Sugar and Spice

So, this is it - the week we go from family of three to a family of four and I go from a mother of 1 to a mother of 2.  As I was walking out the door today, scratching some unidentified pink crust off my sweater with my fingernail and remembering my polished and together former self, I began to wonder whether it was even humanly possible to become MORE of a mom than I am now. Now, obviously I realize I can be a mom to MORE (and will be in three days), but can I really be more of a mom?  Aside from the pink crust, I am also sporting a highly visible Hello Kitty bandaid on the top of my foot (because it was the only bandaid I could find this morning) and humming the tune to "Building a Birdie House" from Mickey Mouse Clubhouse.  On top of that, just last week I walked into my office and referred to myself - out loud - in the third person as MAMA (as in, "mama needs to call the court and check on that.")  Very professional, I know...intimidating even.  It's be

  This blog, much like the last, should come with the late-term pregnancy caveat that it might be either incredibly emotional or extremely disjointed, or some combination of the two.   Oh, and it might sound a little like I’m standing in a pulpit.   Consider yourself warned. Yesterday in church we celebrated Morning Prayer in place of Eucharist because mom was in Lafayette meeting the folks at our sister congregation St. Barnabas.   Once the children returned to “Big Church” Pumpkin started telling me she wanted “Jesus” (i.e., communion).   I quietly explained that we weren’t going to have communion because Nona was in Lafayette.   Pumpkin looked at me quizzically and asked, “Nona took Jesus to Lafayette?”   At that point, all I could do was chuckle and say yes.   Any other answer would have resulted in continued demands for Jesus, which I could not provide but at the same time could not deny. Not ironically the Gospel reading yesterday was about the little child being the g

If you’re feeling anything like me today, be careful where you are when you choose to read the following blog article, as it may cause uncontrollable crying, feelings of melancholy, and inability to perform the essential functions of your job for a few moments.   Consider yourself warned.   By feeling “like me,” I guess I mean a combination of hugely pregnant with a fully engaged fetus causing frequent though mild Braxton Hicks contractions, a raging sore throat and sinus headache that is causing my whole body to tingle, a bit of anxiety about mothering the second child and a big dose of overwhelming nostalgia as I “nest” my way through all of Pumpkin’s tiny little baby clothes that I hardly remember her wearing.   Add to all of that dismay about the political atmosphere we’re living in and a touch of fearful remembrance of 11 years ago tomorrow and you’ve got an emotional wreck.   I’m sure none of you are feeling anything quite like that, but consider yourself warned anyway.

There are lots of things about parenting that are hard.  Among those are the sleepless nights, nighttime feedings, seeing your child hurt or sick, trying to give that hurt or sick child medication, and not throwing up when that hurt or sick child projectile vomits on you.  Then there are the more abstract things like being a good role model, teaching values, and raising a nice child with good hygiene who makes excellent choices.  But, while I have only been at this parenting gig for a couple years now, I have to say that discipline is one of the absolute hardest parts about parenting I've encountered yet. The first difficulty with discipline is determining when, how much, and how often to administer it.  I have been adamant that I would not be one of those moms that just says "no" all the time "because I said so."  When I say "no" I try to have a good reason and try to explain that in terms she can understand.  And I must give a caveat before I

Luckily I’m a better mother (at least I like to think so) than I am a blogger.   Many apologies for the long delay between posts.   Between third trimester exhaustion and a very fast-paced new job (not to mention a likewise fast-paced two year old, trying to sell my house, and various other obligations) I’ve just fallen short of the blogger mark.   Besides, the “lympics” have been on (as Pumpkin reminds me every day when she asks to watch the “lympic ballgames”). To catch you up, Pumpkin is still growing like a weed…er, a pumpkin (to stick with my own metaphor).   She is now able to use her princess potty (when she wants to that is) and she sleeps at night in her big girl bed (also princess themed).   We are going through quite the princess phase.   Everything she asks for is prefaced with the adjective “princess.”   For instance, my parents are on vacation and she has asked them to bring her either a “princess boat” or a “princess box” as a souvenir.   Your guess is as good as m

What a couple weeks we have had.  I am sure after reading this, you will all forgive my lack of posting for the past month.  Since last you heard from us, Pumpkin has had a staph infection, followed by pneumonia, followed by strep throat; Mama has thankfully and uneventfully sailed through the first 6 months of being pregnant for Maggie, quit her job, started an entirely new job in a completely different field of law, and decided we needed a bigger house; and Daddy has received his realtor's license and we got Pumpkin's "big girl" furniture.  Big month for us.  I apologize for not writing sooner. Obviously, in addition to pregnancy hormones and just the general hot-and-fatness of being pregnant in July in Louisiana, I've also been under a good deal of legitimate, external stress.  The decisions of whether to, how to, and when to quit my job cost me several nights of sleep.  Those nights were followed by the newfound wakefulness of wondering whether I will ev

We survived our first semi-major road trip with Pumpkin to Florida and back and, I must admit, it was not bad at all.  In 16 hours of driving, we only had one minor fit and I quickly learned that was a combination of hunger and car sickness.  Of course, the fact that Pumpkin was a traveling pro should come as no surprise. First she is Mee Maw's namesake and that apple didn't fall far from the tree.  More importantly though, the thing I should quit being surprised about is surprises - I need to just learn to expect the unexpected when it comes to raising kids.  Take this morning for instance, the only thing that I was dreading more than the car trip was the first day back at school after 10 days of non-stop fun and attention.  My fears escalated when the first words out of her mouth this morning, when she realized mama was dressed for work and not in "play" clothes, were "no school."  We arrive at school and I take a deep breath before I open the c

Pumpkin's been going through a little bit of a mama-phase lately. Her teachers are convinced it is because she really "knows" that a new baby is on its way (she acknowledges "Maggie belly", i.e., Maggie is in mama's belly, but when asked whether Maggie is going to come live responds with a drawn out and incredulous "Nooooooooo," as if we are foolish to ask such a thing). I thought maybe she was feeling a little under the weather. Either way, she's admittedly always a mama's girl but lately has been a REAL mama's girl. My usually independent "Aly do it" little Pumpkin has been wanting to be held and carried and coddled constantly. Most of the time I relish it, and though it does make it HARD to get some things done, I have tried to make the best of it -even having her help me make blueberry pancakes and getting her to do prenatal yoga DVDs with me. The one thing that has remained difficult and is getting harder by the minute,

I had a moment last night. A moment of absolute peace and deep love. A moment that brought tears to my eyes and nearly brought me to my knees with thankfulness. I am so thankful for my little family. I am so thankful to have been blessed to be Pumpkin and her new baby sister's mommy. But I am also thankful for God's mercy and forgiveness. That moment I had last night, as simple as it was, did not come without the shameful recognition of my own shortcomings as a mother. Let me back up. I have always dreaded giving Pumpkin a bath. I feel guilty and judged even uttering the words, but it's true, I hated bath time. I would begrudgingly drag her in there short tempered and hurried, douse her head in water, scrub her down, and then sit nearby while she played with one eye on her and the other on my email or a book. I'd yank her out of there against her will and demand that she dry off and put on pajamas. And those were the days I didn't just force her to

Today is a bittersweet day for our family. Hubby is in Illinois saying goodbye to his sweet Grandmother Margaret. She was truly an angel on this Earth and I am so blessed to have known her and for her to have loved me and Pumpkin. There was something about her hug and the way she looked deep into my eyes to tell me she loved me every time I saw her. It was something I could never articulate in words. It was that she looked at me with Jesus' eyes, with His love, and with His gentle spirit. She knew Him, she loved Him, and she loved her family with His unconditional love. As I said when I learned of her passing, if she isn't in Heaven, then there is no Heaven. The sweetness of her passing is that she is reunited with her loved ones - a husband, two grown sons, an infant grandson, and our two angel babies. Sweeter still, she is with her Maker, her Savior, and her Lord. She is no longer suffering. The bitter part is obvious - perhaps selfish, but we will miss her. A

It’s already happened – I have already been faced by the heartbreaking reality that I will not always be able to make everything better for Pumpkin. I knew one day she would face loss, or heartbreak, or defeat and I would have to come to this realization, but I never knew it would be so soon. We are raising a pretty sheltered little girl and I was hoping we could just keep her happy and naïve for as long as possible. Then someone taught her about fear. Fear. It’s such a complex, lonely feeling. I wish she never had to feel it. I haven’t even let her watch Jake and the Neverland Pirates because there is a well-defined “bad guy” in Captain Hook – instead I make her stick to Mickey, Dora, and Blue who have no known enemies. But lo and behold, someone taught her to fear. It started with big dogs. She has always loved dogs. Then, one day, out of nowhere, she declared that big dogs were “keery.” No big dog has ever harmed her or even gotten within arm’s length of her without adult

I am a worrier. Always have been. It’s a curse, both to me and those who have had to learn to love me in spite of my worrisome nature. It’s a battleground for my faith. I worry about everything. Things I can control (“is the door locked?”); things I cannot control (“why are there so many starving children in this country?”). I worry about things past (“did I say something to hurt so-and-so's feelings?”), things present (“I have to finish this brief, I have to finish this brief”), and things future (“what will I do if anyone I love is ever hurt”). I worry about everything. Always. Even as a small child my parents used to try to convince me to relax - literally sometimes telling me to breathe. I would pick my fingernails to the quick with anxiety. I don't even know what I was so worried about. I was raised in a middle-class home by two loving, God-fearing parents, with my sweet, smart sibling; I was intelligent, well-fed, and given every opportunity I ever pursued.

Being a mother is like constantly looking into a mirror of your soul. Not just any mirror either, one of those pore-magnifying mirrors where every virtue – or lack thereof – is magnified to sometimes frightful proportion. I’d like to tell you that being a mother has brought out the best in me and, in some ways, it has. But it has also reflected back some glaring deficiencies. For example, being a mother has shown me that I have the potential for violence. Now, let me be clear (as a lawyer I should know that these words can so easily come back to haunt me and whatever jury they get put in front of will fail to see the irony that I intend by the statement), I am not nor have I ever been physically violent with anyone, including most especially Pumpkin. My hyperbolic statement was intended only to jump start my story about the park last weekend. Let me back up by saying Pumpkin loves the park – any park. She especially loves slides and steering wheels (“dwy-veen”). So there we are

As you can see from the picture, Pumpkin is already trying to grow up way too fast – sitting in daddy’s chair and putting on daddy’s shoes. And believe you me, her grown-up-edness is more than shoe deep. As I think on her growing up (I admit, it’s almost as hard to imagine as the thought of ME being someone’s mom – I mean, aren’t I still a kid myself???), it just amazes me to realize that my little Pumpkin is soon going to have her own ideas, dreams and hopes, she is going to try and succeed, struggle and fail, she is going to win, lose, fall in love, get her heart broken. Those tiny hands will one day hold in wonder the tiny hands of her own sweet baby. Those tiny hands might also one day save the world, cure cancer, or hold a Grammy. The possibilities are truly endless. I admit, I often get lost in daydreams about what exactly Pumpkin will be when she grows up. I’ve decided that in addition to being a singer, a dancer, an artist, an author, an actress, a beauty queen, a rocket

Nobody told me that boy troubles started so early. I wasn’t prepared for this. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I know I’m raising a beauty queen, but I didn’t know the little boys would notice so early. Over dinner the other night, Hubby and I were asking Pumpkin about her day, the answer to which usually includes an animated recitation of the names of everyone in her class and the occasional peal of hysterical laughter over a memory of someone putting something on their head during play time. Most of it is incomprehensible to us. This particular night, however, Pumpkin was communicating with the utmost of clarity. That is when she told us that she “hit Deucey head.” Pumpkin and Deuce have a history. This is the same Deuce whose hair she had pulled when he went to play in “her corner” at play time, thus landing her in her first official “thinking chair” time-out. Now, as you Pumpkin faithful will recall, we have had some issues with hitting recently, so we were dismayed to hear her co

We just returned from another whirlwind weekend with the extended fam in Illinois. We had a wonderful time, and I certainly don’t mean to take anything away from that by this post, but I have to be honest – traveling with a toddler is hard. It’s an art actually. A very difficult, highly-skilled form of art. The art of war, perhaps. It takes patience, skill, timing, and a bag full of tools. If toddler travel is an art form, we are far from being Davincis, though we have had lots of practice in Pumpkin’s short life. We fancy ourselves more like the Painting-with-a-Twists of Toddler Travel. Not pros by any means, but you can typically be proud of your work when you are finished. Like any fine art, each trip brings more fine-tuning, more attention to detail, perhaps a new tool. This being Pumpkin’s seventh flight, we felt fully prepared. That doesn’t lessen the dread, but it gives you the hope of survival. Like bringing the right weapon to a war. First, timing is everything. Fli