Sunday, March 31, 2013

Easter and a Birthday

Today is Easter!

Today H is 3!

What a day to celebrate life.

H and B found their Easter baskets no problem this morning and dragged them into the bedroom and proceeded to happily shuffle through them while J sang H a Spanish birthday song and I held back tears at what a big, lovely girl she is growing into.

3.

She's no longer a toddler.

Not a baby.

She's 3.

J made her chocolate chip pancakes and we presented her with a double stroller for her Bitty Twins, which she and B both think is amazing.

My sister C, mom, her boyfriend G, and my maternal grandparents came over for lunch to celebrate H's magnificent 3 years of life, as well as Easter, the day our Christ has risen.

H and B were both on serious madmen sugar highs. B tripped and gave the goose egg on his forehead a goose egg. That's special talent.

They went Easter Egg hunting in the backyard and H generously filled B's sparse basket with her full basket, totally unprompted.

She sang songs and colored and was a perfect little joy while B hammed it up per usual throughout the day.

B received a fedora hat (and a page boy hat) in his Easter basket from his Grandma J, which he is obsessed with. The boy has a hat obsession.

I nursed H for the first time as a 3 year old.

It's strange. I never set out to breastfeed a 3 year old. In fact, it was something I never even imagined while I was pregnant with her, or even those first few months after she was born. And yet here we are, still going. And some days it drives me crazy, but mostly, especially on the days when I feel like she's growing so fast and so independent, it makes me thankful I haven't forcefully weaned her. Yet. I can't say I never will, but we'll see. I hope to let her go until she self weans.

The babes took long naps while I visited with my own momma and little sister and they went to bed this evening without a hitch. When J and I told H "Happy Birthday" for the last time she responded with "Thank you."

Truly, we are blessed.








Saturday, March 30, 2013

A ballerina party for a perfect 3 year old



It seems that you put way too much time into an event that last just shy of two hours and no one really seems to care whether or not you made the cupcakes or bought them from the store anyway. The decorations are fun, but again, no one cares.
 
 
Last night my sweet sister C came over to help me finish getting things ready for Miss H’s birthday party. We baked cupcakes and made cake pops. I had to tell my perfectionist, controlling side to chill out and just let her do the cupcakes, let her put the birthday banner together, it was all going to be okay. I have a hard time giving up control, to say the least.
 
 
We worked until midnight getting things just so. In less than 20 minutes several 2 and 3 year olds had devoured the food and pulled down crepe paper streamers. It was fun and beautiful and my sweet girl had a blast, which was all I cared about anyway. It was the point of it all.
 
 
My baby will be three tomorrow. I cannot believe that three whole years have come and gone since those first amazing moments when I laid eyes on sweet perfection. My tiny, hairy, angry old man-faced girl, the most beautiful, wonderful thing in my world.
 
 
In so many ways three years seems like a lifetime. The days have been terribly long sometimes. The person I was three years ago and the one I am now seem like strangers, and for a change that drastic it seems one would need an entire lifetime to get there.
 
 
But at the same time, three years seems like mere seconds. It seems like only yesterday I was blessed for the first time to be a momma. Only yesterday that I cheered on my toddling tot or felt her tiny hand on my growing, moving belly. Only yesterday that I first listened to her jabber like an infant rather than speak like an eloquent and proficient old lady.
 
 
Three years have come and gone. Three, beautiful, wonderful, glorious years. The best and happiest three years of my life thus far. Three years of being a mom. Three years of constantly becoming a better me. Three years of getting to be a part of the precious life of one of the most spectacular people I know. My darling little girl.
 
 
She requested a ballerina party, so a ballerina party she got, complete with a piƱata and everything. Three years old. So young. So delicate. So pure and innocent. And yet so grown up and precocious and outspoken.
 
 
Perfect. She’s perfect.
 
 
And before I became a weepy, sappy old mess, I will leave with you some pictures of her party.
 










Thursday, March 28, 2013

I said "yes" and got to witness this!

So I've been very determined lately not to tell my children "no" unless I have a really good and legitimate reason to do so. Being tire or exasperated isn't a good enough reason, I decided.

Of course, my little darlings decided to immediately put this to the test.

While we were driving home from the gym one evening this week, H noticed the empty popcorn box in the car from our visit to the circus this past week. "Momma," she said, "I'd really like some popcorn. May I have some?"

"Oh, babe, that container is empty," I told her.

"Can I have some when I get home then?"

"We don't have any at home," I informed her. "But we can call Papa and ask him to get some on his way home, if you'd like."

"I'd really like to pick it out myself. Can we just stop at the store?"

It was 5:30 all ready. I still had to make dinner. I'd just about killed myself running two miles and then doing weights (don't laugh at my weakness!). The last thing I wanted to do was stop at the grocery store and finagle two tired and hungry toddlers just to get some popcorn.

But I said, "Sure we can."

And we did.

And I'm so glad we did, otherwise I would have missed out on a really beautiful moment between my two babes.

At the check out line they each chose one chocolate truffle, because it's become a habit now, thanks co-op for having yummy chocolate there!

B immediately devoured his before I'd even swiped the debit card, and H said, "I want to wait until I'm in the car to eat mine."

Cool.

So after everyone is buckled and situated B starts asking for more. I kindly tell him that that is all, there is no more, and he begins to cry.

"Momma," H said, "B really wants more. We should get him more. Look how sad he is. He's having a really hard time, Momma."

"I'm sorry," I said to both of them, "Momma doesn't have any more."

H slowly unwrapped her own truffle. "Is it okay if I share mine with him?"

"Yes, but remember, I don't have anymore. That's your only one."

"I know." She proceeded to bite her chocolate in half and hand a very delighted B the other half.

Children are beautiful.

They are good and innocent and pure.

And my children never cease to melt my heart.

Wednesday, March 27, 2013

Who knew weaning/a sudden decrease in breastfeeding was like the baby blues all over again?

The past 2.5 weeks I've been off. Completely out of whack. I could notice it a bit, but just assumed it was typical sleep deprivation. (So any/all terrible things I've said to anyone or the general populace, please do forgive me!)

Until I vented a whole slew of things to a good friend a few days and was able to go back and re-read my thoughts and I was just like, "Whoa, Ki! That's not normal. That goes a bit above and beyond sleep deprivation and a really rough day in mommyhood."

So I had to go back and figure out what could cause me to be so freaking out of whack. And it didn't take me very long to do it.

Breastfeeding.

I've heard of people getting feelings similar to the "baby blues" when their children wean. Much like the "baby blues" not everyone experiences it, but it's super common and completely normal. No one really talks about it, but I'd vaguely heard it in passing.

The kids are weaned!? you ask.

Hahhahahahahaha!

No.

BUT.

Starting roughly 2.5 weeks ago they drastically cut down on how often they're nursing. B went from easily nursing 10-12 times a day to about 5-6. H went from 5-6 to 0-3. So whereas that's still a lot of time on the boob, it's a huge difference.

Especially when breastfeeding is a hormonal thing.

Each time you breastfeed your body releases a hormone called oxytocin. It's a "happy" hormone. A euphoric, feel-good hormone. You also get this hormone from snuggling, cuddling, sex, etc. But it's pretty strong during breastfeeding.

Well, my daily oxytocin dose just got cut pretty severely.

So it makes sense.

I just wish people talked about this stuff more. No one has ever really talked about how they felt physically/mentally/emotionally when their children weaned. So it's kind of like uncharted territory.

My babes aren't weaning. At least B isn't. H, maybe. We'll see. I certainly wouldn't be sad about it. We've had a good 3-year run thus far.

Anyway, this is for anyone who has weaned or even had a sudden decrease in nursing sessions who suddenly felt like they were going through some terrible baby blues all over again. It's normal. And you're amazing. Just ride it out. Eat yummy, healthy foods. Exercise. And find a good friend you can vent terrible things to who won't judge you (too much!).

Tuesday, March 26, 2013

The Little Mermaid taught me something

Those who know me know that I'm pretty anal about how much television my children watch each day, and even more so, what they watch.

Don't worry, as a girl who was watching Night on Elm Street while preschool aged and who consumed Fly and The Simpsons regularly while in elementary school, the humor of this is not lost on me.

Mostly the babes watch Curious George, Daniel Tiger, Dora/Diego, or the Leapfrog videos. There are others of course, but that's the gist of it. And if we're being totally honest, I'm not really pro-Dora/Diego either, but it works in the car and I don't despise it enough to say "no," although J typically vetoes it if he's driving.

And for the most part, they're only allowed TV while we're in the car. On rare occasions they get it at home - super early in the mornings, if a sitter is with them, or if I know we're not going to leave the house at all that day. For us, it works. Mostly.

Well, yesterday I really wanted to finish up B's comforter for his bed. Since we'll be out of town again shortly, I don't have much time to get things done around here. Since my littler helpers were being a bit too helpful, I decided to let them watch a movie. This greatly excited them and H ran over to her movie bin to see what she wanted. Unfortunately, I had taken pretty much all the DVDs out of their cases and put them in the car for our recent drive to Minnesota and had not yet returned them to their proper homes. With snow outside and me still in my pj's, I decided to break a few rules.

"Well," I told H, "We have some other movies," and I showed her a secret stash that J had put in the "banned" section of the cabinet. They were mostly all Disney, since he has some weird issue with them, especially the princesses. I'm not really for or against Disney. I loved Disney as a kid. I love Disney World. I deeply dislike Cinderella, but otherwise, I'm pretty indifferent.

Well, H picked up each DVD carefully, analysing them, (Rango and The Incredibles were immediately vetoed by Momma as very not kid appropriate for the meantime) and she finally settled on The Little Mermaid.

A girl after my own heart.

This was my favorite movie when I was her age. I could watch it over and over and over again. Although the sea witch always terrified me.

Of course, I immediately figured we wouldn't make it very far before H demanded me turn it off. That's what typically happens when we try to watch an actual movie.

Has anyone seen The Lorax?

Well, I haven't. Not passed the first ten minutes anyway. That's when my sweet daughter informed me that it wasn't nice and she didn't want to watch it. So off it went.

Well, I have seen The Little Mermaid and knew there was plenty in it that was not nice.

And yet....oh, yet. She was not phased. At all.

In fact, she loved it! She sat the entire 84 minutes of it and let me finish B's quilt. Woo hoo!

She hasn't mentioned it since, which is probably good. Other than to tell her papa that Momma let her watch it. To which he just kind of raised his eye brows and said, "Really? No. Why princesses?"

Though seriously, he can't save her from the princess epidemic. Even without having ever seen them, she is still drawn to them in the stores. She still likes to pretend she is one. Movies or not.

But I learned something yesterday. It's really hard to ease up sometimes.

It's easy to create arbitrary and ridiculous rules and forget why exactly you put them into place in the first place.

Obviously we don't condone violence. We don't want our children exposed to it as much as possible until they are able to understand the difference between reality and pretend.

Because they are so little they pick up on everything. Hence I have an almost 3-year-old who properly uses "Holy shit!"

But really, we just didn't want little TV minions who were glued to the TV every day. We wanted children with imaginations who could function without something blinking in front of their faces. We wanted kids who could play and entertain themselves when needed, not be dependent on an electronic baby sitter.

And we do have those kids. And it's okay to "break the rules" on occasions. They won't be ruined forever. They won't become TV zombies overnight.

But they still are not allowed to watch Caillou or Max and Ruby.

There are some things I just won't budge on.

Monday, March 25, 2013

An Easter Egg Hunt, A Circus, And Snow, Oh my!

Saturday morning started out awesome as I received the files to my sweet babes Easter photos. And really, what's better than adorable pictures of your kiddos?

J and I took the kids to an Easter Egg Hunt at our YMCA. Some people are intense! The dad standing next to us while waiting was coaching his 4 year old on how when they blow the whistle he must, run, run, run! He must collect the eggs, more than all the other kids. Rah, rah, rah! J and I were just dying with hysterics. Seriously, who coaches a 4 year old on Easter egg hunting!?

The hunt was divided up and H and B were a part of the 4 and under hunt. When they blew the whistle H was on a mission to only collect purple eggs. J advised her that she may want to gather other colors, but he didn't force her to do so, which made me pleased. B was funny in that he'd walk over to an egg, ask me to pick it up and hand it to him, then he'd put it in his bucket. But for some strange reason he absolutely would not pick it up off of the ground, he simply insisted I do that part for him.

When the race was over and the kids opened eggs J took all the tiny erasers and hid them away and H, without missing a beat, handed me certain candies, saying, "This is food colorings." But there were lots of tootsie rolls and chocolates and "water stickers" (I will go as long as possible without my children knowing that "water stickers" are also tattoos and people put them on their bodies. For some terribly OCD reason fake tattoos freak me the heck out!). They loved doing it all so much they had J and I put their empty eggs back on the ground so they could hunt them again before we turned the empty eggs back in to be recycled for next year.

That afternoon we ventured to a circus with Grandpa J. The kids loved it, most especially B. He was entranced, dancing and clapping and wildly thrilled.

As a kid, I loved circuses. Adored them. As an adult it really rubbed me wrong. I'm not an animal lover by any means, and yet I felt very sorry for those animals and what they must endure.

Sunday was a "lazy day." J painted the bathroom, as I had purchased paint on Thursday. Sometimes a little cheap re-furb is necessary. J hates to change paint colors. He likes to have one color and keep it forever. Seriously. And he only like bright and happy colors. So going from a cucumber green to a gray was not his cup o' joe, to say the least. But we'll paint the mirror frame coral and add some coral shelves and voila! New bathroom.

H and I journeyed to the store to finish getting birthday things for next weekend (how can she almost be three!? How can I have a three year old!?). She picked out pinata prizes and candies - snakes, bouncy balls, and mini skateboards. And this from the girl who insists on a ballerina party! She makes me smile.

And then H was out like a light at 7pm while B decided to be a wild man and monkey around hard until 9pm, which for him, is late. He typically fall asleep before his sister.

And we ended the night with a blanket of snow outside. It's spring, they say. We're suffering from global warming, they say. Well, I say, come to Indiana and we can discuss those things. ;-)

Per usual, weekends are awesome. Always!

Friday, March 22, 2013

"It makes me feel sick."

I'm not a yeller.

Actually, that's a complete lie.

My natural instinct is to yell. I'm just super awesome at swallowing it back down and telling myself to chill the fuck out because yelling doesn't help.

Until these past few days.

I've yelled four times.

That might not seem like a big deal to a lot of people, but it's a big deal to me. An even bigger deal to my sweet babes.

It wasn't something that made me feel good. I wasn't pleased when my scared kids performed whatever I'd asked of them because momma raised her voice. I didn't feel any pleasure from "exerting my power" or "controlling my kids."

And then H took the words right out of my mouth last night.

We'd read our bedtime books, said our prayers. She was laying down while I scratched her back and nursed B to sleep.

"Mommy," H whispered. "Can I tell you something?"

"Of course," I replied.

"I don't like it when you get mad. It makes me feel sick."

"I'm sorry," I told her. "It makes Momma feel sick too. I will try better."

"I know," she said. "You're always very good at being better."

I'm not perfect. I don't do things half as perfectly as I wish to, yet somehow this awesome kid still has a lot of trust and faith in me.

I mess up. I do things wrong. But I acknowledge it. I admit it to my kids.

I laughed to J that if nothing else our kids will grow up and say, "My mom sure did know how to apologize when it was called for."

So yeah, yelling sucks. It makes you feel sick. It's counter-productive and terrifying for a kid.

So I'll go back to swallowing it down, because its better for everyone.

Thursday, March 21, 2013

First world problems gotta go

Sometimes I think it is overly easy to take things for granted. Especially our "first world problems."

You hear about them all the time. Which coffee should I buy today from Starbucks? I couldn't afford the 20k car, so had to settle for the 15k car. They were out of my favorite cereal at the grocery store. They cut my hair too short, etc., etc. The list goes on and on. All those "problems" that are never thought twice about in third world countries because they don't exist. Survival is all that is thought too much about.

Lately I've been over-stressing about a lot of first world problems. Things I need to let go. Just this morning I was wondering how I was going to fill our kiddos Easter Baskets thanks to this awesome furlough (I hope you can read this sarcasm). Which is a ridiculous worry - all ready I have books and a few small things for them. They won't know they difference, nor care. It's more for me. I want everything for them to be big and awesome and magical and spectacular.

But while brushing kids' teeth as they danced around in tutus and listened to Pandora an ad came on through Pandora talking about buying Easter candy and go ahead and buy some for yourself, no one will mind. And all I could think about was all the people in third world countries who don't even know what candy is or tastes like, let alone get Easter baskets filled with goodies, as well as Christmas, Valentine's, and Birthday presents. They don't go trick or treating. They don't even have clean water for Christ's sakes, which is an actual issue, as opposed to celebrating holidays.

Yet here I am, worrying about first world problems. Silly, silly me.

So here's to worrying less about first world problems, and being ever so grateful that I don't have third world problems to deal with.

Blessed we are.

Wednesday, March 20, 2013

Bet I can make you smile!

H: Mommy. Mommy, watch this!

Me: What is it?

H: Watch. (Turns to B). B, sit. Sit right down on your pompis.

B sits.

H: Did you see that, Momma?! He sits on command!

A Minnesota Adventure

At this point, the babes and I are pretty used to J being gone for a week or more while we're at home. But last week we changed the tables up on him while the kiddos and I took off to Minnesota and he stayed home.

I thought that being some place "new and fun" and being busy would make things easier than when we're home and he's gone.

Wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong.

The kids and I had fun, of course. We were visiting my dad and step-mom. H and B got to hit up an aquarium, the zoo, Rainforest Cafe (where I conned them into singing Happy Birthday to H, which she thought was amazing), and the Mall of America where they rode rides until their hearts were content.

Of course, I had to listen to them tell me the rides weren't fast enough or high enough most of the time. But that's what happens when you're toddlers, kiddos! And there I was, feeling like the kiddie rides had gotten way more aggressive since my time.

H also had the joy of going to the American Girl store where Grandpa S bought her Bitty Twins for her birthday, which she promptly named Sofia and Diego (2 guesses where those names came from...). Momma bought her some outfits and a double stroller for her babies, but those aren't coming out until her birthday.

We spent one day with a friend, who H cannot stop talk about her baby and her dogs. The whole drive home my little chatterbox was telling me, "Wasn't O just so cute? He really liked me, Momma! Did you see him give me hugs?" And then she'd tell me how she just needed a great big dog like their St. Bernard's. Thanks...

When we spent the night with my older sister M, H was very delighted to eat her first fruit roll-up (extra points for M for being cognisant of H's allergy!). But even better than that, H and B had popsicles! And other than ones we've made, I don't *think* they've ever had popsicles before. Though they might have and I'm simply blocking that out. Regardless, H thought they were the best things ever.

At one point while at M's house I asked H if she needed to go potty, to which she replied, "No, I'm just farting," and gave us a little wink.

Great.

H developed some weird eye tick that I 100% believe came about from the ridiculous amount of TV watching she partook in. Since we've been home it hasn't made it's existence known, so I know it was something weird, and not permanent.

The kids were stellar in the car, which was fortunate for me because 12 hours in the car with miserable kids would have made for a miserable momma. The power of new movies, I guess.

But they missed their papa. The whole time. And I missed my husband. And things were "off" a bit because he wasn't there and we didn't have our typical schedule going on. But it was necessary as he was taking care of lead things and obviously there isn't anything we wouldn't do for B's (or H's) health. So much so that we're home for two weeks and get to turn around and the kids and I are off again so J can work on more stuff!

At least for the kids it is always an adventure.

Monday, March 18, 2013

I Believe

I believe each breath we take is a beautiful and divine gift.

I believe an involved parent can facilitate a child's education better than any school.

I believe in doing my own research and forming my own conclusions rather than deferring to an accepted authority.

I believe that your education is invaluable, but a diploma does not always equal an education.

I believe peaceful, non-violent interactions are the most moral way for humans to conduct their affairs.

I believe a world with minimal government interference would be more peaceful.

I believe in God, even though the details are blurry for me.
 

I believe children should be treated with the utmost respect.

I believe that self-ownership is the very foundation of freedom.
 

I believe that all human beings, most especially children, are intrinsically good and well-intentioned.

I believe babies have a right to keep their whole body.

I believe it is our duty to ourselves, our children, and our society to make informed decisions instead of willfully ignorant ones.

I believe that your beliefs and opinions should be challenged regularly.

I believe it is my obligation as a human being to try my level best to adhere to the Non-Aggression Principle.

I believe no human being, especially an infant or child, can be spoiled with too much love.

I believe each person has a purpose on this earth.

I believe no one is perfect, and to try is simply fruitless and silly.

I believe everyone needs help at some point, in one way or another.

I believe no one knows what is best for themselves, except for themselves.

I believe you are responsible for no ones happiness but your own, and thus you are the only one responsible for your happiness.

I believe in love.

I believe love can heal and conquer all things.

I believe everyone is entitled to a loving and healthy family.

I believe everyone should eat chocolate daily.
 

Sunday, March 17, 2013

Nursing a pig

H cracks me up. She heard me lamenting this morning how Duckie isn't as efficient with his bottle anymore, but also not eating solid food at all and I just wished he could nurse his momma so I knew he was getting enough to eat.

Well, 2 hours later H is on the couch, shirt up, and Duckie is playing in her belly.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"I tried to nurse him but he said no."

Well, kudos to her for caring about the pig and trying to help.

Tuesday, March 12, 2013

How H knocked the wind out of me and helped me accept (the lack of) sleep.

A few days ago, while in the middle of what I'd begun to call the Bedtime Battle with H, she said something that changed everything. Her words were pure, brutally honest, and painfully sharp.

By the end of the day, typically without naps, without even a 30 second moment to myself, I just want my kids in bed. I won't lie. I'm, tired, exhausted, and just want them out of my hair so I can be a mindless zombie who doesn't respond to mommy for an hour (two hours if its a good night and they sleep a tad better).

She's almost 3. You'd think she'd just go to sleep by now. That she wouldn't wake up a million times in the middle of the night. That she'd just be quiet and go to sleep all ready.

Of course, I've never had these expectations with B. He's 18 months old and we've only just begun putting him in his own bed for the first few hours of bedtime. It was a slow transition, but I can just sit by him and sometimes hold his hand and he falls asleep.

Although we co-slept with H well past 18 months - she still ends up in bed with us for the majority of the night - I fought it most of the way. I didn't embrace it as happily and easily as I did with B. I'm sure there are a lot of reasons for it and someone could have a field day psychoanalyzing that situation, but it was what it was.

She's so much like J in that she needs very little sleep. But not me. I need lots of sleep. I need good sleep.

But that's not possible with two kids. J wants to help at night. He tries to help. But it makes it worse because my kids only want momma when they're tired so if J shows up we get meltdowns in epic proportions that take significantly longer to curb and ease them back into sleep.

Needless to say, when it comes to sleep, I'm exasperated by the time nighttime rolls around. I'm stern and cross and demanding. I expected them to immediately be quiet and go to sleep. In retrospect, that was a completely asinine expectation.

So the other day, while I sat next to B's bed and H wailed from hers, I whispered crossly, "Shush! Please go to sleep all ready."

And she cried, "Momma, won't you help me fall asleep? Don't you want to help me, please? I just need you."

If I hadn't been afraid that my immediate sobs would have put both babes in a more alert state, I'd have lost it.

The wind was knocked out of me, my stomach felt raw and sore, my heart ached.

She's almost 3. She can articulate her wants and needs much better than most 5 or 6 year olds.

She couldn't as a baby though. As a young toddler.

Here I was, willing her to sleep because I thought she should magically enter slumberland because I told her to do so. All she was doing this whole time was asking for my help. Telling me she needed me.

And I'd been pushing her away.

I curled up next to her, I played with her hair, and I told her I'd love her forever, my perfect Wilde Thing.

I kissed her head until she fell asleep on my chest. I didn't think about "Bones" playing on TV and how much of the episode I'd missed (no DVR in this house). I didn't think of the laundry I still needed to fold or the kitchen I needed to clean. I didn't think of the husband I always feel like I'm neglecting although he always assures me our kiddos come first and we're okay. I didn't have that mild panicky feeling that B might wake at the creak of the bed and this whole routine would have to be done again.

I just thought of my sweet girl and how much easier all those nights could have been if I'd have just given in. If I'd just held her tighter. Held her longer. If I would have put her needs before my own selfish wants.

I've done a lot of damage there. I know it. I can't go back and change the last 3 years of terrible bedtimes. I'm thankful that I've otherwise been a very attached parent. She's independent and secure. She has that healthy dose of seperation anxiety, but is totally happy and content when I'm gone as well. She has all the good, healthy attributes of a well-rounded child who was attach parented.

But it's still there. Right below the surface. A little girl whose needs were ignored out if convenience at times. A little girl with a momma whose patience just wasn't quite enough. A little girl expected to be so grown up before her time.

It breaks my heart. That I wasn't better. For her. I thought because I didn't leave her alone to cry my behaviors toward her were okay. But they weren't.

I will cuddle her to sleep each night until she's 40 if that's what she needs. Though I've been assured it isn't. Even if my mind starts racing and I'm annoyed 40 minutes has gone by and although she's tired and yawning she's showing no signs of succumbing to sleep, I will not show her my annoyance. Instead I will cuddle her more and tell her what an absolute joy she is to me. Because she is.

Always.

I think night time parenting in a lot of ways is far more difficult than daytime parenting. You're tired. Semi-conscious. Not completely coherent. It's just really hard.

And yet it's still so important.

From me to you, friend, when your little one, whether she is one year or ten years, needs you at night for whatever reason, go to her. Help her. Cuddle her. Love on her.some day she will be big and such things won't be needed.

But I promise you, never will you regret showing your child love and kindness. Never will you regret cuddling them and breathing in their sleepy goodness.

But you might regret ignoring them. Having the ability to meet their needs but choosing not to, simply because you think your sleep is more important than your child. Your want outweighs your child's needs.

Take it from me, you can't go back. So cuddle them and love them.

Because whether your child can articulate it or not, whether they choose to say the words to you or not, all they're saying when they're struggling to go to bed is, "Momma, won't you help me fall asleep? Don't you want to help me, please? I just need you."

And I know I always want my answer to be yes.

Yes, my Wilde Thing, my sweet H, I want to help you. I want to be there for you always.

Friday, March 8, 2013

Kids put a new spin on running errands.

I only had about a million and two things to do today to get things ready and wrapped up before the babes and I (and Duckie too!) set off for frigid Minnesota territory tomorrow. You could safely tattoo "completely insane" on my forehead at this point - J is staying home so I'm making this 12 hour one-way trip solo. With two toddlers. And a newborn pig. Crazy.

Anyway, before kids I could have accomplished this all in about an hour. Now we were 6 hours into it and still hadnt managed to get our shoes on. Go figure.

We managed to run into Target for one thing..,two cake pops, a caramel macchiato, and a cart full of shit we surely don't need, we finally manage to leave and head to the grocery store to stock up on car snacks. We only buy a billion different type of crackers and too many Lara Bars. Then the kids insist they need new sippy cups. I'm seriously starting to think they have a sippy cup addiction at this point. And I loathe sippy cups. But I agree because I've all ready diverted the potential helium balloons my down by assuring them that Grandpa S really wants to take them to get balloons and we can't take that fun from him. We still have to get the oil changed and a tune up on the car, I need them happy a while longer yet.

I'm pretty sure the car dealership that does maintenance on my car will be talking about my kids for years to come. For some reason my dear H found it hysterical to run up to each man working there are squeal, "Oh, hi, Dada!" while pointing at him so that he couldn't be mistaken that she was indeed talking to him. Their faces turned beet red while they stuttered,  "Uh...uh...I don't think so." And my immediate thought is, "you should flat out be saying no, dumb ass!"

Since they found it necessary to take an hour to change the oil H entertained everyone in the waiting room with her theatrics. "Look at me!" She'd demand, and then proceed to sing a made up song and put on a dance show for them.

Oh, and god forbid someone didn't give her their full attention. She'd walk up until she was uncomfortably in their personal space and say,  "Hey, watch me!"

You'd think after all this they'd have at least partaken in a nap today. But no. We're outside playing in mud and snow (and yes, I can blog while doing that!).

Errands were so much simpler, often cheaper, and less hilarious before kids to say the least,

Thursday, March 7, 2013

Having friends who do motherhood differently - that's okay!

I've been asked on more than one occasion, both by those I'm close to and those I am not, how I can have such strong, vocal beliefs in parenting, and yet be friends with people who do things differently than me?

To be honest, I feel like it's kind of a silly question. Though I suppose valid at the end of the day.

I don't have a single friend who shares all of my beliefs in all aspects of life.

That'd be creepy.

And thus, we wouldn't be friends.

To be super honest, most of friends share very few, if any of my parenting beliefs. And that's okay.

I read an article recently where a woman addressed this issue by saying that she surrounds herself by people who, like herself, are also always constantly learning and bettering themselves.

I agree with that.

But I think it's not always the full of it.

I have plenty of friends very set in their ways. Friends whose beliefs deeply contrast mine and they don't wish to learn any more or see things differently or "better" themselves according to my beliefs (my beliefs may totally not be better!).

And that's okay.

Even in parenting.

I have three friends who are also moms who I would say I'm pretty close with. They're each very different and have very different beliefs from me.

One is basically my opposite. Very mainstream. Pro-circumcision, cry it out, spanking. She feeds her kids whatever and thinks organic is nonsense. Her children attend public school and are vaccinated on schedule. She had drugged births.

Another is slightly more AP. Did a lot of baby-wearing, breastfed until the age of two, doesn't believe in spanking ever, but time-outs and yelling occur. Although she co-slept for the first 18 months, she also let her child cry it out at the age of 18 months and plans to send her to private school and vaccinates and is aware of food and buys certain things organic (like milk) but doesn't really mind either way. Her child was born via c-section.

And the third is fairly AP, plans to home school, very food conscious, unvaccinated and intact kids. Breastfed past a year. But she has spanked and is a bit more religious and over-all conservative in her parenting beliefs than I. She birthed both in the hospital and at home.

Maybe these women are constantly learning and evolving. I know they are. I know this because they are amazing people. Incredible women. Kick-ass mothers. But they are also very confident in the choices they have made, even the ones that are stark contrasts from mine. But more than that, these women have something innately in common with each other and myself, that makes it so extremely easy for me to be friends with them. For me to talk and commiserate and turn to them for help.

They love their children.

It's that simple.

Truly, purely, selflessly and unconditionally, they love their children.

They have each done what they believed best at that moment for their children and it has been out of love.

I deeply respect and love these women. I admire their courageous choices and beautiful strength.

And how in the world could you not be friends with someone different when they so purely love their children, and at the end of the day, that's all that you yourself are doing, too?

Wednesday, March 6, 2013

F*** naps!

I loathe naps. Despise them. Abhor them. There are not enough words in the English language to adequately describe how much I hate naps.

I’ve never had “good sleepers.” I think for the most part I accepted that pretty gracefully. I’ve acknowledged and accepted that it may be many, many years before I am able to get four (yes, you read that right, four) solid hours of sleep.

But by golly, would it kill my kids to nap for an hour!? And for it to be relatively painless for said nap to occur?

H hasn’t really napped since, well, before B was born. She, like B, fought sleep from birth. I just rolled with it. She needs a nap, she just doesn’t do it. Occasionally she’ll crash in the car, or while I have her lying in bed when I’m putting B to sleep. But rarely. When she was under 18 months I could hold her or nurse her or wear her and that would help a lot. Then she decided that was no good too.

B had the same feelings, but kind of gave up the “you can hold me and nurse me to nap” around 14 months.

But dear God those children need to nap. And Momma needs 1 hour to herself. I feel like that’s not asking for much. Especially the weeks when J is not here. Those weeks when there are no naps are brutal.

I sometimes get envious when I hear of people having friends or family who routinely baby sit their kids. I’m like, “Omfg, you get a break!?” And it seems surreal and amazing. Because I adore my kids. They’re the greatest things in my life, yadda yadda yadda. But sometimes I just want to be a human, too, ya know?

My little sister on rare occasions watches them, and I’m eternally grateful for that but she’s a busy college kid, so her availability is limited, which I understand.

But dear lord. If they’d just nap, and easily, it wouldn’t be such a big deal. On the days they do finally nap, I’m so freaking exhausted from finally helping them get to sleep that I’m too exhausted to enjoy those 30-45 minutes to myself (because they rarely nap longer than that unless in the car).

Today is took Miss H 1.5 hours to fall asleep. I typically ask her to lie in her bed while I put B to sleep, in hopes she’ll pass out too. She finally did. B succumbed 30 minutes later. This was after a morning full of playing with one of their good friends whom I was sitting for, then spending over an hour outside in the snow, followed by lunch. I didn’t put them down ridiculously early or anything. It was 1pm and they were rubbing their eyes and getting to the yawning phases. We read stories and had cuddles and then it all went to hell with lots of screaming and crying. Because, you know, sleep is torture. Lying down with them is like lighting them on fire. Or you would think so with the way they react.

To be fair, not all days are like that. There are occasions that they pass out quickly. They are few and far between, but they happen.

I even laugh when lots of toddler sleep resources say toddlers fall asleep within 5-10 minutes. And I always feel like 30-40 minutes is a good day or night.

Oh, well. This is me very ungracefully dealing with their inability to nap.

And really, I would even say, okay, hey, no naps. Everyone stay awake and have a bloody party if that’s what you want. Except they’re unbearable. They are in full-on melt down mode when they don’t nap. So it’s a lose-lose situation. Do I want to hear them whine and cry in the afternoon or in the evening?

Have I mentioned lately that I extremely dislike naps?

"My husband made me..."

One of the few things that makes my blood boil just as much if not more than hearing women talk about their husbands "letting" them do things, as well as their husbands "babysitting," is listening to women talk about what their husbands "make" them do, especially in regards to their children.

While at a local children's play space the other day, a woman, after observing me first breastfeed B and then H, came up and casually started conversation to me. She mentioned that she would have loved to have breastfed her son past a year, but her husband made her stop.

That kind of shit infuriates me. I'm sure my eyeballs were bugged out of my head and I could have caught flies in my gaped mouth. Okay, not really, because I like to think I do a pretty good job of disguising my immediate bafflement.

Though sadly, this isn't the first time I've heard statements like this. Things like, "My husband wouldn't let me breastfeed," "My husband made me do cry it out with our son," "My husband believes in spanking and makes those decisions," "My husband made me circumcise our son (so they'd match, no doubt!)," "My husband made me put our daughter into public school," etc., etc.

I don't care what parents choose for their kids (aside from circumcision, because that's a direct violation of their human rights, but moving on), but the constant "My husband made..." drives me insane. Dear God. We're not living in the Victorian ages. Women and children are not property. Men don't get to make those types of decisions on their own. That's why children have two parents. Parents are equals, partners.

Parents are supposed to discuss these things. They are supposed to come to agreements or at the very least, compromises. Although I can't imagine J wanting to do something with our children, me being adamantly opposed, and us still doing it. Or vice versa. It just wouldn't happen. My Momma Bear instincts are way too strong. It is my job to protect my kids from all things, even if it turned out to be a poorly informed papa.

Fortunately, J and I see eye to eye on pretty much everything. And the things we didn't/don't, we've discussed until we were blue in the face and both feel comfortable with our decision.

When I got pregnant with H I told him straight up I would be breastfeeding, my child would never know what formula or a bottle was, and it was non-negotiable. He didn't feel strongly either way, his friends' wives had breastfed, his sister's had bottle fed, so it was a toss up. But he did his research and was the one who brought up natural duration breastfeeding first.

We both agreed that our children would never sleep with us. As soon as our first was here we just as quickly both agreed that they would. J was a bit hesitant because he was afraid of suffocation, but as soon as he realized how much easier it was on me, he was all for it.

We don't 100% agree on "discipline." I don't believe in punishment. Pretty much at all. J knows this is where I've come around to stand. And he still has a "Hispanic mentality" as he puts it. Where punishment is necessary and you're a bad parent if you don't. Of course, he's barely so much as been stern with our children, let alone punished them. And when the topic is brought up under what situations he'd punish them it tends to go something like this: "Well, not now of course. They're too young. But when H is like 8. If she were to do something wrong. Well, I'd have to talk to her about what she did wrong. Because that'd be out of character for her to directly disobey us, especially at that age most likely. So we'd need to get to the root of the problem and address what's going on. Maybe she has a need being unmet or something. Maybe we didn't set a clear boundary or establish a firm rule. So we'd need to help her with that."

Yep. That's it. So although he says he believes in "punishment" and will even make comments like, "Oh, if it were me I'd have probably smacked them" we both know it isn't true. Even remotely.

But seriously, if he'd said something in the beginning like, "No, I don't want you to breastfeed," or "You have to give her bottles," I'd probably have laughed and told him he was crazy. And I also know that once he understood my reasons and why it was important to me, as well as the all around benefits, he'd have agreed.

Or if he'd insisted H sleep in a crib I probably would have said, "Sure thing. But you get to get up with her a million times at night and bring her to me to nurse because I'm not getting out of bed. And there is no way you're allowing her to cry herself to sleep." And that probably would have fixed that right then.

I just don't understand how in the world women can give up all control and allow their husbands make all the decisions, especially when it's simply proven that they don't have the same maternal instincts that we do.

That's not to say that fathers shouldn't have a voice. They should! An equal say at that, even.

But when it comes to something that a mother feels strongly about, the father just doesn't get to decide. And vice versa, for that matter.

It's all about communication. If a papa says "You must let baby cry it out" you have to figure out why. Is it because he wants his marital bed back? Because he thinks you'll be less exhausted? He thinks it's simply what you are supposed to do? And then it's Momma's job to make him understand why that is not okay for baby. (Or if you both believe in cry it out, then to each their own).

It just infuriates me when I hear women say that they were forced to do something with their children that completely goes against their maternal instincts, all because their husbands demanded it. And most often it seems to be a power thing. The husband needs to exert power over the wife, the children.

It's sad. It's sick. And seriously, women need to grow a spine and stand up for themselves and their children all ready.

I'm sure a lot of people don't/won't agree with me. And that's okay.

But goodness, this is the 21st century all ready. We cannot afford to be anything less than equal with our spouses.

Tuesday, March 5, 2013

Letting children eat when, what, and how much they want.

I was asked recently by a fellow momma about food.

You know, all those food worries most mom's have. How do I know he's eating enough? What if he doesn't like what I cook for dinner - should I cook separate meals? Etc. Etc.

Since I'm a foodie anyway, I figured I'd address that on here. I know I've touched on it here and there, but never actually written a whole post just dedicated to food and infants/toddlers/kids.

Let me begin this by stating that I know nothing about formula-feeding or bottle-feeding. So I simply cannot speak about those as I have zero knowledge.

I know a whole lot about breastfeeding though. And obviously, it's as brand new babes that many mommas start fretting about if their kiddos are eating enough.

Call me dumb, but I never worried about that with either of my babes. To be honest, I didn't know it was something that people worried about. I just figured my body knew how to make milk for these two kids, it would. It never crossed my mind to worry if it was "enough" or not.

And I realize now, it was for good reason that I did not worry.

Your body is making enough!

Only in the most rare of cases is your body truly not making enough milk for your babe. Do not base your milk production on how much you can pump. It means nothing. Your baby is more effective, and your body responds to your baby and makes milk while he's latched. It does not respond to a pump. And that's because although milk production is obviously a physical thing, it is also a hugely emotional and psychological thing as well.

And all baby's are different. My first easily nursed every two hours, if not more often, and for a minimum of 25 minutes, though 45+ minutes was the norm. For real. It was exhausting and tiresome and sweet and beautiful. I'm thankful she was first, because I couldn't really do anything but nurse her all day for quite awhile. But that's okay. Her needs were met.

My second, however, was a completely different story. He easily went 3-5 hours between nursing and rarely nursed for more than 15 minutes at a time. Now as a toddler it's a different story, but as an infant, it was easy peasy.

Breastfeeding was easy. I knew my children would notify me when hungry, and they'd let me know when they were full. I never once questioned as to whether they were getting enough or getting too much. Breastfeeding on demand is the norm, it's what mother nature says to do, and you simply go along with your baby's needs.

And then there was solid food. Oh, the solid foods! We didn't start solids until around the 6 month mark per the APA's recommendation. Baby's gut is not ready to handle food properly before then. We chose to do baby lead solids as "food before one is just for fun" and I'd read a lot of research showing that babies who eat only the foods they put into their mouths, regardless as to size or texture, were significantly less likely to choke as opposed to infants fed purees. Now, I'm not saying no one should feed their infant purees. It's a completely legit option. I just had/have a lot of paranoia about choking. But realizing my children were less likely to choke if they self-fed made me feel better.

And with baby lead solids the prep is easy. You feed them whatever you're eating. Chicken and green beans? I'd cut up the chicken into strips so they'd be easy to hold, give them some whole green beans, and voila! That was it. Super easy. If they actually swallowed anything, great. But totally not necessary. At this point it was all about experimenting with flavors and textures because babies need no other source of nutrition before age one other than breast milk or formula.

Then of course, there is that "magic age" when suddenly you realize your baby is consuming less breast milk or formula and start to freak that frak out because little Jimmy is only eating a piece of toast and half of a yogurt cup and surely he's going to starve to death.

Well, he's not.

I don't agree with force feeding children. At all. Or coercing them to eat x amount. Or telling them they can't get up or can't do y until x is eaten.

And for good reason.

There are only a million and two studies out there that show that children who are "forced/coerced/sweet talked/whatever" into eating more than they want to during meals/snacks are being taught that they do not know how to regulate their own eating habits. They are being told, often from a very young age, that although their body says that they are not hungry (or that they are) they are wrong and should not listen to their body because Mom or Grandma or whoever knows their body better than themselves. And, well, we all know that's bull. No one knows someones body better than the owner of said body. But by coercing children to "take just one more bite" you are telling your child that they don't know when they are hungry or not. And research says that these people are the ones who tend to overeat in life and stress/emotional eat. And no one wants that for their kid!

And to make it even more daunting, kids who are coerced into eating more than they'd like are at a much higher risk of suffering from heart disease, type II diabetes, and obesity.

And to think, once upon a time "the Clean Plate Club" was something we thought was a good thing.

So what do you do if little Jimmy just doesn't want to eat and you're worried he's not eating enough?

Stop worrying!

I know, I know. Easier said than done. I go in spurts where I worry about my bird eaters, and I know better. But that's just natural, I think. One week they will seem absolutely insatiable. They next week it's a miracle if they take more than three bites in one day. But I trusted them to know when they were hungry and when they were full as infants, why would that suddenly change now? That makes no logical sense.

I offer them three full meals a day. And snacks. Pretty much all day long. If they eat, they eat. If they don't, they don't. We don't make a big deal about it. They know there is always food available to them.

Most people tend to be grazers by nature, as are most children. It's hard to expect them to eat three solid meals a day when that might not really be how I myself eat.

I'll have a smoothie for breakfast. An hour or two later I might eat an egg or some fruit. Two hours later maybe some chicken. Two hours later perhaps some veggies and fruit. And maybe some meat and veggies come dinner time. None of that, other than dinner, is usually a "real meal." But I also eat All. The. Time. And my kids eat similarly.

I do not believe in making more than one meal, and yet at the same time I do believe in allowing children to eat what they want, when they want.

Since the only meal I consider a real meal around here is primarily dinner, I only "make" one meal. For breakfast it's not as big of a deal. I might have a smoothie while B has an egg and H eats cereal. No big. I'll make them up plates for lunch, and they'll typically graze from them for hours, not actually sit down and eat it all at once. And then dinner.

We'll take dinner last night. I made smothered pork chops, brussel sprouts, and almond bread. H only ate brussel sprouts and almond bread. B only ate pork chops and almond bread. Cool. Their choice. They were fed, happy, ate what they wanted and moved on when they were done. No arguments or battles or "one more bites." They had what I made, and still got to choose what to eat. And I didn't worry about the quantity.

Food is one area where it is all quality over quantity. I mean, if my kids were eating heaps of brownies and granola bars and pop tarts and canned fruit in corn syrup and gummies...yeah, I'd be worried. Sure, the quantity might be great enough where someone wouldn't worry too much because it's "enough" but it's not the fuel the body needs. But if all they eat is a handful of blueberries, a few bites of chicken, a few carrot sticks and a banana all day, I'd be totally okay with that even though the quantity is small. Because it's the kind of nutrition the body needs.

So the key to allowing your children to choose what they eat is by providing healthy options. If there aren't Twinkies and snickers and Oreos around to choose from, then they can never be options.

And the awesome thing is, when kids are allowed to choose their own foods, and have a healthy food foundation, they tend to choose healthy foods. We can make cookies, and my babes will happily eat two or three, but then they're done. Ready for raspberries. They like sweets, but since they're not a completely rare occurrence, nor are they the every day norm, they don't feel the need to gorge on them nor do they believe they are an every day food. But in full disclosure, though I've never tried it before, they probably could eat an entire bag of Oreos if given the opportunity (they just like the creme center, not the whole cookie).

So yes, food and infants/toddler/children can be daunting. I mean, here is this whole person that you are responsible for. You don't want them to starve on your watch! So I understand the trepidation.

Just remember that they won't. No infant or child will allow themselves to starve. And if given the option, they won't over eat either. They will eat when they are hungry, what they're hungry for, and how much they are hungry for. Just trust them!

Monday, March 4, 2013

A perfect, ordinary day.

Yesterday, in all of its simplicity and beauty, was one of the closest to perfection a day can be.

Weekends are, hands down, my favorite days. Simply because those are the 2 or 3 full days that the four of us get to spend together, uninterrupted, unhinged, without worry or means, with no other obligations. We get to choose if that time is spent with other people or doing other things. It's our time as a little family.

Sunday proved to be a lazy morning of biscuits and gravy, too many loads of laundry, cutting out pieces of fabric to B's comforter, building blocks, playing "kitchen," and spending hours talking to the three people I cherish most in this world.

It was indeed, nothing extraordinary.

We then ventured down to the baby fair a few blocks from our house. Go figure, now that we're done having babies and have discovered all the resources exhibited there, this is the first year we've heard of it.

But the kids had a blast listening to Dr. Seuss books being read, jumping in the bounce house, playing games, blowing bubbles and coloring. Later, after we'd left I asked Miss H what her favorite part was, to which she replied, "Oh, just S (her bff's mom)."

It was decided, upon leaving, that J would venture home to feed Duckie and get the car, while the babes and I carried on to the park, before meeting up with him to eat at a local restaurant.

During our walk in frigid temperatures, but lots of sunshine and no wind, H and I talked about how cracks are created in the sidewalks and why shadows can't be seen in the shade. We found different letters of the alphabet in signs, and played, "Stop and Go" while Momma learned to let her baby girl be the free range kid she wants her to be.

At the park H played on monkey bars and obstacle courses. She spun until she was so dizzy she couldn't stand. B finally awoke from his snugly spot in the Ergo, nestled close to my heart, and fought the desire to play against staying put warm in the Ergo. Finally, his need to run about won out and he was off, chasing some blonde toddler who squealed every time B roared (he currently responds to "Dinosaur B...").

When J finally texted to say he was on his way to eat, the kids and I walked over to meet him, watching police cars and fire trucks rush out from their respective stations, much to the littles delight.

We'd planned on dining on Ethiopian cuisine, but as they were not yet open we ventured off for some local Thai where we ate too much curry and drank too much tea and the kids were so well-behaved I was fairly certain they were pod people.

Nothing extraordinary happened, and yet it was perfect. Or the closest thing to it. Just a simple day with the simple people I adore.

A perfect, ordinary day.

Saturday, March 2, 2013

Honey, honey, this one's sappy

It's super hokey, I know, but anytime I hear a song remotely "romantic" I melt a little. And I always think of J.

I tend to roll my eyes at romantic movies and books. Even the songs, to be honest. I pish posh lovey dovey things and believe most of it is always over the top.

I think people are too sappy.

Unless it's my own life.

Then I'm still caught up in the whirlwind of crazy love.

It's funny, because I was always stone-hearted and against love. And then there was J.

And our whole relationship has been a series of love songs.

For real.

We sing.

All. The. Time.

To each other. To our kids.

It's ridiculous.

Neither one of us has a musically inclined bone in our body.

And yet "Honey, Honey," will come on and there I am belting it out or he joins in with "I Want You to Want Me."

And of course, during these moments I'm always wondering how I ended up here. With him. Because it's fairy tale perfect and I know fairy tales aren't real.

Everyone told us the "honeymoon" phase would pass quickly. The passion would die out. We'd conform into a monotonous, tiresome routine. If it didn't happen on it's own, it'd definitely happen after we had children.

And yet somehow it hasn't.

Somehow my heart still races when he brushes my arm. I get butterflies when we kiss. We always kiss before we leave. We kiss before bedtime. We're still passionate and dedicated and have conversations until the wee morning like we did pre-marriage. We cuddle and hold hands and are always on the look out for fun and/or "weird" things to do like Home Shows and whiskey tasting and everything in between.

It's crazy and strange and beautiful how much you can love another human being (that isn't your offspring).

It gives my cynical child-self a lot of hope in the human race.

Love still exists during this dreary age of gold diggers and users. Of over-sexualization, and completely disorientated views that love and lust are interchangeable.

Mayhap some would say I'm just too young. Too naive. I've not been married long enough.

Maybe it's true.

But I don't believe that for a solitary second.

When you know, you just know.

I said J was the only guy I could ever marry long before we had any romantic relationship going on. Something in my bones, my heart, just told me. It was him.

And it was.

It is.

No matter what gets thrown at us. No matter how many years roll by or how many children we have.

He'll always be the one that makes me feel as helpless as a school girl, as strong as an Amazonian, and as loved as a Goddess.

And every time I hear a love song, a sappy song, I think of him. And us. And our beautiful family.

It's a daily reminder of how freaking unbelievably gorgeous this world is and the awesomeness that two people in love can create and be.



Honey honey, how you thrill me, ah-hah, honey honey
Honey honey, nearly kill me, ah-hah, honey honey
I'd heard about you before
I wanted to know some more
And now I know what they mean, you're a love machine
Oh, you make me dizzy

Honey honey, let me feel it, ah-hah, honey honey
Honey honey, don't conceal it, ah-hah, honey honey
The way that you kiss goodnight
(The way that you kiss me goodnight)
The way that you hold me tight
(The way that you're holding me tight)
I feel like I wanna sing when you do your thing

I don't wanna hurt you, baby, I don't wanna see you cry
So stay on the ground, girl, you better not get too high
But I'm gonna stick to you, boy, you'll never get rid of me
There's no other place in this world where I rather would be

Honey honey, touch me, baby, ah-hah, honey honey
Honey honey, hold me, baby, ah-hah, honey honey
You look like a movie star
(You look like a movie star)
But I know just who you are
(I know just who you are)
And, honey, to say the least, you're a dog-gone beast

So stay on the ground, girl, you better not get too high
There's no other place in this world where I rather would be

Honey honey, how you thrill me, ah-hah, honey honey
Honey honey, nearly kill me, ah-hah, honey honey
I heard about you before
I wanted to know some more
And now I know what they mean, you're a love machine