's really thought it through. He has also begun saying "bow-chicka-wow-wow," which I credit my husband for entirely.

We have begun quizzing for our trip to South Dakota. We will look at pictures from other visits with my family and go over Grandma Carpenter, Grandpa Carpenter, Uncle Andy, and Sparky (the dog.) He has the people down pat, but he's still a little confused about the dog, which makes sense because he hasn't seen Sparky in a year. I trust Sparky's feelings won't be hurt, though, since Sparky seems to have trouble remembering his own name from time to time. I have also begun preparing for the 9 hour drive. We plan to leave at 5:00 a.m. sharp so that Isaiah would have two to three hours of sleeping time at the beginning of the drive. We are also counting on an hour or two nap in the afternoon. During the awake time, though, I have planned several thousand different activities in the hopes that four or five will be big hits. Actually, momsminivan.com recommended a different activity or snack for every 15 minutes of a trip, which is what I did. I have 18 activities and 18 different snacks for Isaiah to choose from, plus we have a portable DVD player, which was an early Christmas present from my parents. To be honest, I'm actually really excited to see what Isaiah thinks of all the fun things I planned for him. We bought a special tray that can attach to his carseat to give him a playing/eating surface, and I have some fun little new toys I bought from a thrift store along with jingle bells, magnets on a cookie sheet, a foam build-a-snowman kit, plastic homemade snow globes, and rolls of 1,000 stickers.

We have already celebrated Christmas with Michael's family, which was so much fun. Last year, Isaiah didn't quite understand the concept of new presents belonging to him or even of unwrapping, but this year he totally got it. It was so much fun to see him unwrap a gift and get really excited about it. It took quite a while because we stopped to let him play with his toys before moving onto whatever was next. I realized that I am so much more excited for Isaiah to open his presents than I am for myself. I'm sure people will give me wonderful things, but there is just no chance I'm going to be as cute as Isaiah when I open them. Plus, I get to play with all his toys anyway.