Splendid Saturday

Two weeks ago all it did is rain.  It rained and rained and rained and rained.  And then it rained some more.  Just when I was starting to worry that we'd been magically transported back to Japan... it stopped.  I was very relieved.  The rain was keeping us cooped up in the house far more than my sanity could allow.

Then last week, right about the time everything started to dry out, it would start to rain again.  Not like it had before, but just enough to keep everything nice and soggy. 

Naturally, when I looked outside this morning and saw it was marvelous and clear and SUNNY it seemed obvious that we needed to get out of the house (the weather people are predicting more rain for next week) to soak up as much fresh air and sunshine as possible.

Side Note:  As I'm typing this it is suddenly occuring to me that it is January 30th and therefore a large part of the country is still in the midst of wintery hell, possibly even involving snow or ice, though in the case of Ohio probably its just frigid and grey outisde and therefore horribly depressing.  And I realize now that I shouldn't really be complaining, because our weather here has certainly not been that bad in comparison.  The trouble is, of course, that I lived in San Diego for far too long.  And I loved it.  San Diego hardly ever have any sort of weather at all and its just mysteriously sunny and 70 degrees,  like, 300 days a year.  And I was very spoiled by it and now I really sort of think that's just how it should be everywhere. 

Now, where was I?

Oh...

Matt leashed up the dog and I strollered up the baby.  ( Is that even a word?  I doubt it.) We packed a couple of baby bottles and a couple of sandwiches and enough water for the 4 of us and headed out for a walk down by the bay.  (That is certainly one of the nicest things about Monterey, it has lovely bayside trails and walkways to enjoy when the fog blows away in the summer and it stops raining for more than 12 hours in the "winter.") 

And of course I also brought my along my camera....

Miles of beautiful views....

The water does beautiful things....

Peter even wanted to try walking in the sand some...

Night Time Nonsense

Ever since they sang "Defying Gravity" on an episode of Glee last fall, I've been horribly addicted to the Wicked soundtrack.  Matt threatens to go screaming from the room any time I play that song, which is pretty frequent since I downloaded a few different versions of it. I don't much care actually if it drives him crazy, because a lot of what he does can drive me crazy and he probably couldn't care less.  Plus, I think its a good song for me to sing to my baby.  That's right, I'm crazy enough about music that I am always trying to find that song that Peter will hear when he's older and be like "OH, my Mom used to sing that song to me!!"

For the record, I can't hit even half the notes in Defying gravity.  Thankfully, Peter hasn't yet learned to mind. 

Anyway.

So, since I've been listening to the soundtrack far more than is probably healthy I decided FINALLY that maybe I ought to read the book.  I think I first obtained a copy of the book when I lived in Japan in like 2005 or something and its been gathering dust on a bookshelf on and off ever since.  Occassionally, I've moved it into my bedroom to read, but for some reason I never got into it.

Until two nights ago...

For the record, I get that Elphaba is going to be the tragic hero/bad gal or whatever, and that we're sort of meant to feel sorry for her all the while being horrified by her, but the reaction that her parents have to her is just A-W-F-U-L.

I really hope that if Peter had come out green that I would have loved him just the same as I do now. 

Then again, Elphaba's mother is basically a gigantic drugged out whore in the story, so maybe I don't need to compare myself to her at all.

So, last night I was up reading it until probably 11 or something when I turned out the light and slipped into a very fitful sleep.  Peter had actually finished ALL of his bottles yesterday so I had a slim hope that he might manage to sleep through the night, but still I was baiscally sleeping like dolphin with half my brain still awake while the other slept, all the while waiting for him to wake up. 

Speaking of him and the not sleeping through the night...

Yea, I'm convinced its NEVER going to happen.  I tried letting him scream it out all last week.  FAIL.  The first night he cried for 18 minutes and then went back to sleep mostly for the night except for a few, brief fussy moments every few hours and I was so hopeful.  The second night though, he hollered bloody murder for 45 minutes before I finally lost my will and went in to give him his pacifier.  (His pacifier, by the way, that he is absolutely capable of retrieving and putting back into his own mouth by himself, assuming that is, that he hasn't gotten so pissed off at his mother for not coming to him while he's crying that he hasn't thrown it out of his crib and clear across the room.) After that though, he slept through.  But the third night, and the 4th night and the 5th night...  OH NO.  Not. At. All.  It was like he was on to me.  And he wasn't going to let me when the game.  He'd wake up and he'd cry and e..v...e...n...t...u...a...l...l...y  he'd tire himself out and go back to sleep for, like, 15-30 minutes.  Then he'd start right back up again, only refreshed and with more, um, vigor.  So after the 3rd night of him failing to actually scream himself out, I gave up and just started giving him another bottle when he wakes up, usually somewhere between 11 and midnight, after which I'll fight with him for a bit to get him back to sleep and then he will actually sleep through til about 7 or 8 in the morning. 

So, so much for that.  I really hope that kid picks a college I like (Go BUCKS!) because apparently I'm going to be going with him to give him snacks in the middle of the night when he wakes up hungry. 

:(

But all of that is completely beside the point.  MY POINT here, before I  started rambling was going to be about what reading Wicked did to my dreams last night while I was only half asleep.

First there were several short episodes where the Witch was after me.  Or else I was after her.  Or other people were after her and I was supposed to help them or something.  It was all very fuzzy because, as I mentioned, my brain was only really about half asleep and the awake side of my mind kept stepping in to drag me back to reality and away from the absurd innerworking of my mind.

After one of these short naps, I checked the clock and was surprised to find that it was 12:30.  Peter was still soundly asleep and cooing at me through the monitor.  It seemed inevitable to me that this wouldn't last, and that at any moment he'd awake and start crying, but since it quite literally was the middle of the night I couldn't think of anything better to do so I rolled over, pulled the covers up over my head and drifted back off. 

The Witch was there again and this time she'd given me some sort of tonic to drink.  It made my head swim and everything was sort of moving in normal time and in slow motion at the same time.  She sent me into my baby's room and I knew that she meant for me to kill him.  I swam through the air towards his crib and looked down at my child who was very still and sleeping peacefully except for a gentle sucking of his pacifier and knew there was no way that I was ever going to be able to hurt him no matter what the Witch did to me.  I headed back to my room.  Everything was still happening in a bizaare-o underwater slow motion flowing sort of way.  When I got there I saw my husband sprawled out and hogging the bed in his sleep as he always does when I get up to tend to Peter.  So I decided to jump on him.  (I have no idea why.)  I started to bounce up and down to get ready for my pounce.  I jumped up and down over and over, in slow motion, like I was underwater, except I wasn't.  With each jump I went higher and higher.  Boing!  Boing!  Boing!  Boing!!! I was bouncing, much higher, in fact, then the ceiling in our bedroom ever should have allowed, but since I was bouncing in slow motion, in a dream, the height of my ceiling certainly made no difference what so ever.  (You might even had said I was defying gravity.)  Finally, I was bouncing high enough that I felt ready to hit my mark and with my last gentle slow motion-y push off the ground I leaned forward and aimed myself toward Matt.  I soared through the air wondering how he would awake when I dive bombed onto him while he was fast asleep.

And then, just as I should have crashed into him...

I woke up. 

Confused. 

I checked the clock.  Not much time had passed. 

The baby was still asleep.

Matt was still asleep. 

I laid there for a long time considering the absurdity of the dream I'd just had and strongly considering trying to jump/bounce as I had just been doing in my subconscious. 

Just before 1:00 am Peter woke up. 

And that was that.  Back to reality.

Baby in a Box

The other day I purchased a lovely little red fabric covered storage box for Peter's room.  My intention is for it to hold some of his books.  Of course, once I got it home I liked it so much I wanted about 5 more, but that's really beside the point. 

That everning, as I was changing the baby I noticed a cat sitting in the box.  I don't really know why that surprised me.  Anyway, that got me to thinking what a cute little baby photo this could make.  So, I pulled the cat out of the box and plopped my son down into it. 

The cat was very annoyed.   The baby was just confused.

For a long while Peter and the cat played in and around the box until eventually, Chase went away and I finally got my money shot:

Eating

So, this month along with getting the boy weened, we've been truckin' along into the diversity of "solid" food. 

He's been eating rice cereal like a champion at dinnertime since the begining of December and, after the initial shock and battle of the first vegetable, he has since done very well.

As of this weekend, and after a little bit of work and perserverence, Peter is now eating baby food versions of green beans, sweet potatoes, peas, carrots and squash.  He gets one or two of these each night along with his cereal each day at dinner.  He does really well with them all and, with a little bit of coaxing, will eventually happily devour every last bit.  (Even the peas- which his father hates and the carrots which I hate because they make evil things come out of my baby the next day.) Next week I hope to introduce some fruits and another kind of cereal into the mix. 

But let me rewind for a moment to that first night with vegetables.  We started with green beans.  It did not go well.  In my son's own defense, I tasted the stuff and it is pretty nasty.  A little bit of butter and a pinch of salt could go a loooong way if you know what I'm saying.  He eats them now, but let me just say, it was touch and go there that first night.

Anyway, here are some pictures, I think they tell the story better than I ever could...

In the end, that evening, the beans did get eaten:  by the fat cat.  No, I'm not kidding.  He just hopped up on the counter and started helping himself while Matt was working on shoveling rice cereal into the baby.  None of us could believe it actually. 

Crybaby!

A friend of mine recently commented to me that I am so lucky because my baby never cries.  Admittedly, hers cried almost non-stop for the first three months, and mine does tend to be a very mellow child but I would like to assure everyone that he does, in fact, cry, just like the best of them.

This picture was taken about a week ago after a long day of craziness, just before bed and bath time and the poor boy was, in fact pooped. 

I would also like to promise everyone that I already had the camera out and was taking pictures of him playing when he decided he'd had enough and started to cry.  I did not, as it might seem, wait until he threw a fit and then run for the camera to capture proof of this type of moment.

He is awfully cute when he cries though... and I can say that now because as I look at the image above there are not the accompanying screams and wails ringing through the air like they most definitely were when I took this picture.

And like they were for 3 dreadful, horror filled hours last night.

And pretty much all day today.

The only thing I can figure is that he's having a growth spurt.  He absolutely mastered sitting himself up yesterday and can now do it without any effort at all.   He's also currently trying very hard to pull himself up using his arms and I simply can NOT handle that.  So far he's only really gotten himself up onto his knees.  But still... HE'S PULLING HIMSELF UP ONTO HIS KNEES!

I told my husband today that he had really better get me pregnant again before that child starts walking or I really might just FLIP out at the loss of my baby's infancy. 

Oh, and this evening just after undressing him for his bath Matt put him down on his bedroom floor for a minute to play so that he could chuck some poopie-exploded-diaper-clothes into the sink and when I came back into the room to retrieve him the little naked lad was crawling PROPERLY (with his tummy off the ground and with straight arms and the whole bit) across his room to get to his Roaring Lion Flashlight. 

It's ironic, I guess, to have a moment which makes you so proud, and yet makes you laugh so completely (streaking baby!!!) after and entire day of listening to the boy fuss and whine and complain and generally just drive try his very best to drive me insane. 

And oh wait... He's been in bed for 15 minutes now.  He WAS out like a light.  Now guess what he's doing? 

*sigh*

It's going to be another LONG night.

Swimmin'

So, here in our housing community there is a nice little community center complete with workout facilities (that I've used exactly twice) and 2 indoor pools (one for kiddies and one for bigger folks.)  As much as I wish they were outdoors, the weather here really doesn't often support swimming outside. 

When we first arrived and I was roughly 147 weeks pregnant, weighing in at something like 2 tons and was shaped very much like a walrus I went to the pool for a few hours one afternoon and floated around to try to relax and release the pain and tension of those final weeks of pregnancy.  It really was wonderful.  Those moments as I floated around, relishing the amazing buoyance of my maternity body were perhaps the only time in my entire 3rd trimester where something did not hurt. 

And I've been wanting to get back to the pool pretty much ever since.

But, as I may have mentioned, the weather here, even at its finest, doesn't really tend to inspire the desire to swim.  Neither does having a new baby.

However, a few weeks ago another Mommy friend of mine, who's baby is just a few months younger than Peter suggested that we take our babies to try out the pool together. 

Here are some pictures of Peter's first swim. 

Before... (waiting for our friends to arrive)

Poolside and ready!!

                                      

First getting in and testing the water...

Peter floating on his tummy...

Sucking the water off his hands...

Floating on his back...

And playing with his Mama...

What a fun time!!!

The pool has become a weekly trip for us and we are inviting other Mommy's and their babies to join us every week.  Peter really seems to love the water, and its relaxing therapeutic for me as well.

One Toothed Wonder

Have you ever tried to get your baby to smile in such a way that you can see his first tooth?

It's almost impossible! 

This is the best I could do:

And, interestingly enough, his second tooth broke the gums this afternoon so I guess his "Igor" smile is to be shortlived after all.

Prayer Request

Please see this post on one of my favorite "Mommy Blogs" for more details.

Thank you and God Bless.

Seemingly random but...

If you have ever found yourself wondering how I got seduced into owning my particular breed of crazy canine, click here.

Keep in mind, that when we lived in Japan these dogs were everywhere, dorking me right out with their cuteness about every five minutes.

Testimony

Somebody at bible study asked me awhile ago when I was "saved."

And I didn't know how to answer her.

The thing is, I have a very bad habit at Bible Study of letting my mind wander. I sit there and instead of listening to the message people are sharing I look around the room at all the other woman and I feel unworthy. Everybody else seems to have it so much more together than I do. They dress better. They actually style their hair. They are amazing mothers. They are are amazing wives. They are amazing Christians.

I just SUCK in comparison.

And then a few weeks ago one of our leaders got up and started talking about needing people to speak to our group. To share their own walks with Christ. She assured us that every woman's message would be meaningful and helpful if only they had the courage to share.

And I got to thinking. Well, first I got to thinking about how amazing it was that I was actually paying attention for once and then I realized that this train of thought meant that I was no longer paying attention. Then it occurred to me that maybe I wasn't the only one who felt unworthy that way. Maybe I wasn't the only one being intimidated and silly. Maybe I ought to just trust in my God for once and know that his plans for me are great and stop having such a complex about myself. My experiences and feelings and doubts and worries might actually be something the other ladies could relate to.

Or, maybe not. I don't know yet.

The thing is, I've always been a Christian. Sort of. My parents both grew up in religious homes: my father a Presbyterian and my mother a Lutheran. They got married and baptised their two children in my mother's church and we became members of a Presbyterian church as a family.

Jesus Christ has been in my life from the beginning.

Something I always cling too, is a memory from when I was pretty small. (I may have mentioned it in this blog before.) It's so silly, but I was in Sunday School eating string cheese probably (a snack that only ever entered into my life at church) and playing with home made play-doh or punching out pictures of paper disciples or something and I remember just feeling so content in my knowledge and love for God.

Because at that young age it had never occurred to me that any of it might not be true.

I had no idea that there were other religions. It had never yet crossed my mind that there were people who didn't know, or didn't believe the story of Jesus.

And it was the best kind of feeling.

And if I could believe so completely that it was all fact back then, why on Earth would I start doubting it now?

As it turns out, its right there in the Bible, a few times, but I like Mark's best. In Chapter 10, verse 15 Jesus says "I tell you the truth, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it."

Naturally, my ignorance of the world did not last forever. Before long my parents let their egos and their life and their laziness get in the way of faith. We stopped attending church regularly. Eventually their marriage broke up. And I think, somewhere along the way, they just stopped believing. Meanwhile as I grew up and learned that there are all sorts of other beliefs. Including the frightening realization that there are people out there who believe in nothing at all.

I think that's where my mother, my father and my brother went in their hearts. Life got them down. They let themselves reason themselves right out of believing in anything. Who needs to be faithful to a God who's in control when you can be smart enough to figure out the answers for yourselves?

And yet, their lives fell apart.

Our lives fell apart.

On the other hand, I never gave up my belief. My husband is always justifying my behavior to people by saying stuff like, "Jen's gonna do what she wants to do and nobody is going to change her mind. The only sure fire way to guarantee that she'll do something is to tell her she shouldn't or she can't and then she'll turn around and do it anyway... just to spite you and prove you wrong."

I clung to my faith to spite my parents as little girl, privately, mostly in the dark of night, praying silently to God who I barely knew, who I barely understood, who I needed desperately to hear me.

To help me.

To save me.

Without getting into all the gory details, I was definitely not a good Christian. I am not, generally a big fan of pointing out sins, even in myself. We are all sinners. Period. I think that's kind of the whole point of Jesus's salvation right? But I think that if God has His choice, he would prefer me to have sinned a lot less.

We would STILL prefer for me to sin a LOT less.

I already admitted that I tend to sit around and compare myself to everybody else. I judge others. I judge myself. I feel envy for what others have, for what others are capable of and I greedily want to be the same way, to do the same things, to have the same things. And I have a temper. And I am rarely patient. And I swear. And, worst of all, I worry... obsessively... about everything... instead of trusting God.

That worry one drives me crazy. I know that it is pointless. I try to live my life remembering that BOTH Matthew (Ch. 6) and Luke (Ch.12) tell me specifically to get over myself and trust in God. Most of you probably know the verses, I like Matthew's best, verses 27, "Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life?" and 34, "Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own"

And yet, even though I know better, I keep right on worrying. It's like I can't help myself.

But, amazingly, I believe, that's okay. God, loves me anyway. For His own reasons, God made me the way I am, sinning, and worrying and imperfect and all.

Romans Chapter 4, verse 23-24 says "for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, and are justified freely by His grace through the redemption that came by Jesus Christ."

I don't need to help myself! Jesus died to forgive me for all of my mistakes. Even the ones He wishes I'd stop making.

Plus, with God's help I can work on it.

On me.

Through prayer.

And faith.

I can become more of the person God wants for me to be.

The really amazing part, if you ask me, is that even through all the nonsense, all the hardships and abuse, all the heartache I endured growing up and all the time I am awful and sinful and just bad... God loved me anyways.

He has always been working on me. Working with me.

When I was younger and things were bad, I used to pray for somebody to love me. Sometimes though, when my mother told me she didn't want me or hit me, I prayed that I would just die so that I wouldn't have to live in misery any more.

Obviously God chose to answer only ONE of those prayers.

He loved me all along. That's why I survived. This I know. It's not up to me to question why my path had to be so difficult. That was just God's design and in the end, I know that I am stronger for having lived it.

Everybody has something terrible that they need to get over. Nobodys' life is perfect. It's not supposed to be.

1 Peter 1 : 6-9 says, "In this you will greatly rejoice, though now for a little while you may have had to suffer grief in all kinds of trials. These have come so that your faith... may be proved genuine and may result in praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed."


James 1 : 2-4 says, "Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverence. Perseverence must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything."

Of course, eventually, God brought me my amazing husband, with his amazing family and then most recently, he gave me my own son and now I have the kind of love in my life that I could not have even imagined back then when I was praying for it.

God also sent me amazing friends. The kind of friends that listen, and give advice and make me feel like, maybe, as an example, I might be a good mommy after all. The kind of friends that will give me advice when I ask for it but also remind me that parenting isn't a competition. That there is no "right" way to raise a child and to stop comparing myself to everyone else. The kind of friends that invite me to Bible Study. The kind that I have made there. The kind that want to know when I was saved.

I still don't know how to answer that question. I've flittered in and out of a practicing Christian lifestyle my whole life attending churches and Bible Studies briefly with friends. Though prayer was always a habit of mine, time and time again I drifted away, and yet eventually I always drifted back. God called me back.

This time is different though. Now I have my son and its up to me and his father to ensure that our child can have that same, doubtless belief that I experienced when I was a child. I need to prepare my child for the hardships that he will, inevitably, face in this life so that he too can endure them, finding comfort and solace in his Lord.

No more laziness.

No more excuses.

No more mistakes.

The time is now.

Every morning when I wake up, I renew my commitment to Jesus Christ.

I am saved.

Yesterday, Today and, hopefully, tomorrow.







But...

If I fail again. If I get bogged down and dragged away by evil.... I know that God will lovingly call me back. He hasn't given up on me yet after all.

The Wagon

For Christmas, Gramma Terri and Grandpa Bob got Peter a wagon.  It seemed silly to pay the shipping costs for such a large item, so Matt and I purchased the one we liked best here and then they paid us back.  They both seem very disappointed that we did not choose a Radio Flyer wagon, but I think the one we got is pretty cool regardless of the name brand.  Anyway, we kept it in our garage until after Christmas as they were very clear that he was not to receive his gift early.

As if he would have an idea.

And, technically speaking, the wagon is rated for children ages 18 months and up, so it isn't like he's going to get that much use out of it yet anyway.  Unless I can figure out how to harness up the dog... but that's an idea for another time.

I'll let the pictures tell the rest of the story.

Thank you very much Gramma and Grandpa!  When are you going to come pull him around the neighborhood?

Just one thing...

Love that face!

The Last of the Holiday Pictures... Finally :)

Hello again! 

When I left off, I'd posted the pictures from our holiday trip through the airplane ride home on the 29th.  However, when we returned to our home there were several holiday packages awaiting us, including Peter's Christmas present from his Uncle Jeff and Aunt Amanda.  I helped him out by opening the box to reveal this very cool LeapFrog Musical Learning Table, which at first he didn't seem too sure about...

But he then quickly discovered all the very cool brightly colored buttons and levers produce a wide variety of sounds and noises and before long he was hard at work putting the table through its paces.

And naturally, this caught the attention of the dog.

Then, in true baby fashion, the boy discovered the box, which, obviously, seemed a great deal more interesting to him than the toy itself.

Plus, it was orange on one side... and for some reason Peter loves orange things!!

A little while later, Peter was playing with his Daddy and we noticed that he had suddenly decided to master sitting up without using his arms for balance.  Naturally we were all very excited!!!

The next day, Matt and I took Peter to Target to spend some of his Christmas money and giftcards.  Other than that, we were determined to spend a quiet one relaxing at home while we slowly got things unpacked and put away.  Peter, however, had other ideas... like attacking the Christmas tree some more:

 trying to eat Mommy's camera:

and of course, checking out all his new toys!

He wore himself right out, apparently.

We spent New Years Eve in much the same way.  Peter played with Daddy:

He practiced his sitting up:

And kept working towards crawling with his tummy off the ground, but didn't have much luck.  Mostly he just rocked in place and then started to back up before getting frusterated and starting to scream.

On New Years morning we all got up and watched the Rose Parade.  Peter however, mostly just tried to eat the remote.

Then Mommy got her boy all dressed up to root on the Buckeyes in the Rose Bowl. 

Daddy even taught him how to do the Heisman pose, although I'm not sure Peter really understood the demonstration since, in this case, he was the ball.

I also set up my new tripod and took the chance to capture a family photo of all of us in our Buckeye gear.

Peter seemed so excited about the game that he could barely even take a nap.  I tried to explain to him that if he slept then the 4:00 pm game would surely be starting about the time he awoke, which finally got him down in his chair but he seemed to be waiting to start cheering even in his sleep... :)

                                       

His hat was annoying him during the game because the brim was blocking his view of the tv so we turned it around backwards and then he looked like a little frat boy.  Or maybe a little rapper thug. 

Later that evening Peter was entertaining himself by looking at himself in the mirror again.  It cracks me up how happy this makes him. 

And if I hadn't read in about 50 parenting books that babies naturally enjoy looking in mirrors, I might really start to be worrying about the child's vanity.

Then something else exciting happend.  Just before bath and bedtime, Matt and I noticed that Peter was no longer laying on the floor playing with his mirror where we'd left him.  No, instead he was sitting up almost underneath the coffee table trying to pull open the drawer, attack the cat and remove his own socks.  This was significant of course, because he had been laying down and had sat himself up ALL BY HIMSELF!  (On his 6 month birthday no less.)  Matt and I were super excited, but also a bit sad that we'd both been so engrossed in the football game that we hadn't actually seen him do it.

That baby and his gigantic hurry to grow up.  Sometimes I just can't stand it!

I mean, I'm SUPER proud of him.  He's amazing.  It's awesome how fast he's mastering each new milestone.  But then again, with all these new milestones he's rapidly leaving behind the infant stage and low-crawling towards toddlerhood faster than I can keep up.

Plus, along the way way, he keeps making disgusting detours into places he doesn't belong...  like the dog's dish. 

Yuck!